Korentis just wants to learn magic in peace. It's not xir fault people hate mages!
Yes, they broke the moon and made demons rain. But that was ages ago, right? No reason to worry.
Yes, they say mages become insane and violent, but that's definitely propaganda. Xe'll be fine.
Xe even made friends with some like-minded criminal mages! And xe's just perfect for a job they had in mind!
Cerical hunts mages for the Agency. She swore a solemn oath and got her silver sword.
She believes in her mission, and she knows she'll make a difference.
Yes, she made a general very angry, and was assigned to a remote, frozen town with no hope of career advancement. But she's sure this is just a hiccup - she'll prove her worth.
Any day now.
As Korentis goes on a poorly planned, magically-fueled crime spree, it's natural that their roads will cross. And when Korentis is offered a riskier job, for a great reward, it will be xir chance to learn the true secrets of magic.
And for Cerical, it's her chance to catch a dangerous magical criminal.
Except they'll both learn they're being used as pawns in a much greater, more dangerous game. And it's too late to step back, because something ancient and terrible has its attention on them, and they must deal with it, before the world ends.
If you want to read ahead, I'm also posting on this website, and there are currently more chapters. I plan to catch up in time.
(I'm new to posting here, I hope I'm not making a mess with chapters and threadmarks)
IMPORTANT: If you like figuring out the setting as you read, you should skip this chapter.
You absolutely don't need to read this to follow the story! The magic system will be gradually introduced by the characters.
However, I'm putting this up for readers who prefer a clear explanation up front, and as a reminder for readers who come back to the story after a while.
So, here's Art of the Veil's magic - or at least, what the characters know of it.
The smart characters, that is. Kaelich doesn't know shit.
THE BASICS:
Magic in this story is based on the ability to access the Else, a different layer of reality co-existing with the physical world (which mages call "the Here" or "the Material").
Magic manifests spontaneously during adolescence (14-18 years, with few exception), affecting about 3 people every ten thousand. Magic isn't genetic and there seems to be no reliable way to predict which people will develop magical powers. Magical power correlates with mental illness and neurodivergence, but it's unclear whether magic is a cause or an effect.
Different mages see and describe the Else in very different ways - some mages see human minds very easily, some can snatch glimpses of the future, while some see very clearly physical objects, including their internal structure.
All mages can draw raw matter from the Else to achieve different effects. Almost all mages can summon Else-fire, a destructive form of magic that burns and disintegrates matter, and Else-glass, a translucent, glass-like material that is stronger than steel.
As mages draw power from the Else, their bodies temporarily disincarnate, turning into something similar to Else-glass. With time, they start to permanently disincarnate, usually starting from eyes and fingertips, and spreading to the rest of their bodies. The more powerful a mage, the sooner they'll start to disincarnate. Powerful mages entirely disincarnate, thus becoming immune to aging and most physical harm.
Despite their powers, mages have one vulnerability: silver. Magic can't affect anything made of silver, and silver can hurt mages.
THE PATHS:
Beside the basic abilities to make Else-fire and Else-glass, what mages can do depends on the way they perceive the Else. Traditionally, the Council of Loyal Mages recognize eight different Paths, representing ways to interact with the Else. Whether the paths are arbitrary, or natural facets of the Else, is a matter of some debate within mages.
Most mages are naturally good at a single path, and less good, but still proficient at a second. With study and practice they can emulate the effects of different paths, but with very limited results compared to using their "natural" powers.
The Paths are listed here, from the most common to the most rare.
PATH OF MOTION: Motion-mages (aka Jugglers) can manipulate movement in the Else. Their main power is telekinesis, and\or freezing objects in midair. Jugglers can easily levitate, and powerful Jugglers can straight-up fly.
PATH OF RUIN: Ruin-mages (also called Wreckers) have exceptional affinity for Else-fire, and can channel their power to divide and destroy matter. Unlike most mages, they can wield Else-fire with great precision, and cast it from a distance.
PATH OF GLASS: Glass-mages (aka Makers) are specialists in creating and shaping Else-Glass. They can summon powerful shields, and skilled Makers can build complex objects or mechanisms.
PATH OF SIGHT: Sight-mages (aka Seers) can look into the Else to see different places and even times. Seers can easily detect other mages, find people and objects, summon visions of the past, and a minority of them can see possible futures.
PATH OF CLAY: Clay-mages (aka Shapers) manipulate physical matter, reshaping it into different forms and controlling it. Shapers can very easily build or repair objects, and can use their powers to pass through walls or solid objects, by making them flow around their bodies. They can also infuse matter with their magic, making it stronger than it would ordinarily be.
PATH OF MIND: Mind-mages (aka Telepaths) can interact with minds through the Else. They can read thoughts, emotional states and memories, and manipulate them to different extents. Some mind-mages can alter memories and emotions, while others can forcibly control other people.
Given its potential for abuse, and difficulty to detect compared to other forms of magical attack, studying and using the Path of Mind is forbidden to council mages.
PATH OF FOLDS: Fold-mages (aka Folders) can distort space, time, and even the Veil dividing the Here from the Else. Depending on their specialization, they can teleport, create pocket dimensions, and manipulate or neutralize magic. The latter ability is especially prized by the Council, and any mage with affinity for the Path of Folds is highly encouraged to pursue it.
PATH OF LIES: Lie-mage (aka Liars) can manipulate possibilities, briefly forcing things that could be into reality. Usually, this power manifests as illusion and mental manipulation - while under the effect of this magic, a person believes in whatever Lie the mage has spun. Some Liars, however, can truly alter the physical world around them.
The exact nature and limitations of Lies isn't well understood, both because it's rare, and because given its manipulative nature, the Council entirely forbids its study.
PATH OF SUMMONING: There is, of course, no such thing.
POWER AND LEVELS:
Historical magical organizations devised complex tests, specific for each path, to rank mages by power.
In modern times, technologies exist which can directly detect magic and measure its intensity. Roughly following traditional rank, the Council defined a system of levels, such that level zero denotes the minimum power required to reach into the Else, and every level after that represents a four-fold increase in power.
Most new mages manifest powers between level 0 and 1. Most mages gradually increase in power to level 2 or 2.5. Only the few which actively work to increase their power, and have a natural talent for it, grow past level 3. Mages past level 3 decrease sharply in number, and human magic caps at about level 6.5.
Only the Three Moonbreakers - three mages who are widely assumed to have transcended humanity - reached past that point, and have powers above level 7.
THE DANGERS OF MAGIC:
Magic is considered extremely dangerous, and tightly controlled.
The first, and most obvious reason, is that magic is extremely powerful and destructive. A powerful mage can cause immense damage before they're stopped, and the only non magical means to defeat a mage is using silver weapons.
However, mages that willingly cause harm are only part of the problem. While the mechanisms are not well understood, magic is harmful to the mind. The Else pulls at the human mind, worsening mental issues in mages. Any mage who uses their powers too much loses touch with reality - sometimes, the mage steps into the Else, leaving the material world behind. In other cases, formerly reasonable mages become paranoid, aggressive or delusional, suddenly unleashing their power against their allies.
Even very new mages are dangerous, since they can't properly handle their power, risking catastrophic control loss, colloquially known as going nova. A mage that goes nova destroys their own body in a huge burst of Else-fire, powerful enough to raze a whole city block.
The last risk - that which lies in the Else - is best not spoken about.
THE AGENCY AND THE COUNCIL:
At the time of this story, the use of magic is tightly controlled.
Young people who develop their power (usually between the ages of 14 and 18) are legally required to turn themselves to the Council of Loyal Mages, to be taught control. Once they master control, they can choose between permanently joining the Council or receiving silver tattoos, which permanently prevent the use of magic.
The Agency for Thaumological Control, a world-spanning military police force, exists to keep the Council under control, and most importantly, to find rogue mages and fight illegal magical organizations. The Agency uses modern technology and silver weapons to allow mundane soldiers to tackle mages.
The Agency keeps bases all over the world, and most of its agents work in small teams, typically consisting of one rifleman, one swordman, one drone specialist, and a Council mage.
Here is is a world map of the planet Art of the Veil is set on, with some explanation about the main countries.
There's no reason to read it at the beginning, unless you really enjoy fictional geography - it's meant as a reference to be consulted when you want to figure out where is where, and to sort out the characters' cultures.
The different colors in the map show different countries, with similar colors roughly indicating culturally similar countries. All the planet's countries, however, are part of the One World Alliance, a confederation founded to address the threat of mages after the Moonbreaking.
The OWA directly controls the Council of Mages, the Agency for Thaumological Control and most of the world's armed forces, and has partial control on other issues (for example, there's a world-wide police force, but most countries also have their own police).
Beside security matters, however, the countries making up the Alliance are mostly independent, and the OWA can try to coordinate efforts but doesn't have the final say - for example, OWA government has been trying for some time to set up a worldwide identity certification system, but some countries are outright refusing or dragging their feet.
THE CONTINENTS:
Most of Refuge's landmass is divided in three continents - from west to east in this map, Karesia, Zelenia and Great Taer.
KARESIA (on the west) is the largest, most populous, and the seat of the One World Alliance government. Art of the Veil is set in the city of Rakavdon, in the Vorokan republic, a country in the extreme north of the continent (light purple).
The city of Landfall, in the Riverland Confederation (orange), is the world's largest city and the capital of the OWA. Its culture is extremely influential over the whole continent and the world at large.
The country of Kalester (deep purple) borders Vorok in the East. It used to be a wealthy country, made rich by trade with Zelenia, but it was devastated in a revolt backed by mages, and never recovered.
Andvor (blue) used to be the main political rival to the Riverland Confederation, but in modern times fell to a secondary importance. In ancient times, it used to be the core territory of the Thaumocracy, a magical empire which left ruins all over the continent.
ZELENIA, the middle continent, is divided in two parts by a mountain range, impassable by land.
South Zelenia used to be dominated by the Kingdom of Saevin, which ruled the Zelenian Sea for most of recorded history, and was the seat of the industrial revolution on Refuge. Saevin used to rival Landfall for importance, but gradually lost ground after the Moonbreaking, and twenty years before the story began, was devastated by another Mage Revolt. Recovery is very difficult, due to political factors, magical fallout, and climatic changes causing severe drought.
North Zelenia is less populous and used to be a comparatively backward region, but being less touched by war and climate change, has been growing in wealth and importance.
GREAT TAER, the continent in the east, was unified by a single empire at the very beginning of recorded history, and except brief periods of fragmentation, mostly remained a united polity. Due to isolationism, it was late to industrialize, and it was forcibly conquered by the Alliance after the Moonbreaking.
It used to be considered politically marginal, but as Karesia and Zelenia struggle with wars and natural disasters, Great Taer finally caught up in technological terms, and is now by far the single largest and most populous member state of the Alliance.
We decree that the use of magic shall be banned in its entirety, except under control of the Council of Loyal Mages, for the limited purposes and under the strict limitations which shall be defined in article 3.
Any use of magic outside the Council's purview constitutes a crime against existence, which will be considered an act of aggression against the Alliance.
Charter of the One World Alliance, article 2
I wish I'd been born in simpler times.
Before the Moon was broken, magical crime must have been so easy.
You could just walk into a city, make a big smile, tell people to give you all their money and make them forget about it. Or you could make a Lie where you are the tax officer, landlord, or whoever took their money back then.
Then you'd just move to the next city, and spend all your ill-gotten money on… whatever people bought back then. Leeches. Dirt. That kind of stuff.
In history class they claimed the Men in Silver kept order, that they lynched rogue mages, but I don't believe it. Maybe they got the ambitious ones, the ones who tried to ask for a kingdom, or a whole cart of gold.
But who could have caught someone like me? Someone who just wants to have a good time on the wrong side of the law, and never work a single day in their life?
A pity it's all so difficult now. No matter how good my Lies are, I can't ask people to give me money, or they'd trace my bank account. Maybe I should charm some nerd into setting me up with a gray account.
And of course there is so much technology looking for mages. Cameras, theta detectors, patrolling drones - it just feels unfair. Why do they have to make life so hard for a poor criminal mage?
Still, I'm getting the hang of it. It's all about finding cracks in the system, crimes they don't even think about.
Like what I'm doing here, in a nice restaurant on the top of the vac-train station. We get a full view of the snow-covered city below, and a glass dome keeps us safe from the freezing winds. The woman who took me here - together with her sullen university-age son - has good taste.
"So, are you eating enough?" She asks us, sounding anxious. "Is the mess hall good? It was dreadful in Sovrasdon, in my time, but they say it's better here."
"It's okay, mom," the boy says, radiating awkwardness. "Food from the uni mess is fine, and I eat out sometimes. Also, I can cook, you know."
"The mess hall is good, Miss..." I stop for a moment, realizing I don't know her name.
I reach into the Else, and for a moment I see two different worlds - one where they don't know me, and look in confusion at the stranger at their table, and one where I'm the kid's friend, and he's happy to let me deal with his mom. And of course I know her name.
I pull the second world close. It's not the truth - I never met the boy before. All I know is that we're close in age, the tattoos around his eyes proclaim student, looking for friends, and I'm friendly enough. So it's almost a truth, it just needs a push through the Veil.
"...Miss Ravellon," I hear myself say, even if I didn't speak. Then the gap between possible worlds closes, and reality snaps back to normal. "But I tried your jam when you sent him a package, and it was so good. I wish my parents sent me food, too."
The woman blushes with joy - she asked her son repeatedly if he received the jam, she looks really proud of it. The kid just seems happy I'm keeping up the conversation.
"Oh, poor you," she says, still smiling, "where are you from? I can't place your accent, sorry."
"I grew up in Landfall," I say, a lie I've used many times - it's the easiest answer, so many people live in the capital. "I miss the climate."
I've never even been to Landfall, but I bet I'd love its tropical climate. In reality, I grew up here in Rakavdon, but I hate the endless cold. We're barely into autumn, and the streets are already covered in snow.
I take another bite of the cricket burger. It's so warm and good I want to cry. My moms have tons of money, but we never ate out, except when we attended incredibly boring fancy events.
"Oh, moving must have been an adjustment," she says, "it's so cold and provincial here, I know. Why did you come up here to study, if I may ask?"
"I was always fascinated by the Relics, and the Precursor Studies faculty here is just the best," I say, "so I decided to enroll and…"
I feel the jarring disconnect, the moment of confusion, as the boy frowns - fuck, I'm stupid, he studies aerospace engineering, and I said we met at university. The Lie stretches, threatening to snap.
"...and I took some engineering classes for my free choice credits." I add, hastily, "You know, the reverse-engineering of artifacts is very important."
I reach into the Else, and for a moment color fades from the world, making everything blue and brighter than it should be. In the impossible way of magic, I see many realities branching from each other - I reach for the one where what I said makes some sense, where the student and I really are friends.
For a moment, I glimpse something else in the Veil - a spot of color, dark red in the endless blue. But I'm too busy spinning my lie to focus on it.
"...wait, when did we…" the boy says, and I smile at him.
He's a first year student, a few months into his first term. He wants to believe that he made new friends, and to show them to his mother. I don't think what I said about reverse engineering made any sense, but people always fall for Lies they like.
I have a new sense of urgency, though. Did I use too much magic? Exactly how much can I get away with, before ThauCon detects it?
I hurry to take the last bite of my burger. Eating it in haste seems like a crime, but at least I've filled my stomach for free. And I'm committing a lot of actual crimes, so it's time to leave.
I feel a pang of pain at the idea, though. I was enjoying the chat, despite the overprotective mother and the sullen boy. Abyss, I'm starved for some conversation. I didn't have a lot of friends before going rogue, but it turns out few friends is very different from no friends.
"Oh, sorry," I say, making a show of checking my phone. It's a broken phone, without battery, but in the Lie, it's working, and there's a red urgent notification. "It's my landlady. We've been without heating for a week, and she said she'd come check, and she just warned that she's there now…" I shrug, apologetic.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Those people are the worst," the mom says, "they just want to squeeze money out of you kids. If she doesn't fix your heating, text me, I'll put some fear of the Officers in her. I work for a law firm, you know? And you can't stay without heating, you'll catch your death! We're not in Landfall, winter comes soon and is harsh, here! Here, take my contact!"
She looks at me, probably trying to send me a Stemlink message, then realizes I don't have the implants, and she fishes a tablet out of her bag, displaying a contact signature. I thank her profusely and make a show of taking a snapshot with my broken phone. Her son rolls his eyes at me, and I feel a complex mixture of feelings. On one hand, she's overbearing as fuck, and she's a lawyer too, so me leeching some money off her is basically a public service.
On the other hand, she's honestly concerned about the heating situation of a kid she's never met before, and it's been a long time since anyone has worried about me. I hurriedly say goodbye and go away, with a lump in my throat.
I should stick to smaller Lies. I can get served at any busy restaurant, by making the servers believe I've already paid - I just have to change places often, to make sure no one spots the pattern. Making someone else pay for me was a stupid risk.
I take the elevator to the ground floor, close my jacket as tight as I manage, brace myself for a frozen hell, and walk outside.
The cold snaps on me - fuck, we aren't even in winter yet, I should really consider moving to a milder climate, given I don't have a real home anymore. Running away from home sounded much cooler, before I found out I'd need to get stuff like food and clothes.
But I feel safer as I walk away from the restaurant - no drones, no helicopters, no men in silver asking questions. Another victory for magical crime. Abyss, it feels so good - I can just walk to people and make them give me stuff. Who needs money? The world is mine.
It had to be even easier in the past. After all, mages did end up ruling over mundanes. And even after the Thaumocracy fell, a mage's life had to be so easy, before modern tech.
Without all this electronic tracking, I'd just spin more lies, and make people believe that yes, I'm a university student, yes, I'm a tenant in the apartment, yes, I have a part-time job. I could slide back into a normal life.
My happiness deflates a little as I remember I can't have any of those things. Whatever I do, I'll never really be a student, I'll never go with my friends to mess hall, or complain about landlords with my roommates.
I'm just being dramatic, I tell myself.
I could have a normal life I really wanted - I could walk back to my life.
I didn't commit any violent crime, and they'll forgive the light stuff if I turn myself in. I'll just have to give up my magic, get silver tattoos on my face, and then scuttle back to my family.
And accept a life of people side-eyeing my tattoos, and whispering as I pass. A life of knowing the Else is there, full of power and possibility and secrets, but being unable to touch it.
***
I don't go straight back to my hiding hole - I couldn't find out much about how the ThauCon Agency tracks mages, but I know that they can follow a rogue's trail for some time after they use magic.
So I take a long, winding walk through the small alleys by the old river port. It's a nice part of the city, all narrow stone alleys criss-crossed by canals, and I'd actually enjoy the walk if it wasn't so fucking cold. Some people say the frozen canals are beautiful, but those people probably say it from their warm houses in Landfall.
Soon, I'm bored, cold, and generally miserable. When I've nothing better to do, I start thinking about my life choices, and Abyss, I fucked up so much.
I'm so busy feeling bad, it takes me way too long to realize I'm being followed.
The guy who's tailing me isn't hard to spot. He's a short, stocky young man, his skin brown, with an unhealthy grayish tone. He wears several layers of ill-assorted jackets and heavy boots, and the tattoos on his face are almost faded. He looks so disreputable, I can almost hear mama mumbling about good-for-nothing youths you should have nothing to do with.
How long has he been following me? I have a sudden flash of the same youth taking a huge portion of grilled grasshoppers at the restaurant, and my heart starts pumping faster. Did he follow me since I left the train station?
Is he a spotter for the Agency, or even a plainclothes agent? Did he see me use magic? But he looks conspicuous as fuck, He's not even very good at tailing - he keeps peeking from corners and makes a scene of looking everywhere but at me. Surely a ThauCon agent would be more subtle?
My fingers itch to use magic. I could walk to him and spin Lie after Lie to make him tell me who he is. Or I could make an illusion of myself which keeps walking, while I hide in a side alley - well, in theory, my visual illusions aren't super good, yet.
But if he's following me because he's with the Agency, using magic would be a stupid idea, even by my standards.
And why else would he follow me? I don't look rich enough to be a good mark for a footpad, and I don't think anyone wants my autograph - I have a famous brother, but I don't look like him.
Maybe he's a victim of some of my previous petty scams, even if I don't remember him, and he wants to beat the shit out of me. Fuck, that would be awkward. Fortunately, most people don't really expect magic, and especially the Path of Lies, so they don't realize what I do with them, even after the Lie fades.
But if I use magic on him again, he'll understand what I am and call the Agency.
I force myself not to run, and I stop looking behind. Hopefully, he doesn't know I'm trying to shake him yet.
Should I try to lose him in the labyrinth of alleys? Or confront him? Maybe I can convince him he's wrong about me, using just a little bit of magic.
Then again, he's really broad and muscular. If he's not in a talking mood, he could squish me to a paste, so maybe I should take some precautions. I could defend myself with magic, of course. Lke, in theory. But I'm not really good at summoning Elsefire, and even when I manage, I absolutely don't have a good control over it, so it would be insta-murder or nothing, and I'm not feeling quite that criminal yet.
I'd better go somewhere more populated and try to lose him in the crowd. It's time to go home anyway.
I turn into a larger road, and I go down the stairs leading to the tube station. It's too early for rush hour, but even on a workday afternoon, the tube is never empty - since we live in a frozen hellhole, there are a lot of shops and services underground. Especially since the tunnel network is ridiculously vast: they dug tunnels like frenzied moles back in the seventies, before everything went to shit, and most were never used.
I glimpse my tail as I ride the escalator down. Our eyes lock for a moment, but he's quick to look away.
I hear the distant hiss of a train getting to the platform, so I start running. If I'm really lucky, I'll get onboard and he won't.
I elbow my way through a bunch of giggling preteens, run past a sequence of faded Join the Agency! Stand Against the Dark Power! posters, and I get to the platform. I swipe my stolen tourist pass and the barriers let me in. The train is old, with flickering neon lights, half the doors broken, and covered in glowing graffiti. It looks like the setting to a horror movie, but I'd hug it, moldy plastic seats and all.
I walk in as soon as the doors open, together with a smattering of students - we're not far from the university, after all. I sprawl over a couple of seats and affect boredom, keeping a watch on the doors.
The large young man gets inside, panting, just a moment before the doors close. Finally, I get a decent look at him: he's short, but broad and muscular, so he's probably twice my mass. From his shabby clothes, I'd guess he just walked to Rakavdon all the way from the arctic circle.
He's also younger than I thought, maybe younger than me, and looks a little worse for the wear. He has an uneven blond buzz, his brown skin looks ashen, and he has a smattering of ear piercings. He has white tattoos circling his eyes, landfaller-style, but they're shoddy and half-faded. They don't give me much information: male, pansexual. As uninformative as my own. I hate when people do that.
He walks straight to me, looks around, and asks, "can we talk a minute?". He has an accent I can't place - Five Peaks?
His gray eyes are hard, but he sounds more awkward than hostile. I'd think he's hitting on me, except in my scrawny, poorly washed, nervous glory, I really don't think I'll have strangers falling for me.
There are only three more people close to us, an old man who's sleeping, and two students who're either planning an awesome party, or preparing an exam about toxic chemicals. Stupid, I should have picked a fuller carriage - but my instinct has been to avoid crowds, lately.
"Can I help you?" I ask, with my fakest smile.
"Can we talk? Where people don't listen," he mumbles.
"Sorry," I say, "I have to get home, and…"
"You don't have a home," he says, curt. "You sleep in the tunnels."
I freeze, my mouth open. Fuck, how long has he been following me? The urge to pull a Lie is so strong I can barely stop myself.
I won't risk using magic yet, but I must be ready for it. I lean against the Veil, until I start seeing blue and hear whispers at the edge of my mind - I'm an eyeblink away from reaching into the Else.
So how can I handle this, except with magic? Well, I should play to my strengths - being weird and inappropriate.
"You followed me? That's rude," I say, shaking my head with disappointment. "You should buy me dinner first. Actually, follow creepily home shouldn't come before the third date. And I'm just not sure I'm ready for that kind of commitment yet."
I make a sad smile. Big sister always told me spouting bullshit doesn't help, but in my experience it's great to put others off-balance.
"I… I didn't mean, I mean…" he says, raising his hands and blushing. If he's an agent for the men in silver, he's really bad.
"Oh, I understand," I say, slashing him a big, friendly smile, "you followed me, but in a non-romantic way. Not like a stalker, more like a serial killer. Did you plan to stab me in a dark alley, or are you more the garrotte kind?"
"What the fuck?" He asks, his eyes wide, his voice squeaking. He takes a step back. I'm pretty sure I managed to creep out my creepy stalker.
"Well, you tell me," I say. "If you aren't a creep or a murderer, why did you follow me?"
"I just…" he says, looking around. The old man is still snoring, and the students are loudly checking the effective dose of several illegal drugs.
"Tell me," I say, reaching past the Veil the tiniest bit to fuel a lie, one where I'm older and less scrawny and someone impressionable might be scared of me.
As I do that, his eyes go wide, and for a moment, I'm sure they flicker a dark, sullen red.
Abyss, he's a mage, too. I didn't even consider that possibility. Is he from the Council?
"You did that again," he says, his eyes wide. "You shouldn't, you know. It draws ThauCon. But it's cool. How did you learn?"
"I've no idea what you're talking about," I say, my mouth dry.
"Cut the crap," he says, his voice level. "You're like me. A rogue… you know what. I saw you do your tricks, and I followed you. Yeah, that was kind of creepy. But I had to know. You're not with the Syndicates, right? But you know stuff."
He keeps his expression neutral, and looks around nervously, like a first-year student asking for meth.
And apparently, I'm the dealer. Because while I'm a far cry from a trained mage, I have a book.
Well, he doesn't want to kill me right now. And if he's a shill for the Agency, I'm fucked anyway. And I'm curious about him - besides being starved for any kind of conversation.
"I guess you won your private chat," I say, "if you buy me dinner."
***
We walk aimlessly along the busy, snow-covered streets. I chose the alleys around the train station, because it's a good place to talk, and a bad one for him to murder me. We stopped by a food kiosk, and we're eating steaming synth burgers with fries to warm ourselves.
"You use way too much magic," Daravoi says - that's the name he gave me, at least. He speaks slowly, sounding like he has gravel in his mouth. At first I thought he was acting tough, but by the way he struggles for some words, I think he doesn't speak Vorokan that well. He said he's Kalestran - Mama always said all Kalestrans are thieves, and while I'm pretty sure she was being racist, Daravoi fits the bill.
"When you did… something to the woman and her son, today," he says, "I felt it from three blocks away. ThauCon will catch you."
He says it matter-of-factly. My skin clams with sweat. The problem is, I've no idea how much magic I can get away with.
So of course I make a confident smile and shrug, as if everything were under control.
"They won't," I say. "I'm good, and take precautions. I'm not too worried about the ThauCon Agency."
I am, in fact, scared shitless by the Agency. My hope is that even if they catch me - when they catch me - they'll let me go with silver tattoos on my arms and a slap on the wrist. But that gets less likely with every crime I commit.
Daravoi looks at me, cocking his head, as if trying to understand if I'm serious. Finally, he nods.
"You're so full of shit," he deliberates.
"Hey!", I say. "You don't even know what I can do!"
"Told you," he says, "I watched you. Uh, sorry about that. Anyway, you're a mind-mage. You can make people do things for you. And use that in the most stupid way possible, to get free food."
I make a sweeping gesture with my arms, and look down at him.
"Clearly you've no idea what you're talking about," I say, going for my sister's tone when she's dismissive, but in a fancy way. "I'm not a mind-mage. I'm a practitioner of the Path of Lies. The way of illusion, of perception, of possibilities. If you're really a mage, what's your path in the Art?"
He looks down, abashed. Apparently, he knows even less about magic than I do, which is a mixed blessing.
"I'm good at breaking stuff?" He says. "And at telek… telech… moving stuff with my mind. But I don't really know about the Paths. I didn't have a real teacher."
Neither did I, of course, or I wouldn't be half-starved and homeless. But at least, I have a book. He doesn't need to know more about me, though, not yet.
"So you don't have a teacher," I say, putting the most confusing emphasis I can think of. I'm not a mind-mage, but I'm naturally good at fucking with people. "But obviously you think you know how the Men in Silver hunt."
I make it sound sarcastic, but I really really hope he knows, and can tell me.
He nods. "I know something. I spoke to another rogue mage, she gave me some hints. And anyway, if I feel your magic when you use it, Council mages can feel it too. The Men in Silver work with the Council. So, if you go on like this, they'll catch you, sooner or later."
For all my bullshit, I don't have an answer for that. I thought about it, of course, but so far, I wasn't even sure mages could sense each other. My book has a short section about magical perception, but it's sparse, and I never met another mage before.
I take a long bite of my burger, then lick my fingers one by one, to gain time and gross him out, but he doesn't look disturbed. This boy is way too patient, most people scream at me after ten minutes of conversation, even when I'm being just mildly annoying.
"So why did you want to talk to me?" I ask. "Did you want to warn me of the risk, out of the goodness of your heart?"
I smile, with too many teeth. Maybe I should be nicer, and part of me wants too, but I feel desperately out of my depth - I've no idea what he wants, I never met another mage before, and I've no good answer to any question he might ask.
Also, being pointlessly annoying and weird is just fun, and it's been some time since I had any chance to do it.
"Honestly? I was curious," he says, sounding confused, and maybe hurt. "I mean, why do you do this? You're good. You scam people with impossible lies and they don't even remember about it. But you just get some food and the like, and you live in an abandoned tube stop. Also… you're a Vorokan citizen, right? Why did you go rogue at all?"
"And how would you know I'm a full citizen?" I ask, sounding outraged by his suggestion. "You know nothing about me."
"Oh, please," he says, finally sounding annoyed. "I bet you're a citizen. Rich, too. Are you… kind of slumming?"
So, he's not a citizen. Probably an illegal - Kalestran merchants run most airship caravans, and boring politicians always complain about illegal immigration.
I know it's the most common reason for mages to go rogue here in Vorok - illegals are deported after getting their silver tattoos.
"Rich?" I say, raising my hands. "How would I look rich? I stole second-hand clothes and you know I live in the subway tunnels!"
He shrugs. "You stink of rich kid."
"Well, my family is fairly well-off," I admit. "But I'm not slumming. I ran away."
"Why?" He asks, frowning. "Are you veil-mad already? You had money - why not just get your silver tattoos?"
Veil-mad. I wince at the very words. I feel the broken moon, just below the horizon, even if I can't see it yet. I know it pulls at my sanity, and that's something else I really don't like thinking about.
"Why, by Fallen Earth, should I tell you?", I snap, taking a step forward. I'm really angry now - fuck, I ran from home to get away from people who judge my every choice. This is the first time I can talk openly with someone, and it's like talking to my moms.
"You spied on me," I say, "you followed me, and you behave like I have to explain anything to you?"
To my surprise, he takes a step back, pressing himself against the carriage wall. I immediately feel bad - it's just that it's weird for anyone to be scared of me, I'm a scrawny nineteen-year-old and I look even weaker than I am.
"I… sorry," he says, looking away. "Listen, I'm not good with words, really. People always get the wrong idea. I'm sorry. I just thought we could help each other. You had a teacher, or something like that? Because I've seen you do advanced magic. But… maybe I can help too? You don't look really good at… you know… surviving?"
He winces as he says the last word, and my anger deflates.
You shouldn't be a mean smartass just because you can, sis told me all the time. And back then, at least I could afford to be a mean smartass.
It's hard for me to drop the bullshit. It's just that when I tell the truth, people usually get even madder at me, and when I try to be nice, they find me even weirder.
But beside some creepy stalking he kind-of-apologized for, Daravoi was nothing but patient and straightforward with me. I should at least try to reciprocate.
"Sorry. I didn't want to be that aggressive," I say. "I just… look, to begin with, I don't have a teacher, either. I have a book - a shitty one, because it's meant for Council students, who have teachers, and are forbidden from learning the Path of Lies. But it's a true book of magic, with the Else woven in the pages. You touch it, and you see what you must do in the Else. I still don't understand most of it, and that's all I have, really. I don't know anything about ThauCon, I don't know how to get by except making people buy me stuff, and honestly, I don't really know why I went rogue at all."
He nods and claps. He actually looks happy.
"So you could show me your book? I know a couple things about ThauCon. I can help you stay hidden. And you know what I'm really good at?" He smiles. "Crime. Fake IDs, gray accounts, all the tricks to live off grid. I can teach you."
His grim tone must be only his accent, because he looks pretty enthusiastic. And Lost Stars, I do need his help - even if I'm getting better with magic, I'm barely scraping by, and true winter hasn't come yet.
"Sweet!" I say, "I'm Korentis, by the way. Nice to meet you! You can call me Kore. We can be mage-buddies! Also, if this is some kind of setup and you're turning me to the Agency, know that I'll tear your soul from your body, slowly and painfully!"
He looks worried, and I briefly worry if I am going veil-mad. But then again, my moms complain that I've been saying weird shit since I learned to talk. Whatever is wrong with me, it was wrong long before I touched the Veil.
I smile at him, doing my best impression of a sane smile, and he returns my smile, tentatively.
"Partners in crime?" I ask.
"Partners in crime," he answers.
We bump fists, in solemn agreement.
***
We agree to meet again tomorrow, and I sneak back to my hiding-hole in the tube. I make sure he's not following me. He could take my book, or worse, see the mess I live in.
I'm exhausted, physically and mentally, but as I crawl inside my sleeping back, I find myself lying awake, staring at the darkness.
I dismissed my Else-lights, and it's pitch dark. Or so it should be. But I still see something, looking up: a faint network of jagged blue lines, like an afterimage that doesn't fade.
It's the Moon, of course. Or more accurately, the Crack in the Moon. I see it as soon as I close my eyes, more clearly every day.
Is that normal? Do all mages see the Moon all the time? One more thing I should ask Daravoi, except I'm too afraid of the answer. When I ask if anything about me is normal, the answer is usually no, it's not normal and it's bad.
What am I really doing with Daravoi? He's not wrong in saying I'm slumming, in a way. I'm good at lying to myself, but the truth is, I thought I'd be caught very soon. I assumed Big Sis would bail me out, and I'd go home with silver tattoos and moms furious at me.
I tried to learn magic, but the way I tried so many things in my life - assuming I'd fail and give up. So I've gone rogue a month ago, and I don't really know what I'm doing, except waiting to be caught.
But what if Daravoi really can teach me how to hide from ThauCon? What if together, we can learn real magic, learn the secrets of the Else?
Is it worth it? It will probably end in a re-ed camp, or with a silver blade through my neck, or worse, with Else-madness.
And yet.
I take a deep breath and reach for a direction that shouldn't exist. My fingers find a slight resistance, as if pushing against a barrier of silk. But I barely need any effort to break through.
I'm no longer in the darkness, I'm in the endless, beautiful blue of the Else. Walls and objects are faint, translucent outlines, but the book of magic glows, as if its pages were crammed with stars, and far above me, I see the dull sparks of the people walking around the city.
The Crack burns above me, searing and beautiful like the sun, but more vivid, more real than anything in the Here could ever be.
I smile, close my fingers around a bit of the substance of the Else - it feels warm and tingly. I take it back through the Veil, and find myself in my small, dirty room, but with a marble-sized sphere of perfect blue light floating over my palm.
My hand has changed, too: my fingers are made of smooth, sky-blue glass, of a hue so pure just looking at it makes me cry with joy.
I make the small glowing sphere float higher, and I change its shape - a cube, a ring, a star. I just have to want it, and it changes, flowing like molten glass.
Finally, I cut my connection to the Else, and a five-point star falls to the ground with a clink, still glowing a soft blue. Else-glass - solid and smooth and full of swirling light. It will dissolve in a few minutes, but it's cool.
Why should I give this up? I'm not harming anyone. Yeah, demons rain from the sky, a mad, immortal mage rules the moon, and the hidden magical factions go to war now and then - but none of that is my fault.
And there's so much to learn - what kind of cool shit can a really powerful mage do?
I did fine so far. What's the harm of trying a little harder?
I hear a distant, distant whisper. I can't make out the words. But it sounds like approval.
Author's note: hi! I hope you'll enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it.
If you hav any question about the world or the characters, I'll be happy to answer!
Also, here is the main character, Korentis, drawn by my amazing partner:
I take the golden coin,
I raise the silver blade,
I accept the ancient duty.
I swear by the broken moon,
I swear by the fallen heroes,
I swear by our lost home.
I shall battle the dark power,
I shall stop those who tear the veil,
I shall stand against the horrors beyond.
Until my strength fails,
Until the war is won,
Until the sky is mended.
Oath of service for the Thaumologial Control Agency
The transport's doors slide open with a hiss, and cold seeps in, so sharp and sudden it's like plunging into ice water.
Lord of Skies, I didn't know it could get this cold, it must be some kind of joke. I wrap my arms around my body, and my teeth start clattering - I thought that was an idiom, not something teeth actually did. The coldest it ever got in Zelenia was when my breath would mist before my face in the early mornings.
I stop at the door and take in the dismal view. Not that there's much to see - snow is falling, which isn't anywhere as cute as they make it look in movies. It's past midnight, and despite the floodlights, visibility is almost nil.
I can barely make out an open snow-covered courtyard, a squat concrete building which must be the saddest ThauCon base in the world, and the dim outlines of watch towers. Bare and isolated, it looks more like a prison than a military base.
"I assume this is my stop," I say, trying hard to sound professional and unconcerned. I even say it in Fallish, but it sounds awkward and provincial, even to my ears.
The sergeant who rode with me nods. He has the decency to look sorry. "It's your new post, Agent Cerical. It's… not a great assignment. Are you sure you don't want to return your badge? Honorable discharge and all. We'll take you back to Landfall."
I grit my teeth. He sounds sympathetic, but I'm sure he's been told to ask. They still hope I'll leave ThauCon by myself.
"This is my assignment," I say, "I'll d-do my duty."
It would sound more solemn and dramatic if I could stop my stupid teeth from clattering. But if I'm going to freeze for the next oh-gods-how-many-years I might as well try and take it with dignity.
"Your funeral, lass," the sergeant says. "Now go, please. I'm freezing my ass off."
I sling my bag over my shoulder, check the sword at my side, take a deep breath and step out. There's a small roof keeping the stairs dry, but once I get to ground level, I have to walk through the snow.
Fuck, it's slippery. I scramble to stand, but my bag and sword unbalance me, and after a moment of wheeling my arms, I fall on my ass. Snow, which I'm learning to hate with a passion, fills my boots, sleeves and pants. It takes me half a minute of cursing to get back on my feet and obtain a measure of presentability.
"I fucking hate this place," I mutter, trying to get snow out of my sleeves - turns out the fucking thing melts into freezing water in half a second.
"I've no idea what that means!" someone says from behind me, in Fallish, incongruously cheerful. It takes all of my training not to jump away, which would lead to falling on my ass again.
"But I guess you were cursing the place!" they add. "Don't worry, we all hate it!"
I turn to the newcomer. I was so busy thrashing in the snow, I didn't see him coming - so sloppy of me.
He's a young man in a rather disheveled black-and-silver ThauCon uniform - a noticeably thicker uniform than mine, with gloves. I must get one for myself before I freeze to death.
He's tall and broad, and gives me a wide smile. He looks like the kind of person who smiles way too much. Curly hair with a fashionable side cut, dimples, smooth brown skin - Lady of Light, he couldn't look more like a Landfaller if he tried. He has a ton of those stupid tattoos they love, starting on his cheeks and going down his neck. They're metallic-looking, bright pink and blue - I thought people had those only in teen movies. I've no idea what they mean. One more thing I'll have to learn.
I decide I dislike him. However, he's got a corporal's silver lapel, so he's my superior.
Our eyes lock, I blink to authorize a Stemlink handshake, and his public data pops into my vision, in an annoyingly flashy pink color.
—------------------------- NAME: Kaelich Anur AGE: 20 GENDER: Agender OCCUPATION: Thaumological Control Agent - corporal rank RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single, looking for casual partners LOOKING FOR: Anyone free for the night INTEREST: Sims, skating, partying, shooting FANDOMS: Ocean Woman, Black Sky Corsairs, Xenowatch IV BIO: Just a kid from Landfall who shoots well and looks good in uniform —----------------------
Lost Stars, I already want to strangle him.
No, not him. Them? Wait, no, it's different in Fallish. Xem. Fortunately, I've seen so many movies and sims from Landfall, I think I can get their stupid culture right.
"Private Cerical Villerani reporting for duty, ser!" I say, saluting. Not my crispest salute, but at least I manage to keep my balance. "I'm honored to join your base."
"Chill, private - no pun intended" xe says, and actually winks. The General must have assigned me to his team just to grate my nerves. Xe talks rapid-fire Fallish, but xe has the exact accent they use in movies, so it's easier to follow than I expected. The only problem is that it makes xem look even more like a character from a silly teen action sim.
"You're on my team!" Xe adds, beaming. "Can you believe I'm a corporal? They just promoted me. And, like, I'm half-convinced that was a mistake, but I got the lapels and all. Anyway, welcome to Rakavdon base! If you're here, you fucked up. Don't worry, I won't ask you the details. Now come in, we have hot tea."
***
I sigh with relief as we pass through the gate and into the outer complex, the part of the base open to visitors and civilians. It isn't exactly warm inside - I'd call it chilly, by any reasonable standard - but it's wonderful compared to the freezing wind outside.
A bored admin clerk checks my papers and biometrics, while shamelessly playing a game on his tablet, and manages to do it all without looking at me even once. Finally, he says everything's in order, I get a slew of green Neuralink notifications, and the base recognizes me as one of its soldiers. I try to look happy about it.
The corporal - who made some annoying attempt at chit-chat - takes me past the heavy silver-banded doors and into the Inner Complex, the base proper.
It's a squalid concrete building, exactly as it looked from the outside, all bare walls and white LED strips. It looks like a half-finished building, or an abandoned one. And it's even colder than the admin office.
"Sorry, the heating isn't very good," the corporal says. "They built it by a standard template, one that probably assumes we all live happily in the south. But the core rooms are much better - we did some refitting, and we have a nuclear generator, after all. The dorm room is always warm, and we have a proper hot pool in the bathroom!"
I sigh inwardly. Karesians love their communal baths, and usually can't understand why everyone else in the world isn't enthusiastic about spending half an hour in a small tub, naked, with strangers.
"It will be fine, ser," I say, trying to stop my stupid teeth from chattering. "I'm not afraid of a bit of cold."
Xe raises xir eyebrows, and I can tell xe's fighting not to laugh. "As you say, private. You come from South Zelenia, right?"
"Yes. I'd never seen snow before, to tell the truth," I add.
"Well, there's no snow in Landfall, either, but I got used to it" xe says. "It's not that bad once you stop slipping. It's even beautiful, when it's not falling! And ice-skating over the canals is the best."
Yeah, snow looked beautiful in pictures, but it turns out I hate the real thing. And I'm already worn out by the horrendously friendly, unprofessional corporal.
But I must work with xem, so I should try to be nice. Maybe I'll manage to establish some proper boundaries, with time.
"I'm sorry, ser, but it has been a long day," I say. "Could you show me the way to my bunk?"
"Of course!" Xe says, "I'll give you the tour tomorrow. We'll go through the mess hall, though, can I get you something warm to drink?"
"A tea would be nice," I say, because it feels like I have snow melting in every nook of my uniform.
We walk through a hallway where two buckets are collecting meltwater- this base is basically crumbling. How can the situation be so bad? It's not just an inconvenience, it's a security issue.
But of course, as Corporal Kaelich said, we're here because we fucked up. If we have a terrible accident, it's a win, as far as command is concerned.
Before I can get properly outraged, the corporal opens a door, and finally we get to a room which doesn't look derelict - there are properly working lights, six long tables, and a kitchen. Most importantly, it's wonderfully warm.
There are some of the items I expect from a lived-in military base: shift tables, posters with REGULATIONS written on top and way too much text, faded propaganda prints with square-jawed ThauCon soldiers in heroic poses. We are the Watchers against the Dark Power is written on the wall in silver letters, except the D and P are missing and have been replaced with stencils. There's a faint smell of… burnt bugs?
"Sorry for the stink," the corporal says, grimacing. "The guys in Team Yellow are from here. And fucking Vorokan people just love eating fried insects."
"Isn't this place just lovely," I say, deadpan. I take some comfort, however, in realizing xe's as much a foreigner here as I am. Even if Landfallers, of course, are always the right kind of foreigners.
"It's not that bad. The place, I mean. The food is exactly as bad as you think. Now, pick your poison," xe says, leading me to the boiler. The base might be crumbling, but it has a great selection of infusions.
I pick a ginger tea, and we sit together at a table - it's well past midnight, and we're the only ones in the room.
"So," xe says, sounding a little awkward, "welcome to Team Blue. We're a new team, the old one retired last month, and they reshuffled us a bit. I'm team leader and marksman. You'll meet Sorivel, the drone specialist. He's, uh. He's nice. Just as a word of caution, he's really religious. Hope that doesn't bother you."
Great, I get the greenest corporal in existence, and a religious nut, and the only thing we have in common is that we fucked up enough to be sent here.
"That won't cause any issue on my side," I say. "Do we have a Supporting Council Agent yet?"
"A… oh, the team mage," xe says, and I repress a cringe - Supporting Agents are not team members. "We should get ours soon. It's good they didn't assign us any of the mages already in this base because, honestly, they suck."
"Excellent, ser," I say, "are we already on active duty?"
"Please drop the ser when we're not working, come on," xe says, rolling xir eyes. I like xem a little more for that - at least xe shows some character.
"Anyway," xe continues, "yes, we're officially on duty, starting on Medday. But we aren't supposed to do much until we have a full team - we'll do patrols, incident reports, some guard duty."
Usually, I'd try to learn as much as possible about a new environment - who does which chores, who has a temper, what weird traditions they have. But I just can't be bothered here, and it feels too much - everything seems wrong and foreign, and what would be the point of fitting in anyway? So I sip my ginger tea in silence.
"Do we see much action here?" I finally ask.
Xe laughs. Then, xir smile fades.
"Oh, you were serious. Uh, sorry," xe says, "point is, this base is famous for, well, not seeing much action. We've jurisdiction over the whole Rakavdon province - it's some two-hundred-thousand people and a ridiculously vast area, but demons don't fall this far north, and there's no real syndicate presence to date. Even criminal mages think this is the ass-end of nowhere, apparently," xe adds with a tentative smile.
I'm in no mood for jokes and I don't like chatty people. But xe made me a wonderfully warm ginger cup, and xe's my immediate superior, so I force out a little smile.
"So, what do we do all day, if I may be candid?" I ask.
"Well, there's still some work," xe says, with a shrug, "mostly finding new mages before they hurt themselves or others. Sometimes we guard university events - there's a Precursor ruin here, the Black Door. They excavate the site for artifacts. That kind of thing attracts the Syndicates, and sometimes the artifacts are dangerous in themselves."
Well, that almost sounds interesting. Except it means we work as nannies and glorified security contractors. So much for battling the dark power.
"I see," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
"But that also means we have quite a bit of free time," xe says, talking even faster, in a tone that sounds suspiciously like a rehearsed pitch. "Now, I know this… wasn't probably the assignment you wanted. I didn't pick it, either. But I was thinking, we could put our time here to good use. We have decent training facilities, and if you're up for it, we could put in some serious training hours. We could try to make, well, a good team."
I look at xem. I'm mildly surprised that xe even cares. I should be all for it. I used to care a lot about improving my skills and showing my worth - but I'm cold, tired, and my career is as stranded as a whale in the desert. So, I ask: "No offense. But does anyone care if we're a good team?"
"Not here," the corporal answers, cheerful. "The captain's coasting for retirement, and regional HQ treats us like a trash heap for soldiers they don't want. But I mean, we won't be here forever. Most junior teams get a transfer in two or three years." Xe shrugs "Yeah, we all fucked up something, but had we fucked up that bad, we'd get some official punishment, on record. So, whoever sent you here doesn't care that you actually stay here."
Xe makes a pause, then looks me in the eyes. Xe has big, round eyes - xe'd probably be cute if you like big, muscular idiots.
"I know having Rakavdon in your resume is bad. We'll be overlooked for promotion, and the like," xe adds. "But if we have a good record here, and maybe take some specialized qualifications, I think we can overcome that. We could still get a decent career and do something useful."
I'm not convinced General Orner will forget about me that quickly. But then again, he got me booted from Intelligence School, and in three years, I'll be too old to re-apply, so why should he worry about me anymore?
Not that as a rank-and-file agent I could do much of a career anyway. I'll be a foot soldier. But I could still be useful. And not relegated to a frozen wasteland.
"Since we're stuck here, we might as well practice," I concede. "I mean, it's not like we've much else to do. And keeping a good service record can't be that hard, if our duties are so limited."
Xe beams, and I realize xe was worried that I'd say nah, I prefer sleeping and binging sims every second here. Xe may be a big, muscular idiot, but at least xe's not a lazy one.
"Great!" Xe says. "And, uh, about having something to do - Rakvdon's night club scene isn't that bad, to tell the truth. I guess with all this cold and winter, they must learn to have fun indoors."
"Night clubs?" I ask. "I hate them. They're noisy and full of sweaty people. In my free time, I prefer studying."
The shock on xir face is so obvious I laugh. Of course, the rest of the world tends to see us Zelenians as boring and straight-laced. And even during my training in Saevin, they called me grandma.
Xe sighs. "Well, at least I got someone willing to work. Someone who also likes to have fun was asking for too much, I guess. Come, I'll show you our room. It's pretty large, this base was supposed to house way more people."
I finish the last of my ginger tea and follow xem as xe gets up. We get into another cold, poorly lit corridor.
"Quick warning, since tomorrow you'll meet everyone, and my brain doesn't work in the morning," xe says, looking deeply uncomfortable. "We share most shifts with a senior team, Team Green. The fellas in Team Green are nice people, even if they're… not the most dedicated to the job. But their mage is a pain in the ass who only wants to get under people's skin. Don't let him. Oh, and since we're here, we report to Lieutenant Sareas. He's… very serious about rules and procedures."
"You say that as if it's a bad thing," I point out.
"In his case, it kinda is," xe says. "He really really doesn't like being contradicted. He's… well, he's mean, and vengeful. So, please, try to avoid arguments with those two. The mage lives off arguments, and the LT will try to make your life a nightmare."
"I thought that was the standard with officers," I say, gritting my teeth at the thought of the General' Orner's smug face.
Kaelich doesn't answer, and xe leads me through what looks like a flimsy service door - this base has a real security problem, every door in the inner base should be able to lock and resist magical assault. We get into a hallway with six color-coded doors - one for each team in the base. Ours is blue.
The corporal swipes his wrist on the door's sensor, it flashes green as it recognizes his biochip, and it slides open. The room is way too big, with four rickety bunk beds, even if there's only three of us - the room was probably meant for a full squad, two teams. At least this way we won't have to share.
"Hey, Sorivel. Say welcome to our new blademaster!" Kaelich says, waving at the only person in the room, a lanky young man curled up under way too many covers. Dozens of talismans hang above his bed, like windchimes. The book, the sextant, the scope - the signs of the Officers.
He turns to us, opening one bleary eye, and our Stemlinks make contact.
—------------------------- NAME: Sorivel Erusiani AGE: 21 GENDER: M OCCUPATION: Thaumological Control Agent – private rank, drone specialist SPIRITUALITY: Student of the Book of the Officers INTERESTS: Theology, history BIO: "So much must be forgotten, but one thing must be remembered, above all others: reach not into the Else. Seek not the way of magic. Only this way humanity may flourish" – Navigator's book, 15:1 —----------------------
"Heavenly Captain," he says, groggy with sleep, "can't we wait for… oh, wait, she's Zelenian!"
He pokes his head out to get a clearer look at me, and I take the opportunity to do the same with him. From his dark brown skin, he's Zelenian too, even if he's probably from the east coast, given the accent and kinky black hair. He has Landfall-style face tattoos, though. "That's the first good news I got in ten years," he says, before crawling back under the duvet. "Look, we'll chat properly tomorrow. Let me sleep now."
Kaelich gives me an apologetic smile and shrugs.
My heart rises a bit. Of course, a good agent shouldn't care about nationality. But in this freezing, remote place, it's good to meet someone from home - or almost so. Religious nut or not.
Beside this pleasant surprise, everything else doesn't look promising.
The bunk room is shabby, to an extent they'd never have been tolerated at Intelligence School. Part of it is that the building is old and in need of repair - there are water spots in the ceiling, the bed frames look much older than me, and there are actual cracks in the wall.
But not all of it is the building's fault. Clothes are strewn all over the floor, it smells like socks, and there's even half-eaten food on the nightstands.
And while some personalization is accepted, they went way over the top. Sorivel's bed, beside the ridiculous number of talismans, is surrounded with handwritten quotes from the Book of the Officers, and there's a small altar in the room's corner.
Someone even hung posters of scantily-clad models of various genders next to their bunk. Beside being vulgar, I had hoped I left that kind of juvenile attitude behind when I left basic training.
"You can take the one above mine, or any of the others," Kaelich says, pointing to xir bed. Of course it's the one with the posters, dispelling my thin hope it belonged to a previous tenant.
I try to keep a neutral expression, remembering my Officer School roommate, Alysia, who used to say shut up, grandma when I made reasonable complaints. But something must betray me, because Kaelich coughs and xir face reddens.
"Look, I just like, uh, artistic photography," xe says.
"Liessss," Sorivel says from the bunk, his voice drowsy. "Little Kael is a sinner, and a pig. Wait to see xem drunk."
I can't help but laugh. Perfect, I'm in a frozen star-forgotten city where no one expects me to do anything meaningful, the base is crumbling, and my teammates are middle-graders. I'm so looking forward to the next few years.
***
I take a quick shower to finally be rid of the cold and the snow. Like the rest of the base, the bathroom is old, moldy, and since we're in fucking Karesia, the shower stalls give no privacy. Lady of Light, do these people have no shame? Fortunately, at this time of the night there's no one around.
I get back to our room, pick one of the empty beds, and climb into the upper bunk - the lower one is free, but I prefer the upper, a habit from all the pranks in basic training.
I'm exhausted and so incredibly annoyed. Everything grates me so much. How easily General Orner got me out of Intelligence School. How cold this place is, how much I hate the cold. How childish and unprofessional the Corporal is - and the fact I can't even hate xem, because xe's been objectively kind to me, and is willing to pull xir own weight and put in real effort. And I can't even sink into quiet despair, because I can't be the one who lets down the team.
And even if the room is warm and the sheets I take from a locker are clean - despite a faint mold smell - everything feels so unfamiliar. The noises from the Intelligence School campus are missing, even the bed creaks differently, and the wind howls outside the windows making such a noise like I've never heard in my life.
I close my eyes, ease my breathing, and focus on home. I'm finally drifting to sleep when a red Stemlink alert pops into my view.
That immediately gets my attention – I put up serious Do Not Disturb filters when I go to sleep. Only a high emergency level, or something from the Agency, should get a notification.
SECURE COMMUNICATION REQUEST ORIGIN: Agency for Thaumological Control, Intelligence Division SIGNATURE: Agent Quicksilver ACCEPT? Y\N
Ok, this is very, very strange. A secure communication is usually pre-arranged, and agents are supposed to sign requests by name and rank – clearly not the case here.
I focus on the command line and subvocalize a message.
SYSTEM QUERY: CHECK CERTIFICATE A split second later, I get my answer. CERTIFICATE VALID. VERIFIED BY: AGENCY FOR THAUMOLOGICAL CONTROL.
Flat-out falsification is basically impossible, so someone is calling me from Intelligence – someone with the privileges to request a secure channel. General Orner? But why would he? He's petty, but not to the point of calling just to gloat.
I look at accept and subvocalize yes.
Lines of text flash over my vision – a sequence of integrity and consistency checks. While it could well be just some old instructor coming to gloat at my fall, I feel a buzz of anticipation. Like Alysia used to say, I love the cloak and dagger shit. CHANNEL READY – TEXT ONLY
QUICKSILVER: Good evening, private Cerical. Are you in a convenient position to communicate without attracting attention? CERICAL: Yes, I'm in bed. Who am I talking to? QUICKSILVER: You can call me Quicksilver. Information security is an issue. CERICAL: I can't discuss anything substantial without knowledge and proof of my counterpart's identity. That's basic infosec. QUICKSILVER: A true Intelligence officer, disgraced or not. But consider this: if I can open this channel, I must have access to ThauConInt network, at captain rank or higher. You'll be able to cryptographically check, in the future, that I'm always the same person. How does my name matter?
Oh, this is getting interesting.
CERICAL: Lawful orders and communications must demonstrably follow the command chain. No substantive communication about Agency business can happen outside the official channels. QUICKSILVER: That's the Agency policy, yeah. How well did that work out for you?
I pause for a moment. That's painfully on point. But also looks more and more like bait to get me dishonorably discharged.
CERICAL: My personal career issues aren't relevant. I'm still a member of the Agency and won't act against its regulations. Identify yourself, or I'll terminate the conversation. QUICKSILVER: Do you honestly think Intelligence works like that? What do they teach you kids, these days? Ever heard of informants? CERICAL: Informants are external to the agency. QUICKSILVER: Really? And here I thought you were a smart one. Do you think we trust the fucking ThauCon bulletin to know what's going on inside our own house?
I pause, my cheeks turning red. Well, of course Intelligence has informants inside the Agency, even if they don't advertise that.
Of course, I always pictured myself only on the handler side of a handler-informant relationship.
CERICAL: Let's say I'm willing to listen, even if I'm not going to give you any kind of information yet. How do you know me, and what do you want from me?
I have a pretty good idea about what they want – someone up there in Intelligence wants a mole, and they think I look the part. Which could be an amazing opportunity, and also a great way to end up charged with treason.
If I keep talking, there's not much I can do to protect myself from the latter case – but I'll have them spell their request outright, so if it is a ploy from the Colonel, he'll be guilty of entrapment at least.
QUICKSILVER: You wrote an interesting essay. And you're in an interesting place. CERICAL: As you surely know, the essay wasn't well received. QUICKSILVER: Not by General Orner, no. And Intelligence School is full of his cronies. Bureaucrats who care more about filing nice reports for the Assembly than they do about mending the sky.
They'll waste our manpower and resources in pointless battles that keep politicians happy, and let the magical factions grow fat with power. They'll waste our most talented recruits because they won't kiss their ass and repeat their bullshit.
But we are different.
I shiver. I'm getting confident this isn't the General, or one of his men – he's not self-aware enough to insult himself this convincingly. This could be big.
CERICAL: Who's this we? QUICKSILVER: Some members of the Agency, and Intelligence in particular, who think our approach is failing. That we need a new, bold strategy, to truly fight the magical organizations, as we once did. Even if it's not what the old guard, and the public, want to hear. Judging from your essay, we think you may share our goal.
I take a deep breath, and then compose the line I can already see quoted in my prosecution papers.
CERICAL: And what do you want from me? I'm loyal to the Agency, whatever I think about its policies. QUICKSILVER: We'd have no use for a traitor anyway. We need loyal agents. Just ones who can look beyond their day-do-day work, and help us win the war.
You surely know your career is in a bad patch. We can't help you openly, yet. But a career in Intelligence is best started from the shadows.
My heart quickens. Every word they say is so close to my own thoughts – which is exactly how you hook a target.
But if they were just lying to get me onboard, why not offer to get me back in Intelligence School? It's what I'd like the most, and it would be an easy guess. Or do they know I'd think that and be suspicious and…
Guessing games are useless. You should never rely on outsmarting your counterpart.
CERICAL: How do I know any part of what you say is true?
A pause.
QUICKSILVER: You'll have to believe me, at first. But we can help each other along the way. We won't ask you to do anything illegal.
And we can use our resources and contacts to help you in your day-to-day duties, thus also proving that we're really a part of the Agency. Without doing anything irregular or illegal, on either side.
Nothing irregular, except the channel itself.
But this is how Intelligence works, after all. What use is a spy who isn't willing to use covert channels?
CERICAL: Hypothetically, what would you ask of me? QUICKSILVER: Reports. Initially, reports about the condition of the base you're in and its personnel. CERICAL: If you work in Intelligence, that's easily available information. QUICKSILVER: So why would I ask for it? Show your work.
I feel a flicker of annoyance – but half of it is directed at myself, for having asked a stupid question.
CERICAL: You don't trust the official data. QUICKSILVER: That kind of data is always unreliable by the time it trickles up. There's corruption in our Agency, and complacency. Local commanders paint a rosy picture, regional command is happy to believe them, inspectors pocket everyone's money, politicians look at our paper strength and nod happily.
Works great for everyone. Until we need a quad-copter, or silver dust, or a suppressor, and it isn't there. Or we plan a major operation, and half the personnel is missing, the other half untrained. And then they'll blame misfortune, or the local commanders, and change nothing. CERICAL: I've only just arrived here, but the base shows a… disturbing level of disrepair. And I was assigned to an unusually young, entirely inexperienced corporal. I assumed it was because of the unofficially punitive nature of this posting. QUICKSILVER: The rot is more widespread than you think. Especially where Demonfalls are rare, and it's easy to get by with minimal operational capabilities. But demons aren't our only enemies, and we can't afford gutting our provincial garrisons to feed the corruption machine.
The first thing we need is reliable data, directly from the site. We only ask you this – check the equipment, the facilities, the personnel, and report to us.
I take a deep breath. This could be a trap. But… It's a really mild request. Even if it's not through regular channels, producing an inventory report would hardly count as high treason.
And anyway, what else can I do? I do believe our Agency has grown apathetic and complacent. I can't just let myself gather dust in a corner, if I have the tiniest chance to work toward making a real change.
CERICAL: While I still have reservations about this channel, I don't see how a preparedness report could possibly hurt the Agency. If you're an enemy, with that level of network permits you have access to far more sensitive information anyway. I will work on it.
"The Path of Lies shall not be described in this text, beside the narrow scope of the knowledge required to effectively counter it. That is because together with the Path of Mind, it is forbidden by law, even for Council Mages.
This might be surprising, given that the immensely destructive Path of Ruin can be legally pursued. But the reason for this ban is the subtlety of those Paths. A rogue Ruin-mage can cause immense damage, but they'd be immediately identified and neutralized by loyal Council members.
A Liar, or a Telepath, could work subtle subversions over the years, before they are discovered. If the Council used, for any purpose, mind-altering powers, the mere possibility of misuse would quickly erode the vital trust it built with the Alliance's institutions and population."
Introduction to Thaumological Manipulation
"So, now you know the basics of being a criminal," Daravoi says, "plus, uh, a couple of things normal people know even if they aren't criminals."
I throw my hands up. "How should I have known that you're not supposed to start eating food at the supermarket before you pay for it. I always did that."
And people always looked at me in confusion at the store, now that I think of it, but they often do that anyway.
"I honestly can't tell if that's because you're rich, because you're weird, or because you're fucking with me," Daravoi says. "Anyway, what about doing some magic?"
"Finally!" I say. "Let's go to the ice-skating rink and make a Lie so everyone sees sharks moving under the ice. I've always wanted to try that."
Daravoi looks at me, exasperated. He's so patient, I can't help trying to get under his skin. "What would be the point of - no, wait don't tell me," he says, with a sigh. "Once again, stop using your magic for stupid shit. Unmaker's tits, you'll draw the Agency's attention. I meant that we should practice some useful magic. You could show me what you can do, with that book of yours."
"But wouldn't that attract ThauCon?" I ask.
"We'll go to Lake Vkar," he says. "ThauCon magic detectors work well only at short range, so they keep them mainly in cities. You can get away with more magic in the wilderness. That's one of the few things I know for sure. "
"But I hate the wilderness," I say. "And it's cold as fuck. Can't we go to some wilderness with indoor heating? Also, how can we move out of the city without ID chips?"
He rolls his eyes. "Shut up and come with me. You're such a rich kid. And a city kid, too. Black Liar fuck me, you're just the worst."
Daravoi was shy and apologetic with me at first. Like most people, he started insulting me pretty soon - he's known me for a week, and is already well-versed in my many flaws.
We walk to the vac-train station, but instead of the usual platforms for passenger trains, we take a passage I've never used before, and arrive at the cargo bay/loading bays of the station. It's mostly underground, all drab concrete corridors, swarming with forklifts loaded with containers, plus creepy spider-like drones which carry cargo boxes on their backs. It's busy enough that no one gives us a second glance.
"We hide with the cargo?" I ask. It sounds dirty and uncomfortable, but also exciting.
"You don't have to commit every crime just to be sure, you know," he answers. "Transport companies are always short on haulers, because the pay is shit. So they hire a ton of illegals, and don't scan chips. We help load the wagons, we ride with the cargo, no one asks questions."
"You mean we should work?" I say. "The only lifting I ever did in my life was shoplifting."
He sighs. "Exiled's ass, I'm starting to hope ThauCon gets you. Come, at least pretend to help me lift some crates."
Soon, he has a quick conversation, in Kalestran, with a burly man who's unloading crates from pallets. He has a strange tattoo on his cheek, looking like a snarl of snakes - Daravoi has one like that on his arm.
Daravoi always looks extra gloomy when he talks Kalestran. Probably because the language sounds like munching gravel.
The man looks at me, skeptical, and I smile. He looks even more skeptical, but Daravoi gives him a long speech, and finally the big man shrugs, then points at the pile of crates he's unloading from a container.
After a couple hours of grueling work, where I tug vaguely at crates and Daravoi actually pushes them into the cargo wagon, we get our ride to Lake Vkar - ten boring minutes sitting on a bunch of boring metal crates. The carriage doesn't even have windows. Is there a place where you can review illegal activities? I'd give one star to hitching a ride on a vac-train.
Finally, we reach Lake Vkar. We don't even get to see the lake: it's completely frozen over, and covered in snow, so it just looks like a boring, white plain surrounded by a spruce forest. It's supposed to be beautiful, if you, I don't know, like cold and snow, and think the cold and snow in the city are somehow insufficient.
In any case, it's full of families pretending they enjoy spending time together in the cold, and we have to walk under the trees for ages before Daravoi is happy we're far enough from other people to do some magic. Then we leave the lake's bank, and trudge through the snow and spruce trees until we are a few hundred meters inland.
We climb atop a rock jutting out from the snow. I'm wearing the warmest clothes I could steal, but still, at one point I sank into the snow to my chest, and now I'm drenched, freezing and miserable.
"Well, hope you can do some magic to dry us," I say.
"Come on, it's not even cold," Daravoi says, smiling as if he were loving the trip. He's definitely faking it just to annoy me though. "And this place is beautiful! Relax! Also, I can set stuff on fire, but don't have much control, so I wouldn't try drying us. Can't you do it?"
"I practice the Path of Lies," I say. "I could make my clothes feel dry and warm. But I don't think it's a great idea, making myself ignore the cold."
"You can only do illusions?" He sounds surprised. "I mean, you're really good at that. But I didn't think magic was that specific?"
"They're not just illusions. And yeah, I can do other stuff. It's more difficult, though."
He looks at me, expectant, and I feel a weird kind of pressure. Usually, people don't expect much from me - I've been a consistent disappointment to parents, siblings and teachers, after all. I don't like people expecting anything from me, and my instinct is to tell him I changed my mind, I'm not in the mood for magic.
But we have an agreement. He did teach me some useful street wisdom already. I didn't take the council book with me, so I can't tell him to study by himself.
"Let's see if I can make some heat," I say. "I use that to warm my hidey-hole in the subway. But I can't keep it up for long, yet."
I close my eyes, and when I open them again, I look into the Else, a vast ocean of power and possibilities just beneath reality.
I still see the real world - the trees, the snow, the lake - but it seems flat, unimportant, colorless, just a layer floating over the bright azure ocean.
In the Else, Daravoi shines, a swirling fractal of images and color in a vaguely human shape - all people look like that. But his eyes look like purple glass, real and in sharp focus among the chaos. That means he's looking in the Else, too.
The Else is possibilities, the Else is realities that could be. An endlessly branching tree. If I look at Daravoi for a while, I see possibilities blooming from him like flowers - a version of him looks healthier and smiles a big smile, one is gaunt and angry, one is scared, has a silver tattoo on each cheek, proclaiming mage, criminal.
The Else is made of beautiful lies. Beauty beyond anything I've ever seen or even dreamed in the real world, complexity so wonderful that the idea of getting silver tattoos and living without magic seems unthinkable, I feel like crying only at the thought.
But the Else is also power, the raw power of creation, heat and light so terrible, they could burn the physical world to a cinder.
"Magic," I say, trying not to sound like I'm quoting from a book while I quote from a book, "fundamentally comes in three steps. The first is Reaching. Uhm, if you don't count Focusing. But that doesn't count, I think, that's just the part where you look into the Else. The cool stuff begins with Reaching - the act of breaking the Veil."
With my fingers, I cut through the Veil - it resists, hard and smooth like glass, but if I push at just the right angle, something shatters, and then it's like moving my fingers through a thick, burning fluid.
"Once you reach into the Else, you do the Summoning. This is where you take something - power, possibilities, or matter - from the Else, and take it Here. This is where you give magic shape, and with shape, purpose."
I draw from the raw power of the Else, and a string of burning, sky-blue fire dances between my fingers. With my hand and my will, I mold it into the shape I saw while reading the book, and I start to understand why it should be like that- it's like knotting a string of power so it forms a loop.
"Finally, you have three possibilities. You can take the Essence from the Else and use it for some immediate effect, like making fire or light or Else-Glass - that's called Casting. If you want an ongoing effect, like my Lies, you need to keep the connection to the Else open, while you use the magic - that's Channeling. It's supposed to be more difficult, but honestly, this is the one I can do by instinct, while I still struggle with Casting."
"So, when you make a light, for example," Daravoi asks, "you're Channeling?"
I wiggle a finger. "I was getting to that! You're spoiling my lecture! Anyway, no, that's not channeling. Like, I could channel a light, but there's no need to keep the tear in the Veil open. What I do is… sort of tie the spell to the Here. The book had fancier words for it, but that's the gist. It's called the Binding - a bound spell will endure in the Here, still subject to your will, but without needing you to reach into the Else. I think I should be able to Bind a Lie too, so I don't have to actively keep it up, but the stupid book doesn't cover Lies, so I'm not sure, and I haven't managed it yet."
I pull back from the Else, fighting a split-second reluctance, like waking up from a pleasant dream. Blue light and heat spew from the rock where I traced the pattern with a finger. It's not really fire - it looks like spirals of blue light breaking into more and more spirals, but it shifts and flickers like fire. And it's hot, like true fire.
It lasts only a few seconds before the knot starts coming loose, the heat dims and fades, the light stops with a last bright flash. A fractal pattern of spirals is etched on the stone, sizzling with heat.
"Ok, that sucked," I say, "If I draw a pattern to use as a reference I can sustain it longer, but…"
"That was amazing!" Daravoi says, clapping his hands. His eyes are wide, he looks like someone who just witnessed a miracle. "How could you… attach it to the stone? That was the Binding, right? Look, the only thing I can do is this," he says, and purple fire engulfs his outreached hand.
I yelp and flinch back from the flames - I barely manage not to fall from the boulder. Daravoi's Elsefire looks much more similar to true fire, compared to mine - his flames are just a little too sharp and glassy-looking.
"Sorry," he says, sheepish, "I should have warned you."
His flames disappear immediately.
"Stop apologizing when I'm an idiot," I say, "I just did the same thing, it's just that… look, it's the first time that I've seen magic that is not my own, at least this close."
He looks surprised - he didn't give me details, but I know that he has met another mage, at some point.
"Anyway," I say, "You're better than me at summoning Elsefire. You didn't even have to close your eyes. There are tricks to bind it to an object, you need to find, or make, an Anchor - I'll show you."
He nods, very serious. I'm ill at ease again - people aren't supposed to take me seriously. But I can hardly back down now, so I start telling him about the Veil, and the Paths, and how to tie the Else in a knot to bind magic to an Anchor.
***
While I teach Daravoi magic, he keeps his part of our agreement, and he gives me a crash course on petty crime.
So, three days after our first trip to the lake, it's time for a test. Daravoi walks out from an electronics store, looking gloomy as ever. Our eyes meet, but he ignores me until I follow him into a side alley.
"The cashier kept looking at me like I was some kind of thief," he says, deadpan. I really can't tell if he's joking.
"Some people are just so suspicious," I offer. "They also look at me like I'm insane!"
He cracks a smile.
"In your case, they're right," he says. "In my case, they're right too, but it's an accident, they're suspicious because they're racist."
"So, you're saying racism works," I point out. "Now, can I steal their shit thanks to my pasty complexion and friendly smile?"
"Please don't smile that much," Dara says, "it's creepy and draws attention. Anyway, yeah, they don't scan IDs. They have cameras and an anti-shoplifting scanner, but it's the cheap kind, the one that just bleeps."
"Great!" I say, already feeling the rush of excitement. "Showtime!"
Before I can go, though, Daravoi grabs my sleeve. "Wait," he says. I jerk my arm away out of reflex - I hate when people touch me - but I squash my annoyance. Daravoi is way too touchy-feely, but this time he was only trying to get my attention.
"What?" I ask. "I've already changed my face, don't you see?"
By adapting the permanent-light spell, I finally managed to bind a Lie that makes me look a little different - just a little, because if I try big changes, I lose track of them and my face looks like it's melting. So I made my skin ruddier, my eyes green and my nose flatter. Most people wouldn't recognize me, I think.
"Yeah, you're getting good with that," Dara says, "but you're still you. So, say the rules."
I groan. "Bo-ring. But ok, ok, when we're doing the criminal stuff, you're boss. So, rule one: don't touch anything unless I'm going to steal it. Rule two: change targets and tactics - that one I had figured out on my own. Rule three: don't be greedy. Rule four: be boring as fuck."
Daravoi rolls his eyes. "Rule four is don't draw attention, and you suck at that," he says. "But you got them mostly right, finally. Please keep them in mind, for reals, ok? We must keep a low profile. Ideally, our mark doesn't even realize they've been robbed. Let alone with magic."
"I'll behave," I promise. "I won't even suggest making a Lie where an octopus with a jetpack barges in and steals phones. Even if that would definitely get everyone's attention off me!"
"I think even you realize this is stupid," Daravoi grumbles. Then he cocks his head. "Could you make that Lie, though? It sounds hard. No, wait, don't try. We'll test it at the lake."
I make an exaggerated sigh. "But it's not fun without a public!" There's so much cool stuff I could do with my magic, if I didn't have to worry about ThauCon.
"Just go and steal some phones," Daravoi says. "And be careful."
I make a military salute, turn my back to Daravoi and walk to the shop. It's not the flashy kind of store you can find in the city center, but those have real security and ID scanners. This one's a small, cramped room which makes most of its money with repairs and selling second-hand electronics. I don't think I ever bought any tech in a physical store, we had everything delivered, and I was really surprised to find out you can repair your phone when it breaks, instead of buying a new one. Poor people are smart!
My heart hammers in my chest as I walk into the shop. There's a sense of freedom in being someone else which I never felt before discovering my powers. And the risk of getting caught makes everything so intense, it turns the world brighter, more real - almost like the Else.
The middle-aged woman behind the counter gives me a quick, disinterested glance as I walk in, then she gets back to disassembling a spider-like drone. She has intricate tattoos, black against white skin, Vorokan style. They state female, in a group marriage, writer, and something flowery that might be poet. Woah, I'm robbing such an interesting person!
I scan the messy shelves of used electronics, trying to decide what I should steal. I thought phones would be the obvious choice - they're cheap, there are a lot of them, and they don't take much space. But Dara taught me that fences give you better money for devices that can work entirely offline - some phones are very difficult to recondition. He knows which brands to steal, but I never remember them.
Drones are great, but too large for my shoulder bag - apparently, large bags put shopkeepers on edge. Wearables? There's a chameleon cloak, locked in a cupboard, and I always wanted one for myself, but my moms said it was a waste of money which would only give me new ways to be annoying. I could… no, rule three. Don't be greedy. That's the single most expensive item in the shop, they'd definitely notice if I stole it.
Sadly, the solution is obvious, and boring: there's a shelf full of tablets, secured in place by magnetic locks. Most look new, a few have minor scuffs or dead pixels. There's a Lixis brand with a two-hundred credits price tag - that will do.
"Can I have a look at the Lixis-45 tablet?" I ask.
"If you must," the woman says, unenthusiastic, "but Lixis makes overpriced shit. You could get the same specifics for half the money, with any of the new taerish brands. And it would probably last you longer."
I shrug. "I like Lixis."
Finally, she looks up from her drone, and gives me a long, judgemental stare. "Of course you would."
She presses her finger on the lock, and it snaps open, allowing me to take the tablet.
I could make a Lie where I put back whatever I stole, it usually works. But this tablet was in too visible a position, the shopkeeper would notice as soon as the Lie ends. Also, she could try to re-close the lock, and that would be awkward, since my Lies aren't solid to the touch.
I open a few random apps and pretend to consider the tablet for a while, then I nod.
"It's sweet, I'll take it," I say. "Two hundred, right?"
"You're mostly paying for the Lixis logo," she mumbles, then looks at me, intently - right, she probably expects me to pay via StemLink.
"No implants, sorry," I say. What will mages do, if implants become so widespread everyone uses them, in the next decades? I'd better steal a ton of money before that happens.
"You should get some, you're young," the woman reproaches me. "Scan your phone, or your chip."
I take my fake, dead phone - I have a working one now, but Daravoi said I should never take it to the crime scene - and I Reach into the Else. Just a little bit, since I need a very small Lie. A bit of blue creeps into my vision, and the world starts splitting in a kaleidoscope of possibilities - but I grasp a simple, specific one, where I brought my working phone with me. I Channel a trickle of power to keep the Lie up, while I pretend to open a payment app.
Now the difficult part. I put my phone next to her scanner. My Lies don't fool machines - even if I feel I could crack that, given time. But for today, I don't need to. I reach again into the Else, following the same line of possibility I've been channeling. I have a working phone, and of course I have the cash. So, her scanner connects, makes a satisfying bleep, and its screen flashes green, saying payment confirmed - 200 C.
The woman looks at it and nods.
Not for the first time, I wonder how my Lies work, exactly. At first I thought Lies were like tricks of the light I can conjure.
But I didn't know what exactly the screen was supposed to show, and yet it convinced the shopkeeper. Did her own mind provide the information? Or do I take it from the possible future itself? I wish my stupid council book gave some more…
"Thank you for… are you ok?" The shopkeeper asks, sounding concerned. "Your eyes are…"
She stops, frowning. Oh, fuck - the whole creepy-glowing-eyes thing. I bound a Lie to my own eyes, to cover the glow, but I got distracted and it slipped.
I stop channeling, and leave the Else in a hurry. I flash her a big smile.
"My eyes are what? Amazing?" I ask. Being randomly flirty works great to confuse people - except when they flirt back, that's awkward and I don't know what to do. But the woman just laughs.
"What else could I expect from a Lixis fan," she says, "never mind, it must have been a reflection. Now shoo, kid. I've work to do."
She gets back to disassembling her spider-like drone, apparently forgetting about me.
My heart beats frantically and my knees feel weak - I was this close to being caught. But my hands are steady enough when I take the tablet and put it in my bag. Rule four - be boring. Resist the urge to make some joke as I leave. Don't run, just walk out.
I step outside, and at that very moment, I remember Daravoi's warning - there's an old anti-shoplifting scanner. Fuck, I must make a Lie where it doesn't bleep, or -
Wait. I see it now, it's a plastic frame before the door. I've already stepped through it with my stolen tablet. Why didn't it sound? According to Dara, for most electronics, the same app that processes payments de-activates anti-shoplift tracking. I didn't actually pay, though, I just moved a bricked phone by the scanner, and made a Lie.
I linger a bit on the doorway, ready to run, or to reach for the Else, but nothing happens. So, I simply walk away with my stolen goods.
Well, I'm not going to complain. Maybe the shop doesn't properly track the second-hand devices it re-sells. Or maybe, my Lies are more amazing than I thought. I really wish I could ask someone about my magic.
***
Half an hour later, Daravoi and I are sitting in a cramped, oily fast food restaurant at a shopping mall. It's noisy and full of people, but it's blessedly warm, and loud enough that we can discuss our criminal career in public without worrying.
Daravoi barely talks, so I must provide most of the conversation. But still, after a month spent mostly by myself, I'm enjoying his companionship to a frankly pathetic degree. Eating my fried cicadas and sipping tea, I feel like I could burst with joy. I'm not going to starve, I'm not going to freeze, I'm a mage, and I can do whatever I want.
No school, no moms, no worrying about my future.
"You say we must be careful to change targets and modus operandi," I say. "What if we changed city? We could go somewhere warm! I've never been to the Riverlands!"
Dara looks at me, frowning.
"You haven't even been to Landfall? Weren't you super-rich?"
I shrug. "My family doesn't like traveling. Well, except for big brother, but…"
I feel a stab of anxiety through my chest as I mention my brother. I didn't even talk to him before running from home. Time to change topic.
"Anyway, should we move?" I ask. "I used magic a lot here in Rakavdon!"
Daravoi looks down at his own portion of fried cicadas. He seems gloomier than usual. "We will. At some point," he says. "But it's not easy, you know. We'll need fake IDs to take a vac-train. Those cost a lot."
I shrug. "We're making tons of money. Also, I can make some rich guy think we're their friends, or their children's, and hitch a ride on their helicopter.
Daravoi shakes his head. "Moving cities with a private helicopter," he says. "Unmaker's tits, you're the most spoiled street thief ever. Beside that… well, really, if we're in a pinch, it could be a good plan. But… you know that's disturbing as shit, right? Like, it's… a really bad thing."
He winces as he says it, as if fearing my reaction. Which really confuses me.
"Bad? I mean, I'm not even sure it's a crime," I shrug. "We wouldn't take anything from them. Well, except some fuel. Hydrogen's cheap, though."
Daravoi's jaw clenches. He does that when he's frustrated. "No, not that," he says. "The pretending-you're-a-friend thing. I understand you did it before, when you had to make people pay for you. Now, maybe…don't? Except in an emergency."
"I…" I'm taken aback, and feel suddenly defensive, so I give him my brightest smile. "I'm amazed! While I filched a trivial tablet, you were clearly busy! Where did you steal that moral compass from? Because sure as Earth is fallen, you didn't have it in the last week! You know, when you taught me shoplifting, in return for crimes against existence!"
Daravoi stammers and turns a little red. But he looks me in the eyes, and suddenly I'm the one feeling embarrassed.
"Look, I'm not going to tell you what to do," Dara says, his tone serious now. "But you know fucking around with people's minds is not like shoplifting. What would you feel if I… no, what would you do if you were having lunch with a friend, and had a great time, and suddenly they walked away, and you realized they were a stranger you never met before?"
My brain composes the snarky reply - oh, I know that, I thought I was having fun with a friend, and suddenly I realized he was here to judge me and complain about my poor morals!
But as it happens with annoying frequency when I try to defend myself, I hear my sister's voice, saying at least stop a second and think, before you open that stupid mouth of yours. Especially if you're going to say something horrible.
I take a deep breath, and think how I'd feel if Daravoi - maybe not yet a friend, but the one person I feel close to, right now - walked away, and I suddenly realized I had never met him before today, and it was all a Lie, a ploy to steal my book on magic.
It's… more disturbing than I expected.
"It doesn't hurt anyone," I mutter, feeling my ears going red. But maybe Daravoi has a point, if I feel the need to defend myself. "I don't hurt people!"
He sighs, rubbing his eyes.
"Look," he says. "As you say, I'm no priest, and it's not like I can tell you what's right or wrong. But if you keep doing that shit… look, Kore. I like spending time with you. You helped me a lot, and while you're weird as fuck, you're fun. But how can I know if I want to stick with you because I genuinely like you, or because you make me like you?"
I open my mouth in dismay, but the worst part is - the thought did cross my mind. That I could make people like me. Not just for the time needed to buy me dinner, but for as long as I want.
"I wouldn't do that," I say, and I mean it - at least, I mean it now. "Like, I'm not sure I could do it, honestly, my Lies fade with time - but it doesn't matter. I wouldn't force you to like me."
"And why is that?" Daravoi asks, his tone calm. "As you said, it doesn't hurt anyone."
"Because it's wrong! It would be forcing them, it would…" I stop, realizing that was Daravoi's point all along.
I'm hit by the memory of a Sim I used to like as a child. It was set during the Thaumocracy, following a hero who fought his nemesis, Prince Therones. Prince Therones was charming and well-spoken, but as the hero exposed his cruelty, his courtiers started to question him. So he forced them to like and trust him. I remember watching in horror the scenes with the Hollow Court, where the prince's subjects would repeat we trust Therones, we love Therones, we'd give our life to Therones, with glazed eyes and empty smiles.
Ok. Maybe I hadn't thought this through. I don't keep a high bar for my own behavior, but I should be able to clear 'don't act like a literal supervillain'.
Still, a nasty part of me searches for a retort, it wants to make him feel as bad as I do. But piling bad behavior over bad behavior never helps - Big Sis told me that so many times.
So, what am I supposed to say?
My other sibling's advice comes to mind. If you did fuck up, and can't hide it, you might as well own it. Maybe cry a bit, too. People love that, you'll have them in bed in no time.
"I… I'm sorry," I say, and I mean it. I won't cry, though, I'm not interested in bedding Daravoi, and my brother is his own brand of horrible. "It was so strange, discovering these powers, and I didn't know how to get by and… look, I didn't think much about what my magic does to my targets. My… victims."
It's hard to force the word out. I mean, I'm supposed to be weird and harmless, no one was ever scared of me in my life!
But the power to bend minds, and maybe reality itself, changed that.
"I won't use my powers on you," I say. "I promise. Well, not the mind-bending part. I still mean to try making a magical disguise for you. And maybe try to make you look like a giant penguin, I still want to… well, that's beside the point. Anyway, I won't influence your mind. And while I'll totally use my magic to steal shit, I'll keep to Lies like I've already paid or I didn't take anything. That's… that's better, right?"
I can tell Daravoi relaxes a fraction - he was really worried. Did he plan this talk in advance?
"Yeah, that's fine," he says. "I mean, we have to do some crimes. And… look, I believe you. I hope I'm not an idiot for it. But I trust you won't mess with my mind."
It's strangely touching - for the first time in my life, I have some power over people, disturbing as that is. And Daravoi thinks he can trust me with it.
He's probably wrong. But I vow to myself I'll get this right, at least. I won't use magic to influence him, even in minor ways. Rule five: don't be a creepy, mind-bending supervillain. To conclude, here's Daravoi's portrait!
"Some claim magic is just a tool which can be used for good or for evil.
But if it is a tool, it's one designed for ruin.
What can magic achieve? Magic can't heal, can't feed people, can't build anything lasting.
What magic does is to kill, destroy and manipulate.
At those tasks, it is terribly effective: metal and stone will break like paper in front of Elsefire. Only the strongest explosive can hurt a disincarnated mage. A loving parent will kill their child without a moment of pause, if forced by a mind-mage.
No human soldier could ever stand up to a mage, if not for the one edge humanity was given against the Dark Power: silver."
ThauCon Handbook, introduction
I slide my wrist by the armory door, and it opens with a horrible screech. There's no biometric scan, as required by operational guidelines.
Inside is a damp, dusty room full of half-empty racks of equipment.
We don't come here often – equipment for agents in active service is stored in lockers in the changing rooms. But the armory should still be fully stocked, with special equipment and surplus weapons. ThauCon doctrine requires that in an emergency, reservists are recalled to the base, doubling its complement of agents, and we should keep the gear to equip them all.
COMPOSE NOTE - Armory situation:
Security is noncompliant with regulations, and the facility itself is ill-maintained. Of 24 required Vengeance-18 rifles, only 12 are in stock. Even those aren't properly stocked - four of the cases have damaged seals, and the guns inside exhibit signs of rust.
- All 24 required M4-Guardian pistols are accounted for, but they appear very old and are kept in simple, non-standard plastic boxes, without waterproof sealing and identity locks. In contrast with regulations, there's no public maintenance log.
- 112 out of 130 20-gram silver ammunition canisters are present and properly sealed. Surprisingly at this point, all the 150 listed canisters of 10-gram ammunition are accounted for.
- Of the 12 expected suits of combat armor, 10 are present, but they have clearly been cannibalized for parts, and none are combat ready. This is especially concerning: there are no ready-to-use combat armor suits in this base, except those currently assigned to agents.
- 150 out of 200 theta grenades are in stock. They appear functional, but contrary to regulation, the rack is passive and doesn't have the capability to perform diagnostic checks. There's no equipment to check the functionality of theta grenades in the whole base. This is an immediate operational concern, since theta grenades are notoriously prone to failure and the whole stock should be tested monthly.
- Of the 48 listed silver blades, only 17 are present, most of them 6 inch personal combat knives of the Shivar pattern, which has been abandoned because of its poor performance.
- There's no sniper rifle, and replacement parts are available only for the old M2-Supremacy rifle. While Rakavdon Base has no dedicated sniper, two riflemen have sniper certification and use M4 sniper rifles in their kit.
- Overall, the amount of missing items far exceeds the commonly expected deviation from nominal. It should be noted that Rakavdon base has no dedicated stock officer, and the duty is ambiguously 'shared between NCOs', according to the Captain. Remarkably, my team's corporal was entirely unaware of the fact.
Beside suggesting serious corruption and/or diversion of funds, the poor state of the armory is a major preparedness problem. In an emergency, Rakavdon base would be unable to equip reservists, and would struggle to keep its active agents fully equipped in any extended operation.
I sigh. This report is getting monotonous and depressing. Nothing in this base works as it should. While the equipment for active-duty agents is decently maintained, literally everything else is falling to pieces.
I submitted two complaints to the Equipment and Facilities department at Regional HQ, but my inquiries are deflected, and no one seems to care.
I even tried to talk to the Captain about it – but she's a dead-eyed, middle aged woman obviously coasting to retirement, and she just said we'll run an inventory at some point while playing puzzle games on her tablet. Does she know how bad the situation is? Does she think it's not her problem since she'll retire soon?
And where is all the missing equipment? There are millions of credits missing in this room alone. Were the missing rifles here at some point? Were they used to restock the teams, and the armory was never replenished? Or were they sold, or destroyed?
Why doesn't anybody care about this? Kaelich shrugged and said the Captain can always request equipment to replace whatever we break, so we don't need to keep a lot of extra stock on hand.
Kaelich doesn't get it. Lost Stars, the officially listed assets of this base are pure fiction. What if the nuclear power plant, or the Theta Suppressor, are in equally bad shape?
What if a new mage war begins – because one will come, we all know it – and we find ourselves with inadequate defenses and short on weapons?
Of course, when we'll need the missing equipment everyone will be shocked and outraged. But no one cares about boring problems until it's too late, and suddenly they're tragedies.
Like no one cares about the ever-growing desert and the dying soil and the ever-increasing demonfalls, and all the thousand cuts which are bleeding our civilization dry.
***
I send my report, even if I make only a brief mention of the creepy mage. Quicksilver praises its detail – but to my disappointment, they say they'll contact me in the future, and I'm left hanging.
I feel like there's too much going on, too much to consider, to adapt to. Corruption in the base. Quicksilver, my mysterious handler. The ever-present cold, the snow. The people, everything seems different and wrong. I need to talk to someone or I'll explode.
I should be able to keep my thoughts for myself. Intelligence work isn't for chatty people. I can't tell anyone about Quicksilver, unless I decide to break contact with them. And who can I talk to anyway? Kaelich tries to listen to me when I talk about the base's problems, but xir eyes glaze over.
I'm tossing and turning in my bunk, when I hear a voice talking in Zelenian. I'm so surprised, I sit up sharply, looking around.
I'm an idiot - it's Sorivel, of course. I hadn't heard him speak Zelenian before, and I wasn't even sure he spoke it all, since he emigrated as a child. But while his dialect is different from mine, he's clearly a native speaker. He speaks in a higher pitch than he does speaking Fallish.
He's sitting in front of the small altar he built in a corner - a stool with two burning candles and wooden icons of the officers. He sits cross-legged on the floor, shirtless, and next to him he's placed a brush and a cup of golden paste.
"On the fifth day," he says, talking slowly, with the solemn tone he uses to quote scripture, "the Ship had landed safely on Refuge, but the crew despaired. For their new world was beautiful, but barren. The air was thin, and couldn't be breathed. The soil was lifeless, and would nourish no plants. No fish swam in that dark, lifeless sea.
"The Navigator, who for so long had led the Crew across the endless Abyss, gazed upon the world she had found, and her heart faltered. So she went to the Captain, and asked. How can this be our new home? We can't even leave the ship. Without its Miracle, we won't be able to breathe, or grow plants, or eat. Did we really travel so long, only to live forever in the narrow confines of the Ship?"
I can't stand the religious babble, usually, and the Cult of the Officers is so whiny, at least the Lord and Ladies have cooler stories. But hearing Sorivel speak Zelenian, telling a story I heard many times, is soothing, and I find myself listening eagerly.
'The Gunner doubted, too. Our people won't be able to grow and rebuild in this barren place, he said. When the Forgotten Enemy comes, we won't be ready. Did we fight so long, only to hide in the Ship, and wait for the end?
'Even the Captain, for all her strong heart and keen mind, doubted - even if she wouldn't show doubt in front of the Crew. They had sacrificed so much, suffered so many hardships, to reach Refuge. A new home, safe from the Enemy. But this wasn't a home, no more than the dark, frozen planets they had left so long ago. Had she been a fool, leading her crew away from the Lost Stars?
"So the Captain asked all her officers for counsel. And the Scientist, wisest of all, said that they need not fear, because in his library, he had kept all the memories of humanity's fallen home. He turned to the captain and said he could turn Refuge into their new home - if she gave him the First Fire.
"The officers were outraged. The Navigator said: Without the Fire, the Ship could never take off again. The Gunner said that without the Fire, the Ship would be defenseless. The Doctor said that without the fire, time itself would become a sickness. But without speaking, the Captain gave the scientist the First Fire.
"The Scientist held the Fire in one hand, and in the other he held the Endless Book, where he had recorded all the truths about Fallen Earth. All the history and science he had collected and preserved through the long voyage across the Abyss. Then he tore the book, page by page, and crying, he threw the pages into the Fire. As the Book burned, he forgot, and the Library faded, and all humans forgot the secrets they once held.
"But the Fire flared, brighter and hotter than it ever had before, and it spread, engulfing the whole world, remaking it. It seeded the world with life, it changed the air and the water and the rocks itself. The Flame burned rock and left behind soil and seeds. The Flame raged through lifeless dust, and in its wake left plant and animals, from the smallest to the greatest. The Flame burned the sky and the sun itself, changing them, so that days and years would follow the rhythms of our far, fallen home.
"And when it was finished, the Flame was extinguished, the Library burned, and the Scientist himself dissolved into dust - he was the first of the Officers to leave his material form behind, forever becoming part of the world he had made. So we forgot our Old Home, and we gained a new one."
He makes a pause, then burns a small piece of fabric, painted with golden ink. It burns in a bright flash, without leaving smoke. It's still a fire hazard, but at least it won't make the whole room stink.
He sits there for a while, looking at the flame, then he sighs.
"And then," he says, "since humans are stupid, instead of enjoying the paradise the Officers made for them, some of them moved into a freezing, inhospitable land between huge mountains, because they really wanted to play with the cursed artifacts we'd been commanded not to touch. And so here we are."
He turns and looks up at me, a small smile on his lips.
I get a good look at his tattoos, finally. I can't help but stare at the silver bands around his arms. He's a Redeemed mage - he gave up his powers willingly, and got arm tattoos instead of the facial ones. The bands aren't exactly ugly, but they certainly don't try to be aesthetically pleasing. Couldn't the Council make them a little nicer? It's supposedly not a punishment.
Those are not the only tattoos Sorivel has. I make out, in the faint light of the candles, temporary white tattoos, Landfall style, around his eyes. I read the shapes for male, androsexual, but there's a third one I don't recognize. He also has a golden tattoo on the right cheek, in a weird style, like a square criss-crossed with lines. I've never seen one like that in movies, or on the few Karesians I've met before. He also has golden glyphs on his chest, recently painted, going down from his sternum to the navel. Those are signs of the Officers, I'm pretty sure.
"Why do you wear all those face tattoos?" I ask. It sounds harsher than I meant, but I can't help being annoyed - some people in Zelenia have them too, they think them fashionable. But it feels wrong that the one Zelenian I meet here tries so hard to look Karesian.
He shrugs. "I've lived in Greenport since I was ten, you know. I found them strange at first, but I got into the habit. The Captain teaches us to learn the customs of our hosts. Also, they're nice, once you get the hang of them. You can use them to express yourself, and show what you care about the most."
"I guess it made sense one hundred years ago, but we have a datasphere profile for that, these days," I say. "In words that anyone can read."
"I have that too," he says, sounding weary. "But tattoos are more personal. The style and position you pick means a lot."
"It's a Landfall thing," I say. I know I'm being judgemental, but I'm annoyed and lost, and at least we can argue in my native language.
"Is it?" He asks. "The tradition is Karesian, yeah. But a lot of people have them these days. You recognize this one?"
He points at the strange, square golden tattoo on his cheek.
"No," I say. "I know only the most common ones. I picked them up from movies."
"Well, this one definitely isn't common," he says. "It's Saevish holy script. A prayer to the Officers. Can you put that on a datasphere profile?"
Heat rises to my cheeks. I'm incredibly stupid, I should have recognized old Saevish, it was in every old building where I grew up. And I was being a judgemental asshole. He isn't trying to look Karesian, I was just too ignorant to recognize the Zelenian-style tattoo.
"Sorry," I say. "Look, I'm not… the best, with people. But this place makes me cranky. And I'm starting to hate those tattoos. Everyone and their mother has them, and communicate all kinds of subtle implications I miss - it's like everyone's playing a secret game I don't know how to play."
Sorivel smiles again - briefly, before returning to his usual stony expression.
"I get it. I remember my few years after moving. It's all wrong - Karesians are so loud and improper and they always assume everyone knows their language and culture. The Sweet Heavenly Doctor knows it was hard, sometimes. And then I got shipped to this frozen wasteland, and the people here are even weirder. They eat fried insects and insist it's a delicacy! But at least it's so cold they wear actual clothes. Riverlanders have no sense of shame."
As he says that, he seems to realize he's still shirtless, and blushes a bit - it's not like we never show skin in Zelenia, but you don't usually have a conversation with an almost stranger without putting something on. That, more than the tattoos, marks him as Karesian.
"Err, sorry," he says, rushing to pick up a uniform. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. But after ten years in Karesia, I tend to forget."
"Don't worry," I say. "I get people are more… relaxed about showing skin here. I don't mind as long as you don't expect me to go around half-naked. And by the lady I'm not going to do the hot bath thing. Wait, do people really do that? Or is it only in movies?"
He laughs as he buttons up his shirt, careful not to smear the fresh glyphs on his chest. "No, Karesians really love their communal baths. It's incredible how much water they waste here. In Greenport, I would sometimes join, but never enjoyed it much. But this far north, they're growing on me - soaking in hot water is the one way to feel warm. It feels like the Doctor's own blessing, and it's so relaxing. You should try."
I'll be buried in the sand before I strip naked and sit in a tiny pool with strangers, that sounds like the least relaxing thing I can imagine. Also, wasting so much water for bathing horrifies me. Even if, admittedly, there's snow everywhere here, they definitely aren't going to have a drought anytime soon.
"It's… a bit hard to settle," I say, forcing the words out. "This is so different from home."
"The Navigator will show you the way, if you let her," he says.
I glare at him, and he looks away.
"Or," he adds, "if it helps, remember no one feels at home here. The only Vorokans in the base are LT Sareas and mage Jaeleri, may the Abyss swallow them both. Everyone else hates the cold, the food, and the language at least as much as you do."
I nod. That does make me feel a little better. The fact that Sorivel wants to make me feel better, religious mumbling or not, helps too.
Should I tell him about the missing inventory? Even without mentioning Quicksilver, sharing my worries would help, I think.
But I don't want inconvenient questions about my reasons to do an inventory check. Or a tirade about the sinfulness of humankind. So I go for something more harmless.
"What about Kaelich?" I ask. I switch to Fallish, because we don't really have neutral forms in Zelenian, and some people get offended. "Is xe really… what xe looks like?"
"And what," Sorivel says, suddenly cold, "do you mean by that?"
I know the tone - the when I'm making some social gaffe that starts a lifelong feud tone. Why does that happen all the time to me?
"Xe seems very nice," I say, and shut my mouth instead of adding if not very bright or professional.
Sorivel relaxes immediately. I note to myself that he likes Kaelich - despite complaining about xir sins all the time.
"Xe is," Sorivel says. "It's not an act, and xe's not trying to get anything from you, if that's your worry. For all xir many, many sins, Kaelich is truly as kind and enthusiastic as xe seems."
Oh, he definitely likes the Corporal. I hope he doesn't have a crush, I hate relationship drama within teams. I glance at Kaelich's bunk, but xe's snoring softly - xe really is a heavy sleeper, when we're off duty in the morning xe barely wakes up in time for lunch.
"What about the agender thing?" I ask. "I don't want to be rude. But… honestly, I know how it works only from movies."
I fear another misstep, but he nods.
"Don't worry," he says, "it's a… Karesian thing, they are weird about their gender stereotypes, but you can ignore most of them. The only thing you should take care with is using the right pronouns. There really isn't much more to it."
"Why is xe agender, though?" I ask. "Xe looks very masculine."
Usually, in Landfall dramas, agender actors look somewhat androgynous. But Kaelich is huge and muscular.
Sorivel winces a little, but he doesn't look angry. "That's… it doesn't work like that. I know movies and sims give the wrong impression. But really, you should ask Kaelich if you want to know. Maybe when you know xem a little better. It's not taboo or anything, but it's a personal question."
Great, I'll live happily without knowing, since I hate personal questions. But at least talking to Sorivel made me feel a little less like an alien. He isn't exactly friendly, but maybe we can have a decent professional relationship.
"Thanks, Sorivel," I say. "Sorry for interrupting your prayers."
"There's nothing to be sorry about," he says. "I'm devoted to the Navigator, who shows us the way, and asks us to guide others in turn."
I lay back on the mattress, and roll my eyes when I'm sure Sorivel can't see me. He seems like a nice person, but couldn't he be zealous for a less preachy religion?
***
I like to be the first up in the morning. It makes me feel in control. Plus, by going to sleep early and waking up early, I get a few hours of blessed solitude.
Granted, waking up before my teammates isn't hard. When we're on an afternoon shift, Kaelich sleeps until lunchtime, and Sorivel is no morning person, either - he wakes up at ten and is cranky until twelve.
Once I'm done with Quicksilver's survey, however, I find myself without a productive way to use those morning hours. That, in turn, makes me gloomy - in Intelligence School, I used to study in the early morning. But I've no classes and no exams, now. What else can I do? I could read or watch movies, of course, but even if I mostly read military memoirs, spending the whole morning that way would be frivolous.
What do people do in their free time? I haven't had any since I was ten years old.
Before I get so desperate I learn to knit, I find out something useful: while in this base - like in most small provincial bases - investigations are mostly handled by Civilian Intelligence, they're still required to share their data with us. In the base intranet, I can access reports, calls from the public, and a suspiciously empty "ongoing investigations" folder.
So, time to learn what is happening in this city. I sit in a warm corner of the empty, desolated mess hall, make myself a tea, and browse through CivInt reports on my tablet.
As everybody told me, there's not much magical activity in Rakavdon. All the action reports in the last month are routine work - investigation of false alarms, escorting a cooperative young woman to the Council, providing security for the University when a potentially dangerous relic was handled. I have to go back three months to find an actual operation - a raid against a traveling rogue mage, seriously Else-Touched, who raved about monsters made of silence and was easily captured by the vac-train station.
Disappointed, I start reading through the citizens' reports. Most are obvious false alarms: this week, there were three separate, increasingly urgent emails from an elderly man who is absolutely sure an acquaintance is a mind-mage, because she keeps beating him at bridge, and 'that can only be the result of unnatural powers'.
Well, I have nothing better to do, and at least they make for an entertaining read, so I go on reading this month's summaries, skipping only the obviously unhinged ones.
REPORT - 2/9/2715: A concerned mother writes that her child, aged thirteen, recently changed behavior, becoming argumentative and rude, and started sneaking out of the house.
CivInt actually answered this one with 'it's called puberty, madam'.
REPORT - 4/9/2715: A blurry picture of a shadowy figure in a backyard, out in the countryside - I almost take it seriously before I see CivInt's answer: 'our expert identified the presence, with high confidence, as a reindeer'.
REPORT - 11/9/2715:Anonymous report, from someone claiming to be an illicit drug dealer, and writing that they were approached by an unknown woman, offering to sell them high-quality psychedelics for a lower cut than usual. According to the source, they turned her down because they believed she was part of the Blue Rose Society - one of the Syndicates that recently joined a continent-spanning cartel.
This one is interesting. There's no answer from CivInt, since it was anonymous, but I flag it as interesting. I should ask them if they investigated the claim.
REPORT - 12/9/2715: A foreign student had lunch with a friend, but afterwards, couldn't remember who the friend was.
CivInt, helpful as ever: 'we understand most Vorokans look similar to outsiders, but we suggest you keep better track of your social environment'.
REPORT - 16/9/2715:A worried fourteen year old writes that her skin tingles when she touches her best friend, and she keeps making 'strange dreams' - could it be a sign of developing magical powers?
CivInt helpfully answered with a link to a datasphere sex-ed website.
This is starting to feel as frivolous as watching a movie, but it is entertaining.
I make myself a cup of cocoa - it's nine in the morning, and off-duty agents are starting to trickle into the mess hall. Waiting for my teammates to wake up, I skim other reports, even looking at those flagged as unreliable.
REPORT - 3/9/2715 - UNRELIABLE: A man believes his husband cheated on him under magical influence.
REPORT - 7/9/2715 - UNRELIABLE:A University student swearing xe saw the Chair of Precursor History vanish in a flash of light.
No answer from CivInt, source tagged as prone to fanciful stories.
REPORT - 18/9/2715 - UNRELIABLE: A fast food worker saw a colleague serving an annoying, chatty young client, who left without paying - but the waiter who served xem had no memory of encountering xem at all.
Wait, that one doesn't sound so silly. Especially since it's the second report about an easily-forgotten young person.
CivInt noted no theta peak was detected, and answered 'we understand your job is very stressful, but it's likely your colleague didn't want to admit being fast-talked by a patron'. I don't necessarily disagree with them, but…. I run a few keyword searches - forget, remember, unknown - and after discarding a few irrelevant ones, I find a third suspicious instance, from last month.
REPORT - 29/8/2715 - UNRELIABLE: from a comic book vendor: a young agender person approached them and asked if they could have the whole collection of the changing tide, in physical paper volumes, for a ninety-percent discount.
The vendor remembers thinking the kid made a good case for it, and agreed to the discount. The kid paid from a gray account. Afterward, however, the seller couldn't remember a single word the kid had said.
My interest starts turning into unease. These could be rationalizations from overworked people who made mistakes. But it could also be the work of a Mind-mage - or maybe a Lie-mage?
"Watcha doing?" Kaelich asks in a sleepy voice, almost making me jump out of my skin. Xe sat at my table and I didn't even notice. "Wow, you were really taken in," xe adds. "Watching something fun? Porn? You must have some vice."
Xe leans over the table to take a look at my tablet.
"I'm reading intelligence reports, ser," I say. "And you should see this..."
Xe blinks. "You're reading reports in your free time? In the morning? Abyss, don't they have video games where you're from?"
We do, but my family worked fourteen hours a day to survive in a collapsing civilization, so I never had much time to try them. But I bite back my retort - there's no point starting an argument. And my tongue feels laden. Not even a week here, and we already got to the part where my teammates found out I'm strange and wrong. So, I say nothing, and turn my tablet so that Kaelich can't see it. I'll just ignore xem and look for more relevant reports on my own.
"Well?" Kaelich adds, xir tone casual, "didn't you say there was something interesting?"
"I thought you preferred videogames," I say, hating that the words sound whiny instead of angry.
Kaelich looks confused. "You know I was kidding, right? Like, I definitely wouldn't read reports in the morning, but if that's your kink, go for it. Abyss, Sorivel's hobby is lecturing me about my sins, if you like reading boring reports, it's a step up."
I know I reacted too aggressively, and I know, from long experience, that this is the kind of situation that tangles into a snarl of social gaffes I can never get out from. But Kaelich doesn't look angry, nor diffident - either xe thinks I'm behaving strangely because I'm foreign, or xe simply doesn't care.
It's a strange feeling, making a social misstep, like I did so many times, and finding it doesn't matter.
"There are a few citizen reports that attracted my attention," I say. "CivInt didn't take them seriously. But there are three different instances, in the last month, of people meeting a young person and giving them something - food twice, comics once - in return for nothing, and then not remembering the encounter."
Kaelich frowns. "Hm," he says. "So you think… it could be magic? Can magic do that?"
Lord of Sands, explain in your wisdom - how can someone possibly go through basic training without learning what magic does? But I don't want to be annoyed at Kaelich when xe's being nice to me, so I repress my annoyance and answer.
"It could be a Mind-mage - specifically a Memorialist, I'd guess," I say. "They can read and alter memories. Except the mage - assuming there is one - also made xir targets do something they wouldn't do willingly. That would be a Puppeteer. So… it could be a Mind-mage with several abilities. Or maybe a Lie-mage. Wait, on second thought, a Liar would make more sense. A Mentalist liar would both influence its victims and affect their memories."
To my surprise, Kaelich seems to be listening carefully.
"Wow, you know your shit," xe says. "I could never remember all the zillion sub-paths. Anyway, we should probably talk to CivInt about this. But… just a question. If someone can make people give xem stuff, and forget about it too… why just ask for food and comics? Like, with that kind of power, couldn't you get rich easily?"
I open my mouth to answer, except I realize...i don't have a good answer to that. Why would a mage powerful enough to affect people's minds limit themselves to junk food and comics?
"Maybe xe's...not very smart." I wince at my own justification. It's lazy, and silly, and Intelligence taught me better than this. If your theory rests on the mark not being very smart, it's probably a shitty theory. And I do have a tendency to see patterns when there's none, I know it's one of my faults, and should always keep that in mind.
"Sorry, Corporal. I...it's likely I got carried away a bit. Apologies for wasting your time," I say to Kaelich, and feel my cheeks heat up.
Kaelich laughs. "The real question is why anyone would want fried grasshoppers, magic or not. And really, don't worry. This was kind of fun! I love when I give stupid opinions and smart people listen to me."
Xe smiles, and while I have to force myself to smile back - smiles never came easily to me - for the first time in this cold, foreign place, I feel a little at ease.
Hi! One questions for readers: are these chapters incoveniently long? I could split them into multiple threadmarks if people find them inconvenient.
Finally, here's Kaelich's portrait, in all xir brainless glory:
"The Else is fundamentally harmful to humans. The Veil protects us from the horrors and the madness beyond.
The first and most important lesson any mage must learn is control: to enter the Else only when they choose it, to stay as briefly as possible, to channel as little as possible. And of course, to use magic only when strictly necessary."
Introduction to Thaumological Manipulation
With Daravoi's lessons, making money at the expense of law-abiding citizens is so easy it's barely even fun.
In return for my magic lessons, he taught me all kinds of useful things. How to talk to poor people without sounding too much of a rich brat. How to move through the city without needing an ID chip, and avoiding most cameras - basically, you should keep to the filthy neighborhoods.
Most importantly, he taught me to set up an anonymous gray account, the kind that stores money and doesn't need an ID chip, you just access it with your phone and a password. Having a way to actually keep money helps a lot. Parting people from their possessions is so much easier in bulk than one by one possession by possession.
After a couple of weeks and a dozen thefts under his supervision, I feel like I got the hang of it. So, when I realize it's my twentieth birthday, I decide it's time to steal something serious. It will make for a good present to myself, and will show Daravoi how good I've gotten.
The first step to stealing something really valuable, of course, is looking like I fit with the rich people. So I use some of my ill-gotten gains to buy myself a set of boring, well-fitting clothes, which I hate.
I like cool clothes, and I can't wait to buy more - but my taste for clothes draws a lot of attention. In order to look like a harmless, boring rich kid I have to wear the kind of thing mom would approve of. After all, it's rule four: be boring.
As I shop for clothes, going straight for the agender section, I realize that with a different face tattoo, and shopping from a different aisle, I could easily pass for a boy, or a girl. But for some reason, the idea of even looking like a different gender gives me a sudden stab of discomfort, and I keep to my section of the store.
In the end, I get a white seamless shirt with lilac decorations suspiciously reminiscent of military ranks, and boring-blue pants, plus a long white jacket which is actually nice in the abominable cold. It's two-hundred and thirty credits, which I actually pay - I can afford them, and stealing from a fancy-ish shop would be a pointless risk.
I look at myself in the mirror - I look so respectable I want to slap myself in the face. Looking like this, stealing will be so easy, it should be a crime.
I go back into the streets, ready to steal myself a birthday present.
I still don't have a working ID biochip - Daravoi says getting a fake one is really costly, and you need the right connections. That makes getting into any fancy place a hassle. But one blessing of this cold, boring city is that it's full of foreign students, and some countries, especially outside Karesia, don't use standard chips. So a lot of places don't do ID scans, or don't push the issue if I act confused when mine doesn't work.
On the way to my big prize, I check my reflection on the shop windows in the fancy street. I reach into the Veil, and Bind a small lie - one where my hair is platinum blonde instead of jet black. It's a small lie - I could have just dyed them this way. It's barely even magic, more of a time saver.
Then I add a lie where I have green eyes instead of brown, and they're rounder, without the epicanthic fold. Finally, I make my skin darker - light brown, so I could still pass for Vorokan, but I'm more credible as a foreigner. That takes a bit more effort, since those are birth traits - but it's a small enough change that I can pull the right me through the Else.
I look at the young person reflecting in the glass. Xe's still me, of course - or a version of me that could have been. But most people would say we're pretty different, and the eye change is enough to fool facial recognition software, I think.
Happy with my disguise, I walk into the jewelry store. I wouldn't even have thought about stealing jewels, before meeting Daravoi. Jewels are shiny, some have beautiful colors, but in the end, they're pretentious, and that's just something I can't condone. But now, I have the wonderful option of fencing the jewels for sweet, sweet money, and buy myself something nice.
I step inside, scan my wrist, and pretend not to notice when the light blinks red and no working ID found flashes on the screen. The shopkeeper looks at me, but I just smile and greet him, affecting a slight Golden Coast accent. He frowns, but doesn't challenge me.
I scan the exhibited items for a while. There's a lot of golden bracelets and diamond thingies. Why do people even like diamonds? They're so boring. Emerald and sapphires, I can get behind, they look good. But diamonds are just self-important coal.
The shopkeeper doesn't seem to mind me as I browse the showcases, whistling a little tune. Finally, I point at a necklace - it had been my objective all along. With a large, light blue aquamarine cut into a teardrop shape, I felt like it should be mine as soon as I saw it from the street.
"Hello," I say, smiling "I'm looking to buy something for my boyfriend. I think he'd love that one, it matches his eyes."
The shopkeeper looks at me suspiciously for a moment. It's not new to me - most people find me either charming or weird and suspicious, without much middle ground. With adults, it's often charming, with peers it's a coin toss. But this guy has frowning lines all over his face and probably found his parents suspicious the moment he was born.
"It's an excellent item," he says slowly. "The chain is white gold, finely crafted. And the gem is a twenty carat natural aquamarine, with few inclusions. It is also, I should mention, rather expensive."
He says the last part in an apologetic tone - good, he'd be more hostile if I didn't look like the kind of person who at least could be a buyer.
I wave my hand and smile. "It's his birthday. Money won't be an issue."
Another perk of having a famous university in the city - some of the students are filthy rich kids who want a cool-sounding degree in Precursor Studies. So I'm probably not the first twenty-years-old who tried to buy outrageously expensive items.
For some reason, I must make a good impression of a spoiled rich brat, even though my moms are barely millionaires. Or maybe billionaires, I never get that straight. Anyway, the shopkeeper forces a smile and walks to me.
"There are a few legalities involved in such a transaction," he says, sounding apologetic again. He's probably thinking of my ID chip, and looking for the least confrontational way to make me re-scan it.
"I'll have my assistant take care of it," I say, which my sister says all the time. "But first I'd like to have a better look at the stone, I've not made up my mind yet."
The man nods, carefully puts his thumb on the lock, and the glass slides open. He inputs a physical password on the stand holding the necklace, and then shows it to me, keeping the slender golden chain firmly in his hands.
The azure stone glints in the sun - it finally stopped snowing - and wait, it's actually beautiful, I take back all my mean thoughts about gems. It's shaped like a teardrop, of a blue so perfect it doesn't seem real, like those pure, frigid lakes up in the mountains. No - like the Else.
I want it.
My plan was to swap it with a fake - I bought a cheap necklace with a vaguely similar pendant made of glass. But I didn't realize the jeweler wouldn't hand it to me, even for a second, before I paid. Grab and run isn't an option - there's a double door that doesn't open automatically, and the glass is thick. I could probably break it with Elsefire, but that would be crass.
The smart thing to do would be to say thanks, walk out, admit I'm an idiot, and go back to filching mobile phones. But Daravoi would make fun of me.
Also, a flicker of annoyance goes through me - I'm a mage, I can literally bend reality, and I want that stone. Why shouldn't I have it?
That gives me the idea. I don't need to even pretend to pay. If it works with cricket burgers, it should work with precious stones.
I reach into the Else. Reality becomes like a drawing, no, like the stained glass in an old cathedral. At the center there's the blue stone, and other realities, worlds that could, should be, unfold around the real one, swaying in a beautiful blue, just like that of the gem.
In some realities, I actually walked in here with a blue-eyed boy. In some, Mama is with me, and she smiles as I take the stone - come on, that's just unrealistic. She wouldn't buy me regular presents, let alone absolutely unreasonable ones.
But I need one where the stone is already mine, as it should be. I find a lie almost like our world - except we already did all the bureaucracy, and my chip scanned green, and I already paid a disgusting amount of money.
I pull that world closer. It's not very different - nothing changes, visually.
"I'm happy the payment is confirmed," I say, "I'll take the necklace."
The jeweler frowns, looking dazed.
I'm not really a mind-mage. I can't make him do things, but I can affect his perceptions, and even memories to some extent. Something here isn't working, though.
"Of course," he says, confused. "Just a second. I'll check… a minor issue," he says.
He closes his eyes - he must have a Stemlink implant.
My magic flows thick, and whatever he'll check, he'll perceive what I want him to.
Of course the payment went through. My identity was confirmed, I'm called Velisys Anderen. It's all right.
"This is… unusual," he says. "A necklace worth over thirty thousand credits should use our delivery service. It's an insurance matter. And honestly, for your safety I simply can't let you walk in the street with something this expensive. I'm sorry, young ser, but I'll have to…"
Thirty thousand credits? Wow. I thought it was like one thousand, tops.
Oh, fuck this. I'll have that stone.
I reach with my whole hand into the Veil, feeling the Else burn my fingertips. I see my own eyes flare with blue light, reflected on the stone. The gem is the exact color of my magic, I realize, that must be why I like it.
"Don't you remember?" I say, "We agreed you'd hand it to me. It's for the birthday surprise, I need it now. And don't worry, I'll hide it. I'm not afraid of muggers."
The Lie is weak, it barely makes sense, but it doesn't matter, if I pour enough magic in the words. I feel the Else thrum in my bones, burn in my fingers until it hurts, and realize I'm using way too much power. This is dangerous. I'm seeing so much blue, it's like being underwater.
"Of course," the jeweler says, weakly, then with slow, sleepwalk-like movements he puts the priceless gem in a small box with the company logo and hands it to me.
"A pleasure doing business with you," I say, smiling, and then walk away, fast, because I must let the Else go.
The moment he opens the outer door, I let the lie slip.
It's like waking from a dream. The blue light fades from my sight, and the many possible worlds collapse into a single one.
What the fuck did I just do? He'll realize that I scammed him in a minute, and worse, he'll know that I did it with magic! And the stone is worth… fuck, I don't even know what you can buy with thirty thousand credits!
My stomach clenches in panic. This will attract the Agency, this might make the news, this was beyond reckless. Also, my hand hurts, and I'm tired, strangely tired.
In the biting cold, I try to put my gloves back on, and I see my fingertips look like translucent blue glass, melding seamlessly with the flesh.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I give up on subtlety, and I run to the place where Daravoi is waiting for me. But something is wrong. I'm exhausted, as if I had run a marathon. So tired I can't think, I can only walk, and every step is more difficult.
Finally I see him - his solid, reassuring mass pushing the crowd away, as he runs to me. People look at us, but it doesn't matter. He can help. He will.
"Kore, what the fuck?" He asks, rushing to support me. My legs just crumple, and he leans to support me.
"Sorry," I say. "I think I fucked up. But I got a really cool stone."
He looks around, and I realize that he could just run away and leave me here, until the police come - and then the Men in Silver. He doesn't owe me shit.
"Fuck, are those sirens for you?" He asks. "Black Liar's dick, you overstretched yourself, idiot. Lean on me. I can carry you, you're just bones and weirdness. But make it look like you're walking. And know that you're a fucking idiot."
***
"Drink this," Daravoi says, curt.
"No, I'm fine," I say. Drinking seems so much work.
"Kore, fucking drink. You used too much magic." he says. So annoying. Can't he let me sleep?
"I'll rest a bit," I say, even speaking is a feat. "I'll drink tomorrow. I swear."
"Oh fucking Abyss," he says, "You're dying, and I can't let you do it, because I must kill you myself. So drink."
A strong, callused hand grabs my jacket collar and pulls me up, not very gently, propping my back against something.
Where are we? I just want to sleep a bit. It's nice and warm.
"I just…" I say, but Daravoi forces a cardboard cup against my mouth, and reclines it, pouring liquid. I risk choking, and end up drinking, cursing and spitting at once.
"Are you fucking mad?" I try to say, but it's more like mpgjfhd, which might confuse the point.
"I'm mad, as in fucking angry," he says, "and you're mad, as in insane. Anyway, drink."
It's a sickeningly sweet energy drink, the kind that would give an aneurysm to my moms if it ever entered our house, and I made a point of drinking noisily in front of them as a teen.
Why is Dara force-feeding me an energy drink? Less sleepy, I drink it by myself, trying to focus. Fallen Home, my brain is mush.
Did I really just rob a jeweler using blatant magic? No, even I can't be that stupid. It must have been a dream.
"Where are we?" I ask, still coughing. It's night, there's no light except the stars above, and the moon, with its mesmerizing rifts. They're light blue and purple, today, like thin cracks radiating across the sky. It whispers…
"Old library," Dara grumbles, "it's an abandoned dome. Now shut up and eat, so I can get to the part where I yell at you."
He hands me a paper package with fried grasshoppers and some salad. I take them, and realize my fingers are shaking with cold - I'm not warm at all, I'm freezing, how could I think it was warm?
"I'm cold," I say. "Is it getting colder?"
"No, you're getting less dead," he answers. "Eat."
I start shaking as my body becomes less numb. I'm also hungry, now, but I barely manage to bring the fried bugs to my mouth, my hands shake so much.
"C-can you make some fire?" I ask.
"Fucking no," he answers, "the last thing we should do is use more magic. You won't die, with some sugar in your blood. And if you do, you had it coming."
My memory starts becoming less fuzzy. Yes, I did use magic to steal a necklace. I used a lot of magic and wasn't subtle about it.
"You think I alerted the ThauCon?" I ask.
"Think? I heard a chopper coming five minutes after we got on the train!" Dara says, raising his voice, "and I had to carry you here, and then you fell asleep and wouldn't move! Fuck!"
There's a stridulous note in his voice.
"Aaaw, you were worried for me," I say, "that's cute."
He glares at me - I can barely see his face in the shadows, and still, he looks furious. There's a sudden movement, a slap, and my face hurts like the abyss. I cough the grasshopper I was munching, and look at Dara. I'm so surprised, I'm not even angry.
"You slapped me? What the fuck?" I ask.
It hurts. Like, really hurts. I thought slapping people was a symbolic thing, but the whole side of my face smarts.
"Shut up. Eat." He says. Then he sits in front of me, his eyes closed, sinking a bit in the snow.
I consider yelling at him. You don't just hit people, doesn't he know? But I get the feeling he could slap me again, and also, I'm hungry.
"Sorry," he says his voice low, as I finish my bag of grasshoppers. "I shouldn't have done that. Even if by the Exiled, you had it coming."
"Did ThauCon really come?" I ask.
He nods. "What the fuck did you do? I felt your magic without even touching the Else, and I was two blocks away."
"I got a bit carried away in a job," I say. "But I have something to show for it!"
With a flourish, I take the necklace from my pocket and show it to him. Yes, I did something stupid, but this is worth a ton of money. He will apologize to me, seeing it!
Even in the pale light of the moon, the gem is beautiful, it looks like a piece of the sky is trapped inside it. Dara doesn't look happy, though. He looks at the stone, then at me, his mouth set into a straight line.
"See? It was worth it," I say, sounding unconvinced.
"Is this some kind of game to you?" He asks, sounding honestly confused.
"I just thought… We could make a lot of money. Get us nice things," I answer. It's not even true - I just wanted the stone.
"This fucking stone must be worth tens of thousands of credits," he says, exasperated, "and it's just been stolen by a mage. No one will want to fence it - and we can't risk it, because the reward for turning in a rogue mage is even more money."
"Oh," I say. "I didn't think about that."
"Of course you didn't think!" He says, punching down in the snow, which is better than punching me, I guess. "Because you're a fucking rich brat who thinks stealing is some sort of shitty hobby! But ThauCon won't care, if they catch you, and they'll care even less if they catch me! We'll do years of re-education!"
Re-education - if you don't turn yourself in, and sometimes even if you do, you're supposed to go to a re-education camp where they scream at you and beat you all the time, at least if the movies are true. Then you get a silver tattoo - on your arms, if you're lucky, or on your face, if you did enough crimes.
Sister told me, the longer I'd stay rogue, the harder it would be to avoid re-ed. And Dara wouldn't have her connections to help.
"I'm sorry," I say, "I… I didn't think. I'm really sorry. And thank you for helping me, you didn't have to."
Dara doesn't answer. He crosses his arms, clenching his fists, hard. After a minute of awkward silence and freezing cold, I feel the urge to say something, anything to get him to speak again.
"Want to slap me again?" I ask. "Honestly, I had it coming."
He looks at me, suddenly at a loss.
"Wait, what?"
"You look like you want to punch something. Which I guess is me. And I mean… you're right. I fucked up."
He looks incredulous for a moment, then, to my relief, he bursts into laughter. A long, somewhat hysteric laugh. Finally, he balls some snow in his hands and throws it at me. I'm too slow to duck, and I end up spitting snow. Some of it gets into my collar, which I hate, but I don't mind, if it means things are kinda-fine again.
"You're impossible, Korentis," he says. "And… I mean, I'm not your mom. Steal whatever you want. You'll have to tell me how it went, actually, I bet people will be freaking out about the magical robber tomorrow."
He pauses, and then he's serious again. "But it's hard to tell with you sometimes. Do you understand - really understand - this is dangerous? If ThauCon really wants to, they'll catch us sooner or later. And if that happens… look, I don't know how it would go exactly, but not good."
I feel the urge to look away - I suddenly find the dilapidated courtyard around us very interesting. I look at the skeleton of the broken dome which once covered it, and the moon above, with its beautiful cracks.
Well, I fucked up, but at least I didn't break any major celestial body.
I don't feel like laughing, though. I'm ok with people being angry with me, that's what they're supposed to be. But Dara sounded disappointed. I hate that.
"I know I do… stupid stuff sometimes, and not in the good way" I say. "I don't do it on purpose. But it's like I forget the future exists, like I get so obsessed with doing something, I completely forget why I want to do it."
I'm happy I can't see Daravoi's face, because I know what he's thinking. Else-touched, Veil-mad.
Is that really happening to me?
I squash the thought.
"Anyway," I say, "I can't unmake my idiocy. I'll try to do better. But well, you still helped me. So, have this."
I offer him the aquamarine stone, in my open hand.
"What?" He takes a step back. "Do you understand how much this thing is worth?"
"About thirty-thousand credits," I say. "Which is enough to eat for a couple years, even if you fence it at half the value," I add.
I'm really proud of knowing that. I did the math on purpose, to sound like I have any clue about poor people's money.
"It's yours," he says, "you were an idiot to take it, but I'm not saying it's mine!"
"It's mine," I say, "and I'm giving it to you. As a thank-you note. Also, it's insurance of a kind. If I get caught, or ThauCon gets your magical signature, you can sell it in a different city and lay low for a good while."
There's another reason. I did something stupid to get this gem, and it feels right that I don't own it in the end, to make up for it. But that's the kind of thing that other people never understand.
He takes the gem, slowly. I relax a little - there were a million ways he could get the message wrong. That I was trying to buy him off instead of apologizing, or the usual shit people make up to get even angrier.
"You… I'm sorry that I got that angry." With slow, careful movements he pockets the gem. "And I'm not going to leave you to the Silvers, stupid or not. That's not how it works."
I'm not sure what doesn't work in what way, but it sounded like he meant something nice, so I don't ask.
He sweeps the snow away between us, revealing the bare concrete. He traces his fingers on it in a pattern, slow but sure, and the concrete glows red where he touches it.
He draws a circle, with three binding symbols, and when he's done, red glass-like fire erupts in a fountain. My skin tingles with pleasure at the warmth.
"What about avoiding magic?"
He shrugs, a hint of a smile on his face.
"It was you, not me, using magic, and it was hours ago. Should be fine. Also, I'm freezing my ass."
We stay there for a minute, hands towards the magical fire.
"That's not how what works?" I ask.
Dara looks at me, confused, then he understands.
"Lost Stars, you're weird," he says. "I meant that's not how friends work, you idiot. That's why I was so angry. I can't leave a pal to the Silvers. It's better to end up in re-ed with them. But I'll be really furious if we end up in the camps because of your shit."
I never had many friends - a few kids tried, but then got exasperated. Daravoi will too, probably, if we don't get arrested before.
But then again, I never tried to give people priceless stones before. Maybe that's the secret. Maybe normal people have secret precious-stone-gifting parties I was never invited to, that's how they make friends.
Sunday Special - ThauCon unofficial engagement rules
Hi! This is something new I hope to keep up in the future - on Sundays, I'll post some extra material to expand on the world and characters. It will usually be some kind of in-universe document.
This special chapters aren't required to follow or understand the story, they're for worldbuilding nerds like me.
I'll be very happy to take readers' suggestions about future Sunday specials! If you want to know something more about any element of this story (say, ThauCon equipment, or Landfall fashion, or whatever) leave a comment to let me know!
(excerpt from the collection of unofficial guidelines, irreverent essays and supposedly humorous material known as the Not-Dead-Veteran's Handbook, widely circulating between recruits in ThauCon basic training)
Real world, quick-and-dirty engagement rules
Doctrine manuals have plenty of guidelines giving engagement rules for every possible situation, with lovingly detailed tables discussing what to do if there are 3.5 mages, one of them has a limp, and they lack dental insurance. Should you say hello, good ser before shooting? Did you check if the sun is in their eyes? Don't even try to memorize that bullshit, it's just there for Lieutenants too afraid to make a judgment call by themselves.
You shouldn't worry too much about the mages targeted by a planned raid, either. We always plan those with overwhelming force and surprise - the target usually ends up in silver chains while still in their pajamas.
In the real world, there's only one thing you should worry about: if an unexpected mage pops up during an operation, should you run or should you fight?
Here, you get the real-world rules. Learn them, in your bones, because your team might have a split second to choose fight or retreat. If you make it to NCOs, make a fucking tattoo of these rules, and live by them - if you mean to live at all.
Despite all the blah blah in the official doctrine, the only variable that truly matters is how powerful the mage is. Just add half a level for Jugglers and half a level for Shapers. Their paths are the most dangerous for us, since silver won't protect you from telekinesis and won't break a shield made of physical matter. Some people hold it that Mind-mages and Lie-mages should be considered half a level weaker, but my rule is: better safe than sorry.
Of course, these rules are for peacetime. If a new war comes, all of this is worthless. But if that's any consolation, all the Agency guidelines are good as toilet paper during a mage war, except they won't tell you that.
LEVEL 0 - You'll be fine
Mages below level 1 are usually untrained, or very recently found the Dark Power. Don't take them too lightly, though - without a silver armor, Else-Fire can still kill a person, even summoned by the weakest of mages.
However, a mage below level 1 can't hurt you if you wear your field suit, let alone if you wear combat armor. Usually, their defenses won't stop even a single silver bullet, so they can easily be dealt with, if they don't surrender.
Just remember that a new, untrained mage can be dangerous in a different way: they could lose control and go nova. If the mage isn't cooperative, bind them in silver as quickly as possible.
Never use theta granades against a level 0 - if the mage is stable, you won't need them. If they aren't, the granade could push them into going nova.
LEVEL 1 - Check your kit
Most rogue mages who learn control reach level 1 and don't progress further. Even a lot of rank-and-file members of the Council and of the Hidden Faction never reach level 2.
Experienced level 1 mages can play seriously dirty tricks, but in direct combat, they can't do much against you as long as you wear combat armor. Even a single fully equipped ThauCon agent can subdue them, and a full team can deal with them safely.
Should you meet a level 1 mage while wearing a field suit, but not combat armor, be more wary, but there's still a safe approach: a theta grenade will completely nullify the target's power for 2 to 8 seconds.
If the theta granade is not an option, just attack without asking questions. A level 1 mage won't be able to withstand more than 4-5 silver bullets, and has no useful defense against a blademaster's sword.
LEVEL 2 - Bring some friends
Most mages, if they keep practicing, reach level 2 at some point, and rarely progress past that. A rogue who escapes capture usually reaches level 2 in a decade or so, and well-trained mages, whether from the Council or the Terrorist Factions, get to level 2 in their mid-to-late twenties.
It's no surprise, then, that the standard ThauCon teams and equipment are perfectly suited to fight them safely and effectively.
A level 2 attack can't penetrate combat armor, but can still be dangerous in many indirect ways. Always account for the mage's path and environmental risks, but generally if you're alone, avoid engaging a level 2 mage, even wearing combat armor.
With a whole team on your side, official doctrine works beautifully, for once. Have the rifleman weaken the mage's shield, the drones attack from unexpected angles, and the Blademaster move in for the kill. If you have a decent Council mage onboard, their best use is to keep the rifleman safe. A well-placed theta grenade can often dispel the target's defense, leaving the mage helpless for the short time the blademaster needs to close distance.
Direct attacks like Else-Fire will be stopped by combat armor, while indirect ones - like collapsing the floor of overheating air - require some time to set up, and force the mage to focus on a single target, leaving them open to the other two.
If you encounter a level 2 and you're not wearing combat armor, retreat - you might still win, but it becomes a deadly dangerous game. If retreat is not an option, fire every weapon on the mage, without closing distance. A full team should quickly overwhelm the target's shield and eliminate it.
LEVEL 3 - Bring some heavies
Level 3 mages are the most dangerous you're likely to ever meet in regular operations. Some unusually powerful rogues, or rank-and-file members of the Factions, reach level three, often in their middle age.
A young level 3 mage, by contrast, is almost surely undergoing heavy magical training, and is probably a special agent from the Terror Factions.
Level 3 mages are always a serious threat, even to multiple teams, because their direct attacks can wound (if rarely kill) an agent wearing combat armor. Be especially wary of Wnd-path mages: a level 3 Juggler can accelerate any object to lethal velocity, given 5-10 meters of free space.
Of course, in a well-planned operation, the target will be overwhelmed by silver bullets or weakened by ambiental suppression, and dealt with safely. But if you encounter a level 3 unexpectedly, what you really want is a heavy ThauCon team on your side. Their thicker power armor allows them to resist level 3 attacks, and helps them close distance quickly. They also carry heavier weapons, and while it's no official policy, their team mages are very often level 3 or upper level 2 themselves.
Without a heavy team, if you encounter a level 3 mage, either use surprise to quickly drop them, or retreat and wait for reinforcements. Should you be ordered to engage, or should the mage attack, you can probably survive the fight as long as you have a full regular team in combat armor. Make liberal use of theta grenades, silver dust and other single-use weakening resources, and go on the offensive.
Should you meet a level 3 mage while separated from your team, or while not wearing armor, retreat immediately.
LEVEL 4 - Bring an army
Most agents, fortunately, will never fight a level four mage.
No regular mage becomes that powerful. Only the most talented, if they undergo special training - which only the Council and the factions can provide - ever get there, and for that, they used to be called Masters.
There's no truly safe way to engage a level 4 mage, except in a carefully planned, large operation, where ambient suppression of at least 1 level can be provided, or the Council can be bothered to bring powerful Fold-mages. Even the strongest silver armor protects you only to a point, against a mage who can collapse the building, heat the room to a thousand degrees, or other such dirty tricks.
However, if they pop up during a major operation, these mages can be beaten, even when they weren't specifically expected. The key is having multiple teams (ideally three full regular teams) firing silver weapons and grenades on the target, while having a veteran team ready to close distance and engage.
If that's the situation, follow your orders and hope the mage doesn't focus on you specifically. The aim is keeping the target under a barrage of fire while the veterans stab them.
If the target flees, you shouldn't pursue, and if you're commanded to do so, you should obey only slowly and ineffectively. A mage this powerful simply can't be prevented from running, without already planned contingencies, or - less reliably - by Council mages who equals their power.
If you can't fight with overwhelming numbers, or you lack a heavy team who can engage the target, retreat. A Master can kill a whole ordinary team before your weapons can bring them down.
If absolutely pushed to fight, the recommended strategy is the extremely dangerous death hug: use all your theta grenades to allow your Blademaster to close distance, then have them physically tackle the mage. The large amount of silver in your combat armor is your best chance to destroy the mage's powerful shield. Needless to say, this is an extremely risky strategy and even when successful, often causes serious wounds to the Blademaster.
LEVEL 5 - Go back home
Level 5 mages are the heavy hitters for the most dangerous Terror Factions. Confronting them requires large operations, and should only happen during major ThauCon offensives against the strongest Syndicates or the Hidden Schools. Their appearance in any other circumstance means something has gone horribly wrong - either you fell for a trap, probably sprung by the Faceless, who love this trick, or by supreme misfortune you walked into a Grandmaster by accident.
Level 5 mages are too strong to be brought down by ordinary weapons, and can retreat from any unfavorable battle by diving deep into the Else, so fighting them is extremely dangerous and pointless. Whatever the guidelines say, it doesn't matter how many silver bullets would theoretically bring down their shields: that won't happen. In all of the Agency's history, Grandmasters have been killed *only* during major operations with ambient suppression and military equipment available, or in the chaos of open battle.
The only reasonable course of action is retreating, while keeping a stream of suppressing fire on the target - you can't kill them, but you can keep them on a defensive footing, so they won't pursue you, or use their offensive powers.
If you're commanded to attack a Grandmaster, refuse on grounds of it being a suicidal order. Most officers worth their salt will relent, and even if they don't, they usually won't be willing to bring the issue to a court-martial.
LEVEL 6 - Run for your life
The good news is that very few agents ever meet an enemy Archmage. The bad news is, most of those who do won't live to tell the tale.
You should never engage an arch-mage except in a dedicated, agency-wide operation, since it would mean engaging the very leaders of the Criminal Factions. For such an op, you should have specific training, world-class elites be present, the army ready with military equipment - frankly, if you're reading this manual, you shouldn't be involved in such an operation at all, until you get 10 years of experience, minimum. If you are legitimately involved in such an op, just follow the plan and hope it was a good one.
Should you meet a level 6 mage in any other circumstance, don't even consider engaging. Your weapons won't hurt them, and the heaviest silver armor won't help against an enemy who can uproot buildings and tear open the sky.
Your only hope is to be utterly ignored, and even then, the blast radius of the mage's attacks could easily kill you anyway. Run away as fast as you can, and keep running until you're very, very far.
If you're ordered to fight, have a good laugh - a court martial might kill you, but the arch-mage will kill you, and possibly do far worse things. Most judges will quickly rule such an order as suicidal, and thus illegal, anyway.
LEVEL 7 - Pray
Should you meet a level 7 magical entity, either the Exiled has come from the Moon, or you're facing the Red Fury.
Frankly, there's nothing any of us can do at that point.
Running is pointless. Fighting is hopeless. Die with honor.
"Council Mages play an important role in enhancing and supporting the Agency. Most significantly, they significantly outperforms current theta detectors in their ability to detect and track magic.
As they're often permanently attached to Agency units, it is a common mistake to consider them part of the Agency itself, and it is occasionally suggested that they should be integrated in ThauCon's organization and operational strategy.
That, however, won't happen. The war on magic can't be won by relying on magic. The Agency for Thaumological control is a proud successor of the Silver Men Society, founded to stand against the tyranny of mages. Therefore, it must stay fully separated and independent from the Council of Loyal Mages, which it is tasked to surveil and control."
ThauCon Strategical Doctrine
Two weeks after my arrival, we get our first emergency deployment. Theta detectors pick up a signal while we're on duty, sounding a shrill alarm, and a moment later I receive red neuralink alerts flashing at the corner of my sight.
We pause the movie Kaelich made us watch - Ocean Woman, an action-packed idiocy that is half plot holes, half propaganda for the One World Alliance - and read the message.
CODE YELLOW - ONGOING MAGICAL EVENT - NO HARM TO PERSONS Event origin: single human mage Intensity: level 1.2, uncertainty 0.3 Signature: unknown Modulation: unconfirmed - likely paths: Mind (74%), Lies (43%), Fold (12%) Information: no further details yet
I've just finished reading when a voice channel opens to the whole squad. It's actual, spoken voice comm - official operating procedure doesn't allow StemLink. Mostly because the manuals were last updated 50 years ago.
"Corporal Aeniki here. I'm doing signal analysis,"says our specialist corporal. I've yet to meet her in the flesh, but she always sounds bored and depressed. "It looks like the magical event is already over. I bet it's a rogue mage charming some poor sod."
"Blue leader here. Do we deploy?"Kaelich asks, eager.
"Lieutenant here. Affirmative,"Sareas – the Lieutenant currently on duty - answers. "Take the chopper. You should get there in time to get a signature."
Once we have a rogue mage's signature, they're pretty much fucked. We'll detect any magic they use, anywhere.
Only problem, to read a magical signature we need a mage of our own.
"Uh, sir, we don't have our Council Agent yet,"Kaelich says. "Can we borrow one?"
A moment of pause.
"I'll send you Jaeleri, he's the only one currently on reserve duty,"Sareas says, exasperated."If he doesn't cooperate, do everyone a favor and shoot him."
Sorivel winces. I haven't met mage Jaeleri yet, but everyone speaks his name like a curse.
"First team deployment! And we get the chopper, too!" Kaelich says, upbeat. Xe raises his hand, like xe wants to high-five, then looks at us, and hastily lowers it.
"Well, we should go. You're all ready, right?" xe says, sounding anxious.
We're already wearing full combat gear – when we're on active watch duty, our job is to stand fully armored in one of the watchtowers, in case the Order of the Broken Moon comes to steal our snow, I guess.
It would be more efficient to wait by the quad-copter, but rules are rules. So we grab our weapons and run for the chopper. Sorivel's drones, some flying, some crawling, follow him like disturbing mechanical ducklings.
The hangar is an ugly concrete nest perched above the base core. Steel catwalks connect it to the watchtowers, and the metal creaks horribly under our boots. I'll really have to make a note in my next report, this fucking thing looks two rusty nails away from collasping under our feet.
At least for once it isn't snowing, so we won't slip to our deaths. It's a bright, cloudless day, the first I've seen in this Lords-forsaken place. On such a day, the endless white around the base almost looks good. The base is on a hill, and below us, the city of Rakavdon unfolds, all domes and slender towers and a spiderweb of frosted canals.
The quad-copter waits for us at the hangar, and it's already warming up, its rumble shaking the catwalk under our feet. I wouldn't admit it to Kaelich, since being enthusiastic about modes of transportation is for children and fools, but I'm excited about flying on it.
The wind from the rotors blows snow in our faces. There's a second chopper next to it, but it looks like it's been grounded for a long time – the docking gate appears rusted in place. Can it still fly? I'll have to check that for my next report. But for now, the mission.
We board the quad-copter, and I'm pretty satisfied with our efficiency - less than a minute from receiving the signal to taking our seats. After we strap in, however, the doors don't close.
"We're ready. Where's Jaeleri?"Kaelich asks.
Oh, right. The mage.
"He's arguing that he's assigned to support Team Green, and I can't order him to follow Team Blue on a deployment,"Sareas says, sounding one inch away from a screaming fit. "That's bullshit, of course, I'll kick his ass all the way there if he doesn't shut up and run."
"Captain, give me strength," Sorivel says, "all mages are damned to eternal suffering for their sins. But I hope Jaeleri will get some extra suffering."
"Let's hope we get a better mage," I say, looking at the chronometer. "We should have prepared for this contingency, though, and asked LT to keep a reasonable mage on call. That said, we could save some time by starting the equipment check."
Kaelich looks confused for a moment, then straightens xir back.
"We never did it, just to be clear," Sorivel says. "We never go up against any real threat."
"It's a good habit to take. Especially if you want to be taken seriously as a team," I answer. At Intelligence School, they made us live by checklists.
"Heavenly Doctor, help us," Sorivel grumbles. "You'll make Kael a stickler for rules, too. As if xe wasn't sinful enough already."
Despite the complaints, Sorivel starts to check his own equipment. I'm not sure what to make of our drone controller, yet. After that morning conversation, we haven't talked much, and he seems to be mostly composed of sarcasm, pessimism, and religious mumbling. All in all, a nicer personality than most techies. But I can't tell if his religious tirades are actual zeal, or his special brand of irony.
I shake my head. Enough idle thoughts. I should check my own equipment.
Sword, clean and properly sheathed. Dagger, same.
Pistol, functional, secured, ten silver bullets ready.
Armor diagnostic is all green, but I manually check for the silver scales on the inside. Combat armor includes nine kilograms of silver - more than enough to deal with a rogue mage, should they still be on site. Combat drugs - three doses of Rush, three of Still. Injection system green.
Helmet connected to armor, HUD diagnostic all green. I check that the visor lowers on command, but keep it open.
Two theta grenades, functional and ready.
"I'm ready," I say.
"So am I," Kaelich answers. "Now, if only we could have a mage…"
We double-check our equipment, and then we still have to wait a whole minute, increasingly annoyed, before Mage Jaeleri arrives.
He's a short, scrawny boy who looks like a cat dragged him out of a sewer. His red-and-gold council robe is way too large, he has to roll up the sleeves, and the hem is filthy from dragging on the floor. His white skin has a sickly greenish tint, his hair is messy and oily - Lord of Sand, I know council mages don't have to follow military regulations, but this is just disgusting.
"Welcome, Jaeleri," Kaelich says, managing to sound friendly. "Strap in, we're going. Did you get the brief?"
Jaeleri steps on the chopper, insufferably slow, and looks at us like we were live roaches he found in his milk.
"Sareas told me there's a theta peak," he mumbles. "She ordered me to assist you. I don't have to follow your orders, though."
Seated next to him, Sorivel mumbles and draws a sign in midair - some religious bullshit. I wonder if he does that for any mage, or just this particular one.
Kaelich lips move, even if xe doesn't speak – like many people, xe mouths the words when communicating via implants. Xe must have talked to the pilot, because the doors close, and finally we take off.
We rise quickly over the ThauCon base, which doesn't look less depressing from above - it's a thick square box with a few outlying buildings and four guard towers. The snowy hill below, however, is beautiful in the afternoon sun, and soon we get a great view of the city.
With a fresh coat of snow, Rakavdon looks like something out of a fairy tale. The river cuts the city like a silver ribbon, and frozen canals, white with snow, glint through the whole city. The parks around the university look like a maze of green and white, domes shine in the afternoon sun, and tall skyscrapers break from the white like shining swords. In the distance, airships circle the skyport like lazy, ponderous whales.
Seen from above, dazzling with snow, Rakavdon looks like a healthy, prosperous city. And with its wealthy university and the relic study center, it's faring better than most cities in the Alliance.
But that only means it's decaying slower. The rot is still there, I spot it with enough attention - a few of the domes are broken, with no sign of active repairs. Whole neighborhoods in the outer city are clearly abandoned, their streets covered in snow nobody cares to sweep. Of the three elegant bridges that cross the river, one is covered with immaculate snow - closed to traffic, even by foot, because the structure is unsound, and the city can't afford the titanium for the repairs.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Kaelich asks, with a large smile. "Landfall might be the heart of the world, but… like, we call it landfill for a reason. This looks so much better. Where are you from in Zelenia? What does it look like?"
"Ter Valentis," I answer. "A port city. It never snowed there. We had plenty of sand, though. I don't want to see sand ever again."
It's an understatement. The rivers feeding the oasis around Ter Valentis are drying up. Water rationing started when I was a child, and it's been getting ever worse. The harbor is silting up, demons infest the suburbs, fallout from the nuclear weapons used in the Zelenian Revolt poisons the farmland. The whole southern Zelenian economy is spiralling to collapse, and the city is depopulating.
"My family was from Ter Siveli," Sorivel adds, barely loud enough to hear over the rotors' noise. "They moved to Karesia when I was a child, though. I grew up in Greenport, which is a place of sin and desperation. This city is a place of sin, too, but in a nicer way."
Sorivel and I look at each other, and I feel a moment of true connection. Ter Siveli is - was - a few hundred kilometers east of Ter Valentis. The desert swallowed it already, and it's completely abandoned. Sorivel and I know, viscerally, that the world is dying. We have known since we were children.
"I hope you'll invite me over when you visit home," Kaelich says, blissfully unaware of the subtext, as xe tends to be. "I've never been to Zelenia."
Aeniki saves us from having to answer.
"We found the victim, who is unharmed,'' she says, making it sound like it's bad news"He's a very rude jeweler. A young mage came in and robbed him, with overt use of magic, but no violence. From his description, the mage used the Path of Lies. Significant power, for a self-taught mage. But xe's probably far gone by now."
"Can we still get a magical signature, Jaeleri?" Sorivel asks.
The mage shrugs. "In theory, I guess. But you know I'm not much good with magic, right?"
"What does that even mean? You're a mage," I snap.
"I'm a mostly theoretical mage," he answers, sounding offended. "I have the Talent, but can barely do anything with it. I meant to study magical theory, before they pressed me to serve in this frozen shithole."
Kaelich closes his eyes, and his voice is strained when xe speaks again. "So, can you detect and identify a magical signature?"
"Maybe," Jaeleri mumbles. "On a good day. If we get there fast enough. But today I don't feel like it. I told Sareas."
I subvocalize to send a Stemlink message, so that he can't hear.
MESSAGE, TEAM: Is he always like this?
KAELICH, TEAM: Sometimes even worse. I've seen him request a triple-signed order to pass the salt at lunch.
SORIVEL, TEAM: "The Heavenly Officers measure our virtue and our sin, and punish or reward us accordingly."
KAELICH, TEAM: And what did I do to deserve this guy?"
SORIVEL, TEAM: You did plenty. Lust, laziness, deceit, disrespect, and that's just in the last week. But honestly, I meant that as a consolation. Whenever Jaeleri speaks, think he'll be tormented by demons for millennia. It helps a lot.
I still can't tell if he's bullshitting us with the religion or not, but I fail to repress a snicker.
***
"So," Kaelich repeats to the distraught jeweler, "the young mage made you think xe had already paid for the, uh, sapphire. And so you gave it to xem?"
"It was an aquamarine necklace," the jeweler grumbles. "And of course I'd never just hand over such a valuable item to a customer, let alone a teenager. But I told you the story already! Why are you wasting time with me? Go catch the mage!"
Kaelich looks entirely at a loss. Xe doesn't know how to deal with the posh jeweler, and has no idea how luxury goods are sold. The jeweler looks at him with growing disdain - I can tell he sees xem as an ignorant kid, despite the black uniform and rifle.
I've little sympathy for the old man. He's flaunting wealth when the world spirals into ruin, and he's being snobbish to an earnest soldier who tries to help. Still, I'll humor him if it gets us answers quickly.
I don't really care if a rogue mage robs some rich asshole. But I want to close my first case quickly, and the idea of a Liar or Telepath casually using xir powers in public is disturbing. Those are the most dangerous paths, entirely forbidden even to the Council, for good reason.
I'm also especially interested in xir modus operandi. Was I right after all, when I read the citizens reports, and suspected a rogue Liar could be on a crime spree? The crimes made little sense - but using magic to steal a conspicuous, hard-to-fence jewel seems incredibly stupid. Could the mage be seriously Else-touched?
"I can take the citizen's deposition while you inspect the crime scene, Corporal," I say.
Not that I have any personal experience with buying precious stones, but I had some seriously wealthy colleagues at the Academy, so I know how to talk with their kind.
"Proceed, private," says Kaelich, looking grateful. Xe walks to Sorivel, who is mumbling and moving his fingers in a corner, while small drones buzz and crawl all around the shop. Hard to tell if he's praying or commanding the swarm.
I walk to the jeweler, and he looks immediately less outraged, and more intimidated. It might be that I look much less friendly than Kaelich, or that I carry a silver sword at my side.
"Your assistance might help us locate the perpetrator," I say, with my best haughty demeanor. "And your cooperation will be appreciated. Further suggestions about our priorities, however, will not be appreciated."
I do my best to sound as threatening as possible, even if realistically, there's nothing I can do to him unless he straight-up refuses to answer my questions.
"Of course, of course," he says, hastily. "I apologize for my outburst, officer. You are just younger than I expected."
That's because the Agency is understaffed, and those of us who don't die in combat leave to work as private security for ten times the pay. The process drains the Agency of talent, bleeds the Alliance of money and forces younger and younger agents to man the bases. With every passing year we spiral closer to disaster, as we grow ever weaker, and ever more demons spew from the Crack in the sky.
But that's not his business, and like most people, he wouldn't care.
"We don't need a veteran team to deal with a single, likely inexperienced mage," I say instead. "So, please come again - did you feel compelled to hand over the aquamarine necklace? As if your body didn't obey you?"
"I… I wasn't really compelled," he says. "I felt just… confused. I couldn't think logically. I checked the stone's transaction history, but I couldn't focus on my screen. I kept thinking that everything was in order, even if it made no sense."
That settles it, the kid is a Liar. And not even a simple illusionist, who manipulates light and sound. Xe's either a mentalist, or the very worst kind of Liar - a warper. Those are even worse than Mind-mages - a Lie spun by a Warper alters the very fabric of the world, and can even fool instruments if the mage is skilled. We'll have to carefully check the security footage for inconsistencies.
"Did the ID scanner at the door work?" I ask.
"Xir ID wasn't valid," the Jeweller grumbles. "But that happens often with those foreign types. Their countries lack a proper identification system. But what can I do? Call the police on every foreign student that comes in?"
I just stare at him until he looks away. I didn't miss the note of distaste when he said foreign types.
"Is there any electronic record of the alleged transaction?" I ask. "Even an incomplete, or rejected one?"
"No!" he says. "I checked, of course, and I couldn't find his transaction, but… but I kept thinking that was right. Whatever xe said, it sounded right."
I nod, relaxing a little. Xe's likely a mentalist liar. Bad, but at last that doesn't fool electronics and material evidence.
"That information will help us," I say. "Now, what about accomplices? Was anyone else in the shop while the mage was here?"
"No one," he says quickly, sweat on his brow, "but there are security cameras! They recorded the entire exchange!"
He must think I'm accusing him of making this up - I'm tempted to let him stew, but I mostly want to wrap this up.
"I'm not doubting your version, currently," I say. "We already know for a fact that magic was used here. I'm trying to pinpoint what kind of magic xe used, and what xir strategy was. An accomplice would be expected in this kind of situation."
Syndicate mages usually work with at least one non-mage accomplice. Scholastic mages always operate in teams - not that the Hidden Schools bother with simple theft. The Faceless rarely let any witness live. If this mage acted alone, xe was a rogue.
"Xe was the only person in the shop." The jeweler lowers his voice, as if confessing something, "But xe didn't need an accomplice. It felt… It felt as if anything the kid said had to be true, and the world would change to fit whatever xe claimed."
I shiver. In training, a Council mage made us feel the effect of a Lie. She made me believe I had decided to drop the Academy and try my luck as a street mime. At first, I laughed about it, and so did my classmates. But then, for days, I wouldn't trust myself about anything. I started keeping my diary back then, to check that my reality is consistent.
I feel doubly grateful for the silver in my helmet - the only real protection against magic mindfuckery.
"Thank you for your contribution," I say. "Please wait here while I discuss with my colleagues."
Kaelich is standing near Sorivel, and I join them. They're glaring at Jaeleri, who's finally doing his job, drawing burning red symbols in mid-air with his fingers. His magic is a red so deep, the rubies in the shop look drab by comparison. It's strange to watch someone… just do magic, like that. But of course, this is tightly controlled. Regulated, as everything should be.
"Remember this, if everything else is forgotten," Sorivel mutters, in his scripture-quoting tone, looking at the mage. "Reach not past the Veil. Seek not the power that is in the Else, for it will devour you, and worse, through the tears in the Veil the enemy might follow."
"Yeah, no shit," Kaelich tells him, "good warning, but a bit late. You know, we sought power, reached past the veil, blah blah, the moon broke, demons everywhere. But it happened, like, two hundred years ago. I don't think Council mages can make things worse, and Jaeleri definitely can't, since he's the worst mage ever."
"There's no salvation to be found in the Dark Power," Sorivel adds, very serious, and finally I'm convinced his zeal isn't an act. I wonder if he was like that before getting his silver tattoos.
I also realize that if we get assigned a mage like Jaeleri, our career is done for. And my sanity too.
"Council mages have worked with the Agency since its very beginning," I say, trying to avoid sounding too annoyed, "and we won't be changing policy soon."
Sorivel brings two fingers to his heart.
"I know," he says, "and I'm not saying we shouldn't use them. But we shouldn't get used to them, either. Even if you don't think it's a sin, magic is always dangerous."
"Yes, yes," Kaelich mumbles, "but I'll be happy as long as we get a mage who actually does their sinful job, honestly. Anyway - got something with your drones?"
Sorivel nods. "I sent Truth and Justice around. I think…"
"Wait, what?" I ask.
Sorivel looks at me, perfectly serious. "Truth and Justice. My scout drones. I name them all after the virtues of the Officers."
Oh, Lost Stars. "Of course, of course," I answer. "Silly me for asking. Go on."
"Truth could pick up the foul stench of the Dark Power," he says, and he must see my expression, because he quickly adds, "or residual theta activity, if you like that better. I followed the trail all the way to the tube station, but from there I lost it. The mage took a train."
"Residual activity, all the way to the station?" I ask. "Why was xe still channeling magic? It looks like xe dropped the Lie as soon as xe left the building."
Sori nods. "I was wondering about the same. I checked the security cameras, and you can tell the moment the Lie ends because the shopkeeper looks like he's suddenly waking."
"Maybe xe had other spells going on?" I suggest. "Maybe a disguise."
"That, or xe's not very skilled, and kept Channelling by accident," Sorivel adds. "I've seen trails like that with rogue mages - they can't cut the connection to the Else cleanly, after using a lot of power."
"This mage looks pretty good, though," Kaelich says, "xe's above level one, and xe didn't go nova nor completely mad, so xe must have some training. And xe managed to force a Lie that was impossible to believe."
"But if xe's a competent mage, and obviously rogue, why do this at all?" I ask. "It's irrational. The jewel is so valuable, it's difficult to fence. And the mage used so much power xe triggered our alarms. If xe can make people believe snow is warm and the sky is green, xe could steal money in smaller amounts and never get caught. That's what rogue Liars usually do."
Kaelich shrugs. "It's strange," xe says, "but mages are weird. Like, really weird. We can ask xem for an explanation when we catch xem."
I suppress a sigh. My colleagues at the Academy loved speculating and nitpicking theories. I like Kaelich, but xe's definitely a simpler sort.
"Truth has something," Sorivel says, and then kneels. A creepy spider-like drone scuttles to his hands. He whispers something that sounds suspiciously like good girl.
"The Officers are with us," he says. "This hair belongs to our mage," he says, delicately holding up a short, dark hair in his gloved hands.
"Wrong color," Kaelich says, "xe's blond."
"I think that was part of xir Lie," Sorivel answers. "We can't be completely sure, yet. But this was in the display case of the stolen necklace, and I can tell you it was lost today. The color doesn't fit the jeweler, so if the case hadn't been opened for other clients, it must be from the mage."
"Cool! Great job, Sorivel!" Kaelich says, raising a hand for a high-five, and hastily turns it in a thumbs-up gesture as he doesn't return it.
"You should thank Truth. She's a good drone," Sorivel says, looking away. "Anyway, it's probably enough to extract DNA. We'll have a name by the evening."
"If we get xir magical signature, too, xe's good as caught," Kaelich says, enthusiastic. "Honestly, I hope we catch xem soon. I've seen the security recording, and xe looks barely stable. Xe needs help, xe could go nova at any time."
Part of me is disappointed. I have to admit, a master thief with reality-manipulating powers sounded more interesting than some stupid kid who acts on impulse and might be going veil-mad. But Kaelich is right - we need results, and the mage needs silver tattoos. Plus a good stint in re-ed.
"Jaeleri, do you have xir magical signature?"
The mage jolts, startled, and turns to us, then rolls his eyes. The glyphs he had drawn in midair dissolve in a red flash.
"Well, now I definitely won't," he says, "and it's too late to try again, it's too decayed. Maybe I'd have one if you hadn't interrupted me."
Lady of Pains, if we get a Council agent half this insufferable, I'll strangle them.
"What can you tell us about the mage?" Kaelich asks. "Is xe trained?"
"Partly, I'd guess," Jaeleri answers slowly, as if it pained him to give us any information. "Xe's pretty powerful, and channeled magic without hurting xemself, so xe must have some training. But xir magic is sloppy, and xe didn't even try to hide the signature - literally the first thing any rogue mage learns, or teaches. So either xe had a terrible mentor, or xe studied on a Council-approved book of magic."
"Why do you say a council-approved one?" Kaelich asks.
Jaeleri rolls his eyes.
"Because council textbooks don't teach you how to evade detection, idiot," he says. "As if we didn't all figure it out within the first year. Also, Council books are easier to get than the books from the Hidden Schools or the Faceless."
I feel the familiar thrill of excitement - books of magic. The Hidden Schools. The real root of what makes our enemies dangerous, the mysterious enemy I meant to dedicate myself to fight.
But I squash the excitement, hard. The big picture is no longer my problem. I deal with the day-to-day fight against mages.
Never mind if I know our strategies aren't working. Never mind if the Alliance is crumbling, and I'm stuck chasing some idiot kid.
No. This is not the right way to think. I can still use my understanding of the bigger picture to solve this case. This mage had a Council book. Where did xe get it?
More importantly - the Council doesn't teach the Path of Lies. Either we'll catch xem soon, or xe'll need a different book. Xe'll seek it. I file that information away for later.
"Well, we have the DNA at least," Kaelich says, crestfallen. "If we're lucky xe still lives at xir registered address and we can catch xem easily. Let's go."
***
While we wait for our thief's name, we get notified that our team mage will join us in the evening - perfect, just too late to be useful in our first deployment.
I'm curious to meet them, however. So, after sunset, I stand with Kaelich outside the base's maglev terminal, shivering despite the thick coat over my uniform.
"How does Jaeleri get away with being so useless?" I ask. "And more to the point, what if we get somebody equally useless?"
Our team is almost workable. Kaelich is enthusiastic, friendly, and can supposedly shoot straight, even if xe doesn't have much gray matter to spare. Sorivel, for all his quirks, I can work with. But I simply couldn't work with Jaeleri.
"Jaeleri follows all the rules, technically," Kaelich answers, gloomy, "and the fact that he sucks at magic isn't a valid reason to ask for a replacement. Team Green could still ask for a different mage, on a personal incompatibility basis, but it would be a stain on their record. And any mage they get as a replacement wouldn't be great anyway – I'm not sure how posting works for mages, but this base is unofficial punishment for them, too."
"I've never really worked with Council mages," I admit.
Xe turns to me, curious.
"I know I said I wouldn't ask for your story," xe says. "But you weren't just another field agent, right? Do you even… wait, do you have any field experience?"
I'm one year older than xem, and we all finish basic training at eighteen. Naturally, xe assumed I've served in some other base.
I don't really know why I'm not telling xem the truth. It wouldn't even sound shameful to xem - flunking out of intelligence just means I'm back to being a regular agent, like xem. Still, I can't help but feel xe'd think less of me. And surprisingly, I don't want xem to.
"I have extensive training," I say, "and practiced in simulated raids of many kinds. But since you're my commanding officer, you should know - I've yet to take part in a real-life combat operation."
"Whoa," xe says. "You sound so… I don't know. Experienced."
I just sound educated, but it's probably better not to say it loud.
The sound of an incoming maglev train saves me from that line of questions.
"If we get a decent mage, you think we can be a real, professional team?" Kaelich asks, quickly.
"I have yet to see us in action, or even complex training, so I have no way to assess that," I answer. Then I remember people prefer niceties to the truth. "But you're determined, and Sorivel looks competent. Most people are neither. So, we have a chance."
Xe looks at me, a smile tugging at xir mouth. "I guess you're the one who's determined and competent."
"Obviously," I answer.
The sleek silver carriage stops smoothly in front of us, and the doors slide open, revealing a young woman. She's short, with a round face and long curly hair. She has striking grass-green tattoos around her eyes, so ornate I'm not sure what they say.
She wears the same red-and-gold robe Jaeleri did, but hers is pressed and new - it looks regal, and not ridiculous. She looks… cute, and harmless?
I send a Stemlink query to ID the mage. Unlike Jaeleri, she made her datasphere profile public, or at least visible to us.
—------------------------- NAME: Althea Zoanni AGE: 21 GENDER: F OCCUPATION: Initiate of the Loyal Council of Mages RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single, looking for a relationship, casual or not. LOOKING FOR: Anyone hot. Smart is a plus. INTERESTS: Martial arts, science and technology, partying. ADDITIONAL INTERESTS: There's no "combat magic" tag for the interest section. Rude. BIO: Want to fight, dance, or drink? I'm in.
—----------------------
"Goodbye, Mage," a ThauCon agent tells her from inside the carriage. They sound spiteful.
"Burn in the Endless Pit, Mundane," she answers, in a cheerful tone.
She makes a casual gesture, her eyes blaze with emerald green light, and small cubes of green glass form in midair. It's a perfect green, greener than any green should be – the impossibly vivid hue only magic can make.
The cubes swarm and combine to form steps, like a floating staircase in front of the girl. She waves a hand, and a huge travel trunk floats to her side, wrapped with green glass chains.
A warning flashes in my Stemlink - Theta peak - but it immediately turns blue and disappears, without further alarms. The base must recognize her as one of ours.
For a moment I freeze, my heart thumping, ready to run - I've never seen magic used so casually. Lord of Sands, I've never seen so much magic from up close. Half my brain screams mage, enemy, fight. The girl's burning eyes are terrifying. How did I find her cute, of everything?
But I know some Council mages use minor spells pretty casually, and I'm not going to be provincial, so I grit my teeth and stand still in my place.
The mage walks down the steps she created, looking at us. She moves like she owns the place, and it makes her look imposing despite her stature.
"She's hot," Kaelich says.
"That's not a very appropriate comment, ser," I point out. Not that xe's wrong - my eyes keep being drawn to her smooth brown skin, and the perfect ringlets of chestnut hair framing her face. Plus, she manages to wear the old-fashioned red-and-gold council tunic as if it were high fashion.
"Hey, you know I'm all kinds of proper," Kaelich says. "I meant it literally. Look at the snow."
I see it now - Mage Zoanni doesn't even touch the ground, but the snow melts at her passage, making steam rise in rivulets.
She smiles at us. It isn't a nice-to-meet-you smile, it's more an only-one-of-us-will-leave-this-place-alive smile. Unable to meet her glowing stare, I notice she wears earrings with green stones matching the hue of her magic.
"Welcome, to, uh, Rakavdon," Kaelich says, sounding far less confident than xe was when I arrived. "If you're here, you fucked up? At least, that's for ThauCons. Not sure it's true for Council Mages. Sorry. Also, hope you brought extra layers--it'll only get colder around here for a few month, and it's already so fucking cold."
"The cold won't be a problem," the mage says. She walks down from the last green light step, and snow melts before it can touch her shoes. Her floating trunk follows her, radiating green light.
"And yes, I fucked up," she adds, cheerful. "Arguably. Anyway, thank you, but I can carry my own baggage. Could you call Corporal Kaelich for me, please? I'd like to meet xem as soon as possible."
It takes me a moment to process the situation - of course, she's a mage, so she has no implants. And she mistook us for porters.
"Err, Corporal Kaelich, that would be me," Kaelich says, with a thin voice "And she's our blademaster, Private Cerical."
The mage looks surprised for a moment, then looks at xem, up and down, as if judging xir worth.
I sigh inwardly. I've met plenty of her type in basic training, and even more at Intelligence School. The kind that must make clear you're beneath them - and that's a terrible dynamic with someone like Kaelich, who tries to be nice to everyone. I already know we won't like each other. A pity she's so hot.
"Sorry for the misunderstanding, corporal," she says, haughty. "I come from a ten hour train ride and I'm not at my best. I'm Althea, Initiate of the Council. Nice to meet you both."
Initiate. An old-fashioned way to say second level. Unusually powerful, for a junior team mage.
"Nice to meet you," Kaelich says. "We can introduce ourselves properly tomorrow, we'll be off duty. Now I'm sure you'll want to rest and…"
"Are you kidding?" she asks. "It's Scienday night. Just show me the way to the showers, and then let's get drunk. Best way to get to know each other."
"Oh, finally," Kaelich says, xir voice dripping with gratitude. "I'm so happy you're here. I don't care if you're any good as a mage, as long as you drink with me."
***
An hour later we're in the R&R room, sitting around a stained plastic table with a deck of cards and three bottles of assorted intoxicants.
The room is drab and depressing, with concrete walls, motivational posters proudly proclaiming 'WE'LL TAKE BACK THE MOON' and a few faded holiday pictures from agents who are probably dead, retired, or both.
It doesn't look like a place which would be conducive to team bonding, or relaxing. But surprisingly, it works - we spend a good half-hour doing rounds of questions, and I learn more about my two teammates than I had in the previous week.
After a few rounds of harmless questions, we get to more personal questions – I find out they're all single, even if Sorivel is still angsty about a boyfriend he broke up with last year. We move to politics, shameful childhood memories, and find out that Althea was meant to be an engineer before manifesting the Dark Power.
Kaelich is steadily getting drunk. Xe's drinking some clear Vorokan liquor that smells and tastes like antiseptic. Althea is drinking the same but looks much more sober. I drink apple cider, which makes me a little more sociable but won't make me regret my choices tomorrow morning.
Sorivel keeps to water, and mutters something about sinful and poison every time we touch a bottle.
"I know I'm pathetic," Kaelich says, with an arm around Sorivel's shoulders. The techie looks uneasy but pulls closer to Kaelich, his ears and cheeks turning a little red.
"But I'm so happy I got assigned you three," Kaelich continues, slurring the words a little. "I was sure I'd get slackers like team green, or thugs like team red."
Xe looks around, xir eyes bleary. "Or stuck-up assholes like Lieutenant Sareas," xe adds in a very loud whisper.
"So, how does it work here?" Althea asks. "We're great friends, but we hate everyone else? Isn't Sareas our LT?"
"I wouldn't say we're friends," I correct her.
"We don't hate anyone," Kaelich says, at the same time.
"I don't like mages. Nothing personal. It's just that you're a sin against creation," Sorivel adds, taking a sip of water.
Althea looks at Sorivel, her eyes hard, and all the companionship we built up evaporates in a moment. Sorivel stares back, his expression neutral. Self-consciously, he pulls his sleeves to fully cover the silver bands tattooed around his wrists.
"A cultist, I see," Althea says, cold. "Worship what you will. But prayers won't stop Elsefire. My shields will. And remember your Agency begs the Council for help."
Sorivel leans forward, a dark gleam in his eyes, and oh fuck this might go seriously bad.
"Don't listen to him, Althea," Kaelich says, lazily putting a meaty hand over Sorivel's mouth, "He's a softie, deep down. Just a bit weird. You must humor him," xe whispers, way too loud again.
After a moment, Sorivel snickers, Althea laughs, and some tension bleeds from the air.
"Well, I was told this base is a piece of work," Althea says, taking a long sip of liquor. Sorivel looks away, his shoulders relaxing a little.
"So, what did you do?" The mage asks, eager to change topic. "You keep saying you fucked up, to end up here. How?"
"We don't ask…" Soriviel begins.
"I'll go first," Althea says, cutting him off. "There's a kind of short boot camp for mages, between learning magic at the Glass Tower and being assigned to a ThauCon team. I did mine in the Andvor highlands - I thought it was a shitty place, but it's basically heaven compared to Vorok. Anyway, I had an argument with one of the trainers. I suggested to settle it with a friendly duel. The sucker accepted, and I wiped the floor with her ass. She couldn't accuse me of anything, she had accepted the duel in public, but she pulled some strings to get me posted here. "
"What was the argument about?" I ask, curious despite my better judgment.
She smiles. Lost Stars, she has a nice smile. She has dimples and soft, full lips, but her eyes are so intense. Nothing soft in her stare.
"That's for later," she says. "Drink more, tell me your part, and you might get it."
She changed her tunic for a regular t-shirt, and I see her arms are muscular, if less bulky than a soldier's. I catch myself hoping to see her in the baths. She's Karesian, so she'll go half-naked all the time, right? Come on, Ceri. We need a good working relationship. This isn't the time for hormones.
"Well, I won't get any drunker," Sorivel says, grim, "and it's no big secret. My previous LT was tired of my religious convictions, the team mage even more so. We ended up arguing. Words were thrown, then some punches, and since I hit a superior officer, but she had started it, they basically offered me to drop all charges if I accepted a voluntary transfer to base freeze-ass."
I'm a bit surprised. Sorivel is strange and not very personable - which could be said of me, too - but he doesn't look the kind to get in a brawl.
"A drink to asshole officers, may they all rot in the Abyss," Althea says, taking one more swallow. Kaelich follows her, enthusiastic, and I sip a bit of cider.
"People burn in the Abyss, they don't rot, and drinking alcohol is a sin in itself," Sorivel grumbles, but he raises his glass of water and drinks.
"So, what about you?" I ask Kaelich. "What did you do? Brought too many stray kittens to the base? Cooked too many cinnamon rolls? Fuck, I've not been here long, but I can't picture you doing anything bad."
Xe blushes and looks away. Is the alcohol making me ramble? Impossible. I'm extremely rational.
"For starters, my cinnamon buns are amazing, no one would ever complain about those," xe says, "besides, my story is boring, really, I don't…"
"You wanted us to know each other," Althea cuts him off. "And a leader should lead by example."
Xe sighs. "Ok," xe says. "I had troubles with my captain, too, happy? He wanted to have me transf… ferr… moved here."
"Did you have an argument?" I ask.
Kaelich looks away.
"I can't bet because it's a sin," Sorivel says. "But if I could, I'd bet xe fucked said captain."
"Hey!" Kaelich says, waving a finger. "Why would you jump to that conc… lonc… why do you say that? I'm your superior."
"You're competent and you're a bootlicker, any captain would love you," Sorivel says. "On the other hand, you sin of lust like you're trying to break some record. So, the result is obvious."
"Sex is not a sin!" Kaelich protests. "Except with your commanding officer, it turns out. I hadn't thought much about that."
Kaelich looks shy, but from Sorivel's tales, xe's good at picking up partners, and I guess xe looks good, if you're into big smiling idiots. I can't help but laugh, and Althea joins me. I drink some more cider.
"Your turn, Ceri," Kaelich says, slurring the words. "Come on. I'm so curious. Did you fuck your captain, too? No, wait, you're waaaay too boring. Had some huge argument? You guys should have seen her, she pestered Admin for three days for something about door maintenance, they hate her now."
"It was a potential security concern, I had to…" I begin.
"Don't change topic," Althea says, curt, "you're the only one left. What did you do?"
I have no obligation to answer.
This is almost a drinking game, a social construct I loathe and won't take part in. But since Sorivel isn't drinking, it's not actually a drinking game, right? And Althea's eyes are such a lovely shade of hazel, when they don't burn with magic, and my skin tingles as if I could feel her gaze on me.
"I was in the Officer Training, Intelligence section," I say. "And I was expelled."
There's a moment of silence - stunned, at least from the two ThauCon agents.
"Whoa," Kaelich says. "You got into Intelligence?"
ThauCon Officer School has high standards for entry, compared to those for the rank-and-file. And Intelligence has the most challenging criteria, resulting in a very low ratio of accepted applications.
It's where I always wanted to be, since I was old enough to understand the Breaking of the Moon, and the way it ruined my home, the way it's ruining the world. Intelligence is the branch of the Agency that actually tries to understand our enemy. Actually tries to win the war against magic.
And now I'm stuck with chasing small-time magical thieves.
"How did you get kicked out?" Sorivel asks.
"I wrote an essay," I answer.
"Holy shit, I get it," Kaelich says, sympathetic "I was terrible at those, too. Always got the subj… the verbs wrong. I barely got passing marks in my basics."
"I don't think she wrote a bad essay," Sorivel says, cocking his head.
"Come on, what did you write?" Althea asks.
I almost tell them - but it feels too much, and too risky a territory, and something which could derail a surprisingly pleasant night.
"Well, that's for the next time," I say, and risk a glance toward Althea. "We'll get bored if we learn everything now, right?"
"Tell usssss," Kaelich slurs. But Althea nods at me.
She didn't tell the full story, either. But the full truth is not for tonight.
"So, our officers threw us here to freeze, out of their sight," Althea says. "But that doesn't mean it will work. I'm a powerful mage. Cerical got into Intelligence, she must be good. And neither of you was moved for incompetence."
She looks at us like I'd look at a new sword, trying to decide if it fits my fighting style.
"That's what I say." Kaelich jumps in "We should surprise everyone and become a strong team. It's redemption, in a way."
"Call it redemption if you want," I say. "It's revenge."
We raise our glasses - even the one filled with water.
"To revenge!"
Time for Althea's portrait, drawn by my amazing partner jackdaw.
I'm not sure I'll be able to post consistently in the next days - the chapters are ready (I've written the whole first arc), but it takes me some time to adapt the format for this website, and I'm quite busy with work. As soon as I catch up with the chapters posted on a different website, I'll move to posting on the weekend. (you shouldn't worry about the story being dropped, though, I have a *very* thick buffer, I'll just move to a more sustainable schedule)
If you have any kind of feedback, including stuff like "chapters are too long, split them" or "the colored text is horrible to read", please let me know!
"The Else is the realm of the mind, the hidden foundation of reality. The Else is a place of wonder, truth, and revelation.
The Here, however, can't stand its naked truth. Channeled without control, the substance of the Else will manifest as fire – the fire of creation and apocalypse, a fire no matter can withstand."
Archmage Ikelejon, later known as The Unmaker, during her welcome speech for the Council Academy, year 2603 After Landing
As soon as I recover some strength, Daravoi helps me back to my hiding place in the Tube network.
"Moonbreaker's tits, this place is disgusting," he says, looking around and scowling more than usual.
"I didn't know I'd have friends over," I answer. I say friends in the most sarcastic way possible, so I can always claim it was meant ironically.
"Ok, but it looks like a rat's nest," he adds, pointing to a mass of dirty clothes. "For a rat with low standards."
"It's just that stealing cheap clothes is easier than taking them to the laundry, ok?" I point out. I'm not lazy, it's just more efficient.
I'm blushing, which I hate, it spoils my pale and generically sickly aesthetic.
My room - well, the empty closet I appropriated - was probably a storage space for tube workers. I found it full of half-rotten cardboard boxes, which I pushed outside, hoping I wouldn't catch typhus. It's a featureless concrete cube about three meters by three, made even more depressing by the ghostly blue light of my magic. Cheap clothes, empty food bags and magazines are strewn around, only the small book of magic is placed with some care over a not-yet-rotten box.
But I'm starting to grow fond of this place, stupid as it is - it's mine in a way even my bedroom at home never was, no matter how much I miss the comfy bed.
"Couldn't you at least clean the floor?" Dara adds, wrinkling his nose and pointing at some gunk on the concrete which has probably been there since the Moonbreaking.
"Hey, it was here already when I came," I say. "Sorry if I didn't prioritize stealing industrial cleaning equipment. Aren't you the poor kid who lived in a cupboard anyway?"
"I grew up on an airship caravan, not in a fucking barn," he says, a note of actual annoyance in his voice. "Well, at least no one will guess a great mage lives here. Except for the unnatural heat and magical blue light. I think the spell must be going wrong, it's so fucking hot."
"The spell works perfectly. I like hot," I say. And finally, my moms can't complain that I waste heat.
I feel a stab of pain at the thought of moms, and I bury it immediately. They're probably happy to have me out of the way, so they can focus on their two non-disappointing children.
"I could try to… disintegrate the dirt away to clean the floor," Daravoi says, frowning as he thinks.
"Absolutely not, when you try a new spell you always burn something," I say. "Does it really annoy you that much? Like, I get it, it's filthy. I sleep in the bag anyway."
I try to make it sound casual, but I'm painfully conscious I live in a filthy hole. But making it livable seems incredibly difficult - I'd need soap and water and cleaning-stuff-I-never-used-in-my life, and I'd have to bring it all here, and I feel like I can't breathe just by thinking about all that. Surviving was hard enough, let alone cleaning.
"I've slept in worse places. Maybe. Once or twice," Dara says, shrugging. "Anyway, it's fuck-you-oh-clock in the morning, I meant to sleep here, but not sure I'm going to, now."
"Sorry if it's not a palace," I say. "Wait, sleep here?"
"If you're okay with sharing," he adds, with a tone that suggests I'd better be okay with it after he saved my ass, "I've beenm crashing at a co-worker's place, but it wouldn't be nice to come this late."
The idea of Dara sleeping here feels wrong, in so many different ways. This place is mine, and no one else has a right to it. Plus, if this place is so disgusting, no one else should suffer it. And Daravoi called me a friend, and I haven't had a friend sleep over since I was eleven, and…
I take a deep breath. He's tired and he's been nice to me. My stupid brain can shut up for a while.
"I don't have another sleeping bag and I'm not going to share," I say, because I always say something stupid.
He rolls his eyes. "Aren't you a peach. Anyway, it's not like I'll be cold, it's a hothouse. I'm more worried about cholera."
I sigh, as theatrically as possible.
"Try your cleaning spell. If you fuck up and collapse the whole tube system over our heads, we're even with the necklace fiasco."
He nods, cracks his knuckles, and squats on his haunches - carefully not to touch the floor.
I usually want to glimpse the Else as he performs spells - watching someone else channel magic is fascinating. But I'm tired, and I feel strangely sick at the idea of touching the Veil, so I collapse on my sleeping bag and just look with my regular eyes.
Dara's eyes gleam dark red, and a mesh of glowing triangles surrounds his fingers. His magic looks so different from mine - it's all sharpness and angles, while mine manifests as interwoven spirals. Is one of us doing it wrong? Or is there some difference between us? Fuck, that council book doesn't explain anything.
Dara's fingers touch the floor, and a glowing red triangle forms around them, then more triangles sprout from its vertices, and more from those, and soon the whole floor is a web of glowing triangles except for the area I'm lying on.
He makes a gesture with his other hand, and his fingers become purple-red glass. A flash of red light, sudden smell of charred plastic, and he waves his hand, sending a thin layer of dust flying to a corner of the room.
The concrete floor is much cleaner now. Actually - it's not just clean, it's smooth, like gray stone. I run a finger on it, and it's like touching marble.
"Cool," I say, "a pity it now stinks of burning whatever."
"There's that," Dara says, falling to sit against the wall. "Also, uh, maybe I didn't think this through."
He raises a crumpled t-shirt from the floor, and I see it's been slashed to ribbons. I check a sock – sliced neatly in half where it was touching the floor. Wow. He just ruined everything I own.
We look at the ruined fabric, then at each other, and we start laughing at once.
I must be tired, and possibly still shaken, because I can't stop laughing, and neither does Daravoi. We laugh until I cough and he wipes tears from his eyes.
"Look at us, the powerful mages," he says.
"The world shall tremble at our feet," I add.
Then we go to sleep, and I dream of the moon, intact, but blue and clear like aquamarine.
***
***
With my room vaguely more livable, after some bickering Daravoi ends up sleeping here for the whole week - I don't prod too much, but it seems he had no stable living place for a while.
At first it's strange to have someone else in my refuge, but after a few days, it feels good. Students at the university share rooms, right? And I always wanted to go to university. So, this is like a really twisted version of it.
Dara usually wakes up before I do, so I'm not surprised when I find him already awake, reading one of my comics.
"This is really fucking stupid," he says.
"I don't know what you expected from a comic about a talking crocodile," I point out.
"And that's why I don't read," he says, tossing it away. "Except for that, of course," he says, pointing at my Introduction to Else manipulation.
"How did you get it anyway?" He adds.
I shrug, looking away. I asked my big sister for some help before running from home makes me sound like some rich brat.
I could lie, I could tell him a story about the way I stole it from…
I squash the thought away. You shouldn't lie to friends.
"It's a story for another day," I say, sticking my tongue out. Then I wrinkle my nose. "Did you do the cleaning spell again? This place stinks of burned plastic. And sweat. Let's go do some crime. And take a shower."
"You shower every day," he says, as if this was strange, "but your room would make a sewer rat run away disgusted."
"I hate being dirty. If not for the public baths, I'd have turned myself in within three days of leaving home," I say. "Especially since my room isn't terribly clean."
He grumbles something like you could clean, but I always ignored when my moms said that, so I'll ignore him too.
I flick my fingers and summon a mote of blue light to show us the path in the dark, abandoned tunnels outside my room. I do my best to ignore the rats, or very large cockroaches, which scurry out of the way.
"We should lie low for a while longer," Daravoi says. We've been eating out with our small stockpile of stolen money, but we didn't dare use magic since my fuckup at the jewelry.
"Come on," I say, "it's been what, six days? The Men in Silver can't be on high alert forever. And we must go back to being productive criminals."
"You're sure you didn't show your true face when you robbed the jewelry, right?" He asks, suddenly anxious.
"I wore a Lie - I'm not entirely stupid, you know," I say, "but if they really care about it, they could identify me by voice and gait. And then I'd be fucked."
"They can find you from your voice?" He asks.
We reach the abandoned station of a dead metro stop. Our voices echo in the vast, empty space.
"Of course," I say, surprised he doesn't know, "aren't you supposed to be the hardened criminal here? Police software can ID people by face, voice, gait and who knows what else. Vorokan law limits the use of street cameras and protects personal data a bit, but sooner or later everyone ends up in the police database. I bet ThauCon has even fancier stuff."
We walk to the platform, and start following the maintenance sidewalk that runs next to the tracks. Trains don't run here – it's a dead line. But Daravoi is still nervous every time we walk into a dark tunnel.
"I guess being illegal has its perks, sometimes," he says, after walking in silence for a while. "If the police caught me without a valid chip and with a Kalestrian accent, I'd just get beaten and deported. So I won't end up in any database."
"Not to be a clueless rich kid, but why did you even come here?" I ask. "I mean, the police hate you, everyone's racist, and it's the coldest country in the whole Alliance."
I knew I should have shut up - even by the dim blue light, I see the annoyance on his face.
"Because you people shit money, and Kalester has been a blasted hell for the last sixty years, maybe you've heard of it," he says. "And we can thank ThauCon for that. So the caravans come here to get your sweet money. And when I found out I had the Power… well, my people really don't like mages."
"It's not like anyone else likes… wait, is somebody there?"
We're approaching the first active station of the metro line, a circle of yellow light in the dark tunnel. It's not a busy stop, usually I can sneak into it without needing a Lie. But now, there are three people waiting on the sidewalk, next to our tunnel, outlined against the station's light. White flashlights flicker in their hands.
"Maintenance workers?" Daravoi asks.
"I never met any before, and this track is abandoned," I say. "Why would technicians come here?"
"Do I look like I know shit about track maintenance? Off with that Else-light, idiot. I'll make some with my phone," he answers, looking nervous. He talks big, but worries more than I do about being caught.
Well, that might be related to the whole police would beat and deport him compared to my police would give me a stern talk and take me to my moms.
Not that it's necessarily true anymore. I have a serious crime on record, now, if they connect the theft to me - no matter how many strings my family pulls, I probably can't avoid rehabilitation camp. My skin clams with sweat at the thought.
"I can make a Lie," I say, trying not to think about ThauCon or rehabilitation camps, "I can make us pass for maintenance workers. Well, unless they are the maintenance workers."
The jewelry mess taught me that if I make a Lie that doesn't make sense, people will fight it. I can still make them believe it for a while, but if I use so much magic I might as well bash them in the head with an Else-glass club.
"Leave magic as a last resort," Daravoi says, "But if they're the police, can you make them believe we have ID chips and stuff?"
"I think so," I say. "At worst, we run toward the station's exit and I'll make them believe we ran the opposite way, that one's easy."
I almost add but we're not doing anything illegal before remembering that he's always illegal and I have a burned-out ID chip, too. I should take this crime thing more seriously.
The people standing in our way don't look like police, though. There's a middle-aged man in a thick black coat, a woman in her thirties, and a lean young man with long hair. The woman and the young man have black, spindly black tattoos around their eyes, which I'm pretty sure is a gang sign. And the youth is fiddling with a switchblade knife so theatrically I'd laugh, if I weren't busy picturing that knife stabbing me.
"Your friends, Dara?" I ask.
"Are you fucking stupid?" He hisses, taut as a string. "It's a Vorokan gang. We don't use eye tattoos."
"Wait, gangsters are racist, too?" I ask. I thought criminals stuck together.
He groans. "I'll explain how the world works later, now focus - you do the talking, if they hear my accent or see my arm we're fucked. They'll want some money, I guess. They won't expect us to have much. Pay up, but not too easy, if they sniff how much we have, it's a fucking mess."
"Should I try to Lie?" I ask.
A pause. We're getting close enough that I see them clearly in the face - the older man doesn't have gang tattoos, only regular ones saying male, widower. But he could star in any movie as the hardened gangster. I feel ten percent more criminal just by looking at him.
"Magic only if you must," Daravoi says, his voice low, "if they understand we're mages, even later, it'll be a disaster. Gangs hate mages even more than foreigners."
So, no magic. Daravoi can scowl, but not speak. And I'm supposed to give them money - not too soon, but before they stab us. It's like a fucking math test. Who knew being a dreg of society would be this hard.
We stop, ten steps from the young man with the knife, and my heart beats so fast it hurts. I ache to spin a Lie and make them ignore us, but Daravoi is right, that's a shitty idea.
"I told you, they have a den in the old tunnels" the young man says, looking at me as he talks to his companions. He's tall and wiry, but he's muscular, and moves with nervous energy. He definitely looks like he could hand us our asses even without the knife.
"Strange place for a homeless kid to sleep in," The older man says, his voice gravelly. "So, tell me why are you staying here in the tunnels?"
What would a real, non-magic street kid say?
"I like the place," I say, smiling. "Is that a problem?"
I was courteous and smiled. That usually works with authorities. But this time I feel I got it wrong.
"Are you fucking with me?" The young man asks. With an affected gesture, he flicks his blade open. Forgotten Enemy, it's so long and pointy.
"Wait, Veri," the old man says, raising a hand. He looks at me, his expression perfectly neutral. "This is our turf, kids. You ran from home or something, I guess. Well, first thing you learn out here - have some respect for the gangs, and we'll leave you in peace."
Can't they just ask me for the money?
"I… didn't mean disrespect," I say, talking too fast. "I didn't know there was a gang here. We can go away."
The man doesn't react, but the woman scoffs.
"Too late. You come into the Uncle's territory, you must pay," the young man says, smiling. I'm suddenly sure I'm looking too weak and scared, possibly because I'm very weak and very scared. And I have a feeling he wants to use that knife.
"We don't have much money," I say. I don't have to feign worry, even if I'd happily give him all the money we've stolen, in exchange for not getting stabbed.
"Your tablet's nice," the young man says, looking at Daravoi. "And your jacket isn't bad."
"You can have the tablet," I say, "and you won't see us again, I swear."
He looks at me, then back at Dara, waving his knife at him. "Are you dumb? I heard you talk."
"I hear you fine," Daravoi says, trying to hide his accent, which makes it even more obvious. "Look, we don't want trouble. Take my tablet, and we're done."
"You're a fucking bat-eater," knife guy says, sounding angry. "You know what we do to bats?"
"They're not in the gangs, Veri," his boss says. "No need for this to get violent."
"Won't be violent," the younger man says. "As long as he shows respect."
He walks to Daravoi and gives him a slow, deliberate shove. Daravoi takes a step back, looking down. I stifle a groan - the macho show is as bad as the threat of stabbing.
Also, he's being a real asshole, I feel terrible for Daravoi.
We don't have to accept this. We don't have to fear them. I feel the Veil, just beyond my fingers…
No. By now, any magic I could use would be painfully obvious, and bite us in the ass later. They just want our money, and to feel important.
"Look, we can give you some money. And the tablet," I say, hoping we did enough groveling.
"Something about them isn't right," the woman says, talking for the first time.
"Of course. He's a bat, and the other one probably fucks him," knife guy says.
"You had a light with you, kid," she says, looking at me, her eyes very cold. "What made it?"
Fuck. I don't have anything that can make a light that strong.
"The tablet," I say, "we have only that one."
She looks at me, unconvinced, but she shrugs.
"We'll take the tablet. That will be enough," the boss says.
"Will you keep out of our way, bat?" The young man says, taking the tablet. Dara doesn't stop him.
"Yes," he says, still looking down. His fists clench in anger.
"Yes, sir," knife guy says. "Be a nice bat and say that. You must be good to Uncle."
"Are you fucking twelve?" Daravoi yells, in a burst of anger. "Just take my stuff and go away."
I'm not an expert on gangs, but I think that wasn't what he was supposed to say.
"That won't do," the boss says. He sounds sad. "Look, kids, it's nothing personal. But you won't get anywhere if you don't learn respect. Now, the less you fight, the better this will go. Veri, Alain, rough them up. Not too bad."
The younger man smiles. The woman doesn't look convinced.
"Wait, we've an agreement with the Uncle," I say, frantically reaching into the Veil. Worlds split in every direction, I catch disturbing glimpses of blood and stabbing and beatings. Why can't I find one where…
"I'm the Uncle, stupid kid," the boss says, sounding like a disappointed teacher, "and we don't have an agreement. Now I'll have to beat you for making this up, too."
Possibilities slip through my fingers like water - I can't find one where they don't want to beat us up, not anymore. Fuck. I can still distract them and run to…
"Run away or I'll burn you alive," Daravoi's voice comes in a growl. I feel a shudder in the Else, and his hands glow dark red, like his eyes. His fingers look like colored glass. Oh, fuck.
"Mages! Both of them," the woman yells. She says mage like a curse.
"In this town? It's the fucking Syndicate Cartel again? I thought we taught…" the boss says.
"Mage or no mage, I'll show you…" the young man says, lunging toward us.
Then everything happens so fast. The woman whips out a pistol, pointing it at Daravoi, and knife-guy lunges to stab him. I'm thinking of a lie to confuse them, when branching red light, like too-angular lightning, splits the darkness of the tunnel. It's brighter, deeper than any real light should be – it's like reality is breaking, and what lies beyond seeps through. It's so beautiful.
Knife-guy screams in pain, falling to the ground.
The woman curses, clutching her hand. Her gun has fallen to the ground, sliced in two, both halves red hot. There's part of a finger, still clutching the trigger.
"You show respect!" Daravoi growls, and his hand turns into glowing red glass, farther and farther down the wrist. "Fucking Vorokans! You think you own the world! I'll…"
"Dara! That'sIt's enough" I yell.
The criminal with the knife is scrambling back on his ass, unable to get back on his feet. There's the horrible stink of charred flesh. Daravoi's hands and eyes still glow red, his face distorted with rage. But I step in front of him, and he seems to realize what he's doing. He lets go of the Else, his hands turn back to flesh.
"Fucking Syndicates! I knew!" The young man says, his voice high pitched with fear.
"Run away, idiots!" I add. The Uncle helps Knife Guy to his feet, and they scramble toward the station.
"If I see you again, you're dead!" Daravoi screams, furious. "I'll burn you alive from the inside! I'll rip the bones out of your body, and then kill you!"
And this boy told me to keep a low profile.
"Fuck," he says, closing his eyes, as the gangster get out of our view. "I screwed up, didn't I?"
"Big time," I say. It's a disaster, but right now, I'm giddy with relief - we're alive, and we dealt with the gangsters. "But you were awesome, too. Now let's go back, I'll grab the book and some useful stuff, then we run - I think it's time I find a new room, and fast."
***
***
"I can't believe I was that stupid," Daravoi says, as we rush back to my room. I feel a pang of sadness at the idea that I'm leaving it for good, even if it was small and disgusting. But it's too close to the crime scene to come back here.
"I can," I say, as I grab a gym bag and a bunch of not-too-dirty clothes. "I mean, I did worse last week. At least you had a good reason. Sort of."
It's probably childish, but I'm happy he screwed up, too. It feels like we're even.
"You think the knife guy will die?" He asks. "I'm not sure what I did to him. I meant to disarm them, but… fuck, he was bleeding. A lot."
"He got back up on his feet, he'll live," I say, "and anyway, he was trying to stab you."
I remember vividly the flash of red light, the screams, and the sliced finger.
What the fuck are we doing?
"I don't give a fuck about him," Daravoi says, bitter, "but if I kill someone… you know how it works. No rehab for killers."
I feel a lump in my throat. Mages who commit violent crimes are always sent to rehab, and guaranteed face tattoos. But rogue mages who kill are hanged, with no exception and no appeal.
"You think those gangsters will call ThauCon?" I ask, "I mean, they aren't exactly sterling citizens themselves."
"It doesn't matter," Daravoi says, grim. "ThauCon doesn't care about regular crime. Most gangsters would cut their tongue before talking to the police, but ThauCon is different."
"Abyss, why? I mean, ok, everyone hates mages, but everyone also hates gangs, aren't we sort of on the same side?" I ask, as I throw my copy of the Introduction to Thaumological Manipulation into the gym bag.
"Lost Stars, you really don't know anything," he says. "It's because of the Syndicates. Magical gangsters wipe the floor with mundane gangsters. So, when Syndicates root into a city, mundane gangs end up working for them, or end up dead. So, mundane criminals hate magic. And now a bunch of the Syndicates bunched together - they call it the Cartel - and I guess that made regular gangsters nervous."
"So, should we ask this Cartel if they want us?" I ask, throwing my half-decent phone and my sleeping bag into the bag.
"No," Daravoi says, surprisingly emphatic, "they're the worst assholes in the universe. I'll turn myself in and thank the hangman too, before I shake hands with the Syndicates."
"I was kidding," I say, which isn't exactly a lie, I just never thought seriously about it. "Let's go. Any idea where we can stay?"
"Today we rent a room like rich kids," he says, "the sketchier rentals accept gray payments and don't check ID chips."
I toss my lucky ring into the bag and we leave the room, still strewn with dirty clothes and half-read comics. As we walk into the tunnels, I realize Daravoi is dragging his feet.
"Are you ok?" I ask. "He didn't stab you, right?"
"Just tired," he says, "I used a lot of power to pull out that flashy spell. Let's just get out of here. Wait, can we leave by a different route? The abandoned station would still have an exit , right?"
"Not that I know of, the doors are shut," I say. "We could break the padlocks, but I think they demolished the whole surface station."
"You picked the filthiest hiding place in the world, and it also has a single, inconvenient way out," he says, rolling his eyes.
"I had had a two-day-long outlaw career, when I hid there," I say.
We go back into the dark tunnel, this time using a regular flashlight. Which we should have done in the first place - how did I become so careless with magic?
I'm ready to hide us with a Lie, but there's no police and no gang waiting for us at the Gray Hill station - I guess a few people bleeding and screaming on their way up don't attract that much attention.
I sigh with relief as the escalator takes us to the station's ground floor, into the bitter cold of the surface.
"Ok, another daring escape for the powerful mages," I say. "Small-time gangs with knives cower at our feet."
"Shut up," Daravoi says, weary. "Let's put some distance and stop to eat something, I'm… wait, fuck, fuck."
He's staring at the station's doors, his eyes wide. I turn to look.
"Don't look, idiot," he hisses, but I don't care. I'm too busy being petrified with fear.
Three people covered head to toe in black body armor are walking the station. Their black helmets are lined with silver, and a fine mesh of silver wire covers their whole armor.
One – a huge young person with brightly colored tattoos, who looks strong enough to tear me apart bare-handed - has a rifle slung on xir back, while a woman with jet-black hair carries a fucking sword at her side. Three small buzzing drones follow the last soldier.
They'd probably notice me standing with my mouth agape, except most people in the station are doing the same. People scurry away, leaving a void around the ThauCons, then turn to point and whisper as they pass.
For a moment, I worry that more agents will come and close all exits, but the Men in Silver just walk toward the escalator. They probably think we've run away immediately after the fight - because they incorrectly assume we're not idiots.
"Let's run like the Forgotten Enemy is behind us," Daravoi whispers.
"No, let's look at them nervously and walk out," I say. "That's what everyone else is doing."
He looks like he would still prefer to run like the Abyss, but he follows me as I awkwardly shuffle to the exit, stealing glances at the ThauCon. I'd seen them sometimes, but never in combat armor.
I'm so focused on the soldiers, it takes me a moment to notice there's a girl about my age walking by their side.
She's wearing a green ankle-length tunic which leaves her arms bare, which is just wrong, she should literally freeze to death. But she doesn't seem to mind. She's talking to the ThauCon agents, but wears no badge and no uniform. She has bright green tattoos around her eyes, and one of them says warrior. Who the fuck is she?
"...told you, you worry too much," she says, her voice loud, even if I assume they're all talking through headsets. "The Syndicates rarely fight. And even if they do, they'll need serious muscle to deal with three agents in full armor. Not to mention me. It's just some rogue, maybe someone who just found out their powers."
Of course she wears no uniform, she's a Council mage. Abyss – what if she can sense us?
I can't hear what the ThauCons say, their helmets muffle the sound, but I hear her answer, as they go down the escalator.
"Of course I'll get their signature. I'm not a useless slime like Jaeleri, you know. We'll catch them soon."
