Taylor Hebert had a bad day, and came out of it changed. Some parahumans can control bugs. Some...
Ring-Maker [Worm/Lord of the Rings Alt-Power] [Complete]
- Thread starter Lithos Maitreya
- Start date
- Crossover Users' Choice!
Voted best in category in the Users' Choice awards.
![Ring-Maker [Worm/Lord of the Rings Alt-Power]](/data/threadmark-index-icons/l/52/52287.jpg?1644598681){kind=icon}
- Created
- Status
- Complete
- Watchers
- 704
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 181
-
Statistics (153 threadmarks, 420k words)
User Total Lithos Maitreya 153 -
Loading…
-
Loading…
-
Loading…
-
Loading…
Index and Introduction
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Taylor Hebert had a bad day, and came out of it changed. Some parahumans can control bugs. Some can build advanced technology. Some can do unspeakable things to space and time. Taylor can make magic rings, wondrous metals, mysterious weapons, and may not be a parahuman--or, indeed, human--at all.
(Cover by the lovely Phinnia. Come check out her fanart thread!)
Finally decided to crosspost this from Spacebattles.
Index of main-story chapters:
ARC 1: GLIMMER
Glimmer 1.1
Glimmer 1.2
Glimmer 1.3
Glimmer 1.4
Glimmer 1.5
Interlude 1a
Glimmer 1.6
Interlude 1b
Glimmer 1.7
ARC 2: TWINKLE
Twinkle 2.1
Twinkle 2.2
Interlude 2a
Twinkle 2.3
Twinkle 2.4
Twinkle 2.5
Twinkle 2.6
Interlude 2b
Twinkle 2.7
ARC 3: LUSTRE
Lustre 3.1
Lustre 3.2
Interlude 3a
Lustre 3.3
Lustre 3.4
Lustre 3.5
Lustre 3.6
Interlude 3b
Lustre 3.7
ARC 4: SHEEN
Sheen 4.1
Interlude 4a
Sheen 4.2
Sheen 4.3
Interlude 4b
Sheen 4.4
Sheen 4.5
Sheen 4.6
Sheen 4.7
ARC 5: HEARTH
Hearth 5.1
Hearth 5.2
Hearth 5.3
Interlude 5a
Hearth 5.4
Hearth 5.5
Interlude 5b
Hearth 5.6
Hearth 5.7
ARC 6: DOUSE
Douse 6.1
Douse 6.2
Interlude 6a
Douse 6.3
Douse 6.4
Douse 6.5
Douse 6.6
Interlude 6b
Douse 6.7
ARC 7: BLAZE
Blaze 7.1
Blaze 7.2
Blaze 7.3
Blaze 7.4
Interlude 7a
Blaze 7.5
Blaze 7.6
Interlude 7b
Blaze 7.7
ARC 8: FLICKER
Flicker 8.1
Flicker 8.2
Flicker 8.3
Interlude 8a
Flicker 8.4
Flicker 8.5
Interlude 8b
Flicker 8.6
Flicker 8.7
ARC 9: WILDFIRE
Wildfire 9.1
Wildfire 9.2
Wildfire 9.3
Wildfire 9.4
Interlude 9a
Wildfire 9.5
Wildfire 9.6
Glimmer 1.1
Glimmer 1.2
Glimmer 1.3
Glimmer 1.4
Glimmer 1.5
Interlude 1a
Glimmer 1.6
Interlude 1b
Glimmer 1.7
ARC 2: TWINKLE
Twinkle 2.1
Twinkle 2.2
Interlude 2a
Twinkle 2.3
Twinkle 2.4
Twinkle 2.5
Twinkle 2.6
Interlude 2b
Twinkle 2.7
ARC 3: LUSTRE
Lustre 3.1
Lustre 3.2
Interlude 3a
Lustre 3.3
Lustre 3.4
Lustre 3.5
Lustre 3.6
Interlude 3b
Lustre 3.7
ARC 4: SHEEN
Sheen 4.1
Interlude 4a
Sheen 4.2
Sheen 4.3
Interlude 4b
Sheen 4.4
Sheen 4.5
Sheen 4.6
Sheen 4.7
ARC 5: HEARTH
Hearth 5.1
Hearth 5.2
Hearth 5.3
Interlude 5a
Hearth 5.4
Hearth 5.5
Interlude 5b
Hearth 5.6
Hearth 5.7
ARC 6: DOUSE
Douse 6.1
Douse 6.2
Interlude 6a
Douse 6.3
Douse 6.4
Douse 6.5
Douse 6.6
Interlude 6b
Douse 6.7
ARC 7: BLAZE
Blaze 7.1
Blaze 7.2
Blaze 7.3
Blaze 7.4
Interlude 7a
Blaze 7.5
Blaze 7.6
Interlude 7b
Blaze 7.7
ARC 8: FLICKER
Flicker 8.1
Flicker 8.2
Flicker 8.3
Interlude 8a
Flicker 8.4
Flicker 8.5
Interlude 8b
Flicker 8.6
Flicker 8.7
ARC 9: WILDFIRE
Wildfire 9.1
Wildfire 9.2
Wildfire 9.3
Wildfire 9.4
Interlude 9a
Wildfire 9.5
Wildfire 9.6
Index of omakes:
Here are the names and (seen) powers of the Rings and other esoteric artifacts Taylor has used thus far. If you're familiar with Tolkien, I think you might enjoy the story more if you didn't read this.
Narya
Epithets: The Ring of Fire, the Ruby Ring, the Red Ring
- Protection from mastery
- Hope
- Aura of presence
- Increased strength
Nenya
Epithets: The Ring of Water, the Ring of Adamant, the White Ring
- Concealment
- Barriers
- Speed
- Enhanced senses
Vilya
Epithets: The Ring of Air, the Blue Ring, the Ring of Sapphire, the Dominant Ring
- Mastery
- Precognition
- Elemental control
- Healing touch
Epithets: The Ring of Fire, the Ruby Ring, the Red Ring
- Protection from mastery
- Hope
- Aura of presence
- Increased strength
Nenya
Epithets: The Ring of Water, the Ring of Adamant, the White Ring
- Concealment
- Barriers
- Speed
- Enhanced senses
Vilya
Epithets: The Ring of Air, the Blue Ring, the Ring of Sapphire, the Dominant Ring
- Mastery
- Precognition
- Elemental control
- Healing touch
Cenya
Epithets: The Ring of Earth, the Emerald Ring, the Green Ring
Laureya
Epithets: The Ring of Gold, the Ring of the Sun
Silmaya
Epithets: The Ring of Silver, the Ring of the Moon
Araya
Epithets: The Ring of Fire Opal, the Ring of Dawn
Histeya
Epithets: The Ring of Amethyst, the Ring of Sunset
Mirilya
Epithets: The Ring of White Topaz, the Ring of Jewels
Ondoya
Epithets: The Ring of Onyx, the Ring of Stone
Epithets: The Ring of Earth, the Emerald Ring, the Green Ring
Laureya
Epithets: The Ring of Gold, the Ring of the Sun
Silmaya
Epithets: The Ring of Silver, the Ring of the Moon
Araya
Epithets: The Ring of Fire Opal, the Ring of Dawn
Histeya
Epithets: The Ring of Amethyst, the Ring of Sunset
Mirilya
Epithets: The Ring of White Topaz, the Ring of Jewels
Ondoya
Epithets: The Ring of Onyx, the Ring of Stone
Aeglos: The spear wielded by the elf-king Gil-Galad before and during the Battle of the Last Alliance in the Second Age.
Narsil: The sword of the house of Elendil, Númenorean king of Gondor, which cut the One Ring from the hand of Sauron and was destroyed in turn, only to later be reforged as Andúril.
Belthronding: The bow of Beleg, the Sindarin elf companion of Túrin during the First Age.
The Black Arrow: Wielded by Bard the Bowman in the battle for Esgaroth, the Black Arrow was an unerring, ever-returning arrow which Bard always saved for last. It was this arrow which smote Smaug in the gap in his armor, killing him.
Narsil: The sword of the house of Elendil, Númenorean king of Gondor, which cut the One Ring from the hand of Sauron and was destroyed in turn, only to later be reforged as Andúril.
Belthronding: The bow of Beleg, the Sindarin elf companion of Túrin during the First Age.
The Black Arrow: Wielded by Bard the Bowman in the battle for Esgaroth, the Black Arrow was an unerring, ever-returning arrow which Bard always saved for last. It was this arrow which smote Smaug in the gap in his armor, killing him.
Annatar's armor, as yet unnamed, is a suit of mithril platemail with no special magical properties beyond those possessed by all mithril.
The Jewelry Box is a mithril lockbox, sealed with a command phrase in Sindarin (Edro a adlenc!) which Annatar uses to store the Three Rings of Power.
Kid Win's hoverboard has been modified with mithril plating.
The Jewelry Box is a mithril lockbox, sealed with a command phrase in Sindarin (Edro a adlenc!) which Annatar uses to store the Three Rings of Power.
Kid Win's hoverboard has been modified with mithril plating.
FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS (Please consider checking here before posting! I'll try to keep it mostly spoiler free.)
Q: "Does Taylor's power derive from a shard, or is she [legendarium character] reborn?"
A: I will not be answering this question, and welcome speculation in the thread.
Q: "Taylor's a trump, not a tinker!"
A: She's both. She crafts items that others can use (tinker), and those items give powers to their users (trump).
Q: "Can Taylor craft [insert legendarium artifact here]?"
A: If it's inorganic and from either the Second or Third Age, almost certainly. Otherwise, probably not, with some exceptions. Specifically, certain first-age artifacts are allowed; usually the ones that lasted into the Second and Third Ages, and didn't feel out of place there. For now.
Q: "Can Taylor use her powers to impart magical effects on modern and/or tinker-tech?"
A: Taylor is strictly limited to items that were explicitly built sometime in the Second and Third Age, so no. For now.
Q: "Does The Lord of the Rings and the rest of the legendarium exist in Earth Bet?"
A: Not in public knowledge. At the time of writing this FAQ, I'm still deciding whether it exists in Aleph or among scholarly works in some capacity.
Q: "Did or does Arda exist in this setting? Is modern Earth Bet the future Arda?"
A: Again, I won't be answering this, and welcome speculation on the point.
Q: "Can other tinkers use mithril?"
A: Sort of. Taylor can't actually produce mithril ore--she can only transmute whatever metal she's forging into mithril as she forges it. Processed mithril is hard as shit, to the point of near indestructibility, and that's all any tinker is going to have access to through her. So if they can use a metal that's already that hard for their purposes, sure. If not, then no.
Q: "In that case, can Taylor make components to another tinker's specifications out of mithril, which they then use?"
A: Yes. This is how she can collaborate with other tinkers. It wouldn't be a tinker-Taylor story without group tinkering!
Q: "Is [Middle-Earth: Shadow of Mordor / Lord of the Rings Online / Moria / Angband / any other third-party source set in Middle-Earth] canon to this story?"
A: NO. The only sources that I consider canonical to the legendarium are the written works of J. R. R. Tolkien and his son Christopher Tolkien. I also reserve the right to decanonize any portion of those texts written by Christopher that I deem necessary for this fic, although I will strive to avoid doing so and will always declare when I do. Any other sources are neither canonical nor necessarily applicable. I may derive inspiration from elsewhere, but not source material.
Q: "Can a person wear multiple Rings of Power?"
A: No. The Rings of Power tap the Bearer directly into the Song from which the universe was made; wearing more than one would fry a person. They might have godlike power for a very short time before they basically melted.
Q: "Can a person wear multiple lesser rings?"
A: Yep. They're quite a bit weaker and won't kill the wearer instantly at all.
A: I will not be answering this question, and welcome speculation in the thread.
Q: "Taylor's a trump, not a tinker!"
A: She's both. She crafts items that others can use (tinker), and those items give powers to their users (trump).
Q: "Can Taylor craft [insert legendarium artifact here]?"
A: If it's inorganic and from either the Second or Third Age, almost certainly. Otherwise, probably not, with some exceptions. Specifically, certain first-age artifacts are allowed; usually the ones that lasted into the Second and Third Ages, and didn't feel out of place there. For now.
Q: "Can Taylor use her powers to impart magical effects on modern and/or tinker-tech?"
A: Taylor is strictly limited to items that were explicitly built sometime in the Second and Third Age, so no. For now.
Q: "Does The Lord of the Rings and the rest of the legendarium exist in Earth Bet?"
A: Not in public knowledge. At the time of writing this FAQ, I'm still deciding whether it exists in Aleph or among scholarly works in some capacity.
Q: "Did or does Arda exist in this setting? Is modern Earth Bet the future Arda?"
A: Again, I won't be answering this, and welcome speculation on the point.
Q: "Can other tinkers use mithril?"
A: Sort of. Taylor can't actually produce mithril ore--she can only transmute whatever metal she's forging into mithril as she forges it. Processed mithril is hard as shit, to the point of near indestructibility, and that's all any tinker is going to have access to through her. So if they can use a metal that's already that hard for their purposes, sure. If not, then no.
Q: "In that case, can Taylor make components to another tinker's specifications out of mithril, which they then use?"
A: Yes. This is how she can collaborate with other tinkers. It wouldn't be a tinker-Taylor story without group tinkering!
Q: "Is [Middle-Earth: Shadow of Mordor / Lord of the Rings Online / Moria / Angband / any other third-party source set in Middle-Earth] canon to this story?"
A: NO. The only sources that I consider canonical to the legendarium are the written works of J. R. R. Tolkien and his son Christopher Tolkien. I also reserve the right to decanonize any portion of those texts written by Christopher that I deem necessary for this fic, although I will strive to avoid doing so and will always declare when I do. Any other sources are neither canonical nor necessarily applicable. I may derive inspiration from elsewhere, but not source material.
Q: "Can a person wear multiple Rings of Power?"
A: No. The Rings of Power tap the Bearer directly into the Song from which the universe was made; wearing more than one would fry a person. They might have godlike power for a very short time before they basically melted.
Q: "Can a person wear multiple lesser rings?"
A: Yep. They're quite a bit weaker and won't kill the wearer instantly at all.
POSSIBLE POINTS OF CANON DIVERGENCE:
There is (as with many things in The Silmarillion) some debate as to the canonical nature of Ungoliant, the mother of spiders. SpaceBattles user @JadeKaiser made a strong argument in favor of her being a corrupted Maia in these three posts. Nonetheless, for the purposes of this story, she is not an Ainur. Her origins lie elsewhere.
THE EPIGRAPH (Beware spoilers!)
Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
Three Rings for the Sentinels, honest and true.
Seven for the Wards, in their city of sin.
Nine for the Penitent, forged anew.
One for the Ring-Maker, to find light within,
On the shores where the rising Sun shines through.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to guide them;
One Ring to bring them all from out the Dark which hides them
On the shores where the rising Sun shines through.
Seven for the Wards, in their city of sin.
Nine for the Penitent, forged anew.
One for the Ring-Maker, to find light within,
On the shores where the rising Sun shines through.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to guide them;
One Ring to bring them all from out the Dark which hides them
On the shores where the rising Sun shines through.
THIS STORY'S EARLY CHAPTERS ARE CURRENTLY UNDERGOING EDITS! Edits will go through Arc 1 and likely about half of Arc 2. The following tracker will allow you to see which chapters have been edited and which have not.
WE HAVE A TROPES PAGE! Thanks to @Donquill and The Literary Lord!
I have a Patreon. The page can be found here. My explanation of what the Patreon means for this story is at this post. I won't be reposting that to this forum because it would be pretty redundant. Short version; the Patreon has no effect on this story.
The table of translations for all Elvish, Dwarvish, and other words and phrases used in this story may be found here.
I've had more fun writing Ring-Maker than almost anything else I've written, and I hope you all enjoy reading it half as much.
POSTING SCHEDULE:
Chapters are posted every Monday, at 7:00 PM GMT, with a four hour grace period before I consider myself late. Please wait until after 11:00 PM GMT before knocking down my door; I probably just got busy with something out in the world.
The minimum chapter length is 2,000 words; I tend to average slightly about 2,500.
Like the original Worm, Ring-Maker is split into arcs, each of which (so far) consists of seven chapters and two interludes. The first arc is called Glimmer.
That should be enough to be going on with. I hope you all enjoy:
Ring-Maker
-x-x-x-
Ash nazg durbatulúk,
Ash nazg gimbatul.
Ash nazg thrakatulúk
Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.
-x-x-x-
Ash nazg durbatulúk,
Ash nazg gimbatul.
Ash nazg thrakatulúk
Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.
Last edited:
Translation Guide
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Translations:
QUENYA:
The Rings of Power:
The Three:
Vilya; derived from vilya, meaning "air." Speculated that víl may be a more archaic Quenya word forming the root thereof.
Narya; derived from nár, meaning "fire."
Nenya; derived from nén, meaning "water."
The Seven:
Cenya; derived from cén, meaning "earth."
Laureya; derived from laurë, meaning "gold."
Silmaya; derived from silma, meaning "silver."
Araya; derived from ára, meaning "dawn."
Histeya; derived from histë, meaning "dusk."
Mirilya; derived from miril, meaning "shining jewel."
Ondoya; derived from ondo, meaning "stone."
The -ya ending in the names of the Rings of Power is an adjectival suffix denoting endearment.
(This means that each Ring of Power has as part of its very name the term "precious.")
Annatar; "Lord of Gifts." (Literally, "King of Gifts.") Derived from anna, "gift," and tár, "king."
Narsil; "The Red and White Flame." (Literally nár-thil; from nár meaning "fire" and thil meaning "white flame." This represents the Sun and Moon.) [Note: My usual Quenya source, Ambar Eldaron, does not contain the word thil. That term is derived from the Lord of the Rings Wiki. It's accuracy may be questioned; if it is mistaken, the actual source is sil, meaning "white."]
Im ná i Calimatar Hrómen; "I am the Bright Lord of the East." (The second article is implied.)
Tévië; Hatred/contempt (in the original source material, it translates directly to hatred. In Ring-Maker, I choose to assume that it has subtle differences from its English analogue.
The Rings of Power:
The Three:
Vilya; derived from vilya, meaning "air." Speculated that víl may be a more archaic Quenya word forming the root thereof.
Narya; derived from nár, meaning "fire."
Nenya; derived from nén, meaning "water."
The Seven:
Cenya; derived from cén, meaning "earth."
Laureya; derived from laurë, meaning "gold."
Silmaya; derived from silma, meaning "silver."
Araya; derived from ára, meaning "dawn."
Histeya; derived from histë, meaning "dusk."
Mirilya; derived from miril, meaning "shining jewel."
Ondoya; derived from ondo, meaning "stone."
The -ya ending in the names of the Rings of Power is an adjectival suffix denoting endearment.
(This means that each Ring of Power has as part of its very name the term "precious.")
Annatar; "Lord of Gifts." (Literally, "King of Gifts.") Derived from anna, "gift," and tár, "king."
Narsil; "The Red and White Flame." (Literally nár-thil; from nár meaning "fire" and thil meaning "white flame." This represents the Sun and Moon.) [Note: My usual Quenya source, Ambar Eldaron, does not contain the word thil. That term is derived from the Lord of the Rings Wiki. It's accuracy may be questioned; if it is mistaken, the actual source is sil, meaning "white."]
Im ná i Calimatar Hrómen; "I am the Bright Lord of the East." (The second article is implied.)
Tévië; Hatred/contempt (in the original source material, it translates directly to hatred. In Ring-Maker, I choose to assume that it has subtle differences from its English analogue.
SINDARIN:
Aeglos; "icicle." (Literally, 'snow-point.')
Edro a adlenc! "Open and release!" (Literally, edro is the imperative form of edra-, meaning "to open;" a means "and," and adlenc is, in modern Sindarin, the noun "release," but in archaic forms it was a verbal form, apparently imperative.)
Ego, limlug, ulunn i gaer! Ú-hirithach si tûr! "Begone, fish-dragon, monster of the sea! You will find here no victory!" (Limlug is literally a word for fish-dragon. I wish I knew the context in which it fist appeared.)
Iphannis; "Permafrost." (Literally, Iphant niss, long-lived frost.)
---
The rhyme of Aeglos:
Gil-galad ech vae vaegannen matha
Aith heleg nín I orch gostatha
nin cíniel na nguruthos
Hon ess nín istatha
Aeglos
"Gil-galad wields a well-made spear
The orc will fear my point of ice
When he sees me, in fear of death
He will know my name: Aeglos."
(This poem is derived from and was written for the Lord of the Rings films. The spear itself is canonical, but the inscription does not appear in the original legendarium. As such, certain parts of this translation are invented words for the purposes of the films.)
---
Ir fuin tôl or i amrún
Ar i Anor nelêdh annûn
Tolo na Annatar, na i rhûn:
Ad i galad sílatha ed rhûn na dûn.
Translates to:
"When darkness comes upon the East
And the Sun has entered sunset
Come back to Annatar, to the East
The light will shine from East to West."
Aeglos; "icicle." (Literally, 'snow-point.')
Edro a adlenc! "Open and release!" (Literally, edro is the imperative form of edra-, meaning "to open;" a means "and," and adlenc is, in modern Sindarin, the noun "release," but in archaic forms it was a verbal form, apparently imperative.)
Ego, limlug, ulunn i gaer! Ú-hirithach si tûr! "Begone, fish-dragon, monster of the sea! You will find here no victory!" (Limlug is literally a word for fish-dragon. I wish I knew the context in which it fist appeared.)
Iphannis; "Permafrost." (Literally, Iphant niss, long-lived frost.)
---
The rhyme of Aeglos:
Gil-galad ech vae vaegannen matha
Aith heleg nín I orch gostatha
nin cíniel na nguruthos
Hon ess nín istatha
Aeglos
"Gil-galad wields a well-made spear
The orc will fear my point of ice
When he sees me, in fear of death
He will know my name: Aeglos."
(This poem is derived from and was written for the Lord of the Rings films. The spear itself is canonical, but the inscription does not appear in the original legendarium. As such, certain parts of this translation are invented words for the purposes of the films.)
---
Ir fuin tôl or i amrún
Ar i Anor nelêdh annûn
Tolo na Annatar, na i rhûn:
Ad i galad sílatha ed rhûn na dûn.
Translates to:
"When darkness comes upon the East
And the Sun has entered sunset
Come back to Annatar, to the East
The light will shine from East to West."
VALARIN:
Section empty!
Section empty!
THE BLACK SPEECH:
Búrzashdurb: The One that Rules the Dark. (Derived from búrz, dark [itself derived from búrzum, darkness]; ash, one; and durb, to rule [from durbatulûk, "to rule them all"])
Búrzashdurb: The One that Rules the Dark. (Derived from búrz, dark [itself derived from búrzum, darkness]; ash, one; and durb, to rule [from durbatulûk, "to rule them all"])
KHUZDUL:
Section empty!
Section empty!
Works cited:
Ambar Eldaron Quenya-English dictionary
Ambar Eldaron English-Quenya dictionary
Hiswelókë's Sindarin-English Dictionary
Hiswelókë's English-Sindarin Dictionary
Valarin - Like the Glitter of Swords
Orcish and the Black Speech
I am currently still looking for a good Khuzdul dictionary. I will update this section when I decide on one to use.
Ambar Eldaron Quenya-English dictionary
Ambar Eldaron English-Quenya dictionary
Hiswelókë's Sindarin-English Dictionary
Hiswelókë's English-Sindarin Dictionary
Valarin - Like the Glitter of Swords
Orcish and the Black Speech
I am currently still looking for a good Khuzdul dictionary. I will update this section when I decide on one to use.
Last edited:
Glimmer 1.1
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @Skyrunner for betareading.
The grey light of the early dawn filtered through my bedroom window as I looked over my newest—my first—creations. My teeth slowly worried my lower lip. Some Tinker I am, I thought ruefully. Can't even use more than one of my inventions at a time.
I hadn't tested that, of course. The knowledge was as instinctive as it was certain. To wield a single Ring of Power was a burden; to carry two at once would have been unconscionable, even to the Ring-Maker herself. It would have left me a burned-out husk—if that—both in body and in spirit.
Shaking those thoughts away, I took the first of the Three into my right hand and turned it around in my fingers, watching as the light caught on the golden band. "Narya," I whispered—its name. This Ring would have the power to keep its wearer, and their allies and friends, safe from domination and despair—including master effects. It was probably a trump power, by the PRT's classifications, since it would operate on other parahuman powers—but that was a woeful understatement.
In a slow, smooth motion, I slid the Ring of Power onto the index finger of my left hand. Its band was smooth and burnished and fit perfectly, seeming to pulse like a beating heart. In an instant, there was a rush of heat. Flame ignited and coursed through my veins, warming me from the tips of my toes to the peak of my scalp. Narya, the Ring of Fire.
A weight seemed to melt away from my shoulders. Winslow High suddenly seemed so far away. Emma, Sophia, and Madison seemed even farther.
I smiled, then glanced across my desk. The clock read 6:35 AM. Time to start my morning run. Staying up all night was usually a mistake, but with Narya on my finger I felt more invigorated than I would have after any mere night of sleep.
I was ready.
I tried to keep the smile off of my face as I walked through Winslow's gates, and found I couldn't do it. Narya was there, secure on my finger, as warm and nostalgic as the comforting embrace of a mother, and I just couldn't help smiling at the absurdity of fear in the face of that fact. Fear fled before me like some nocturnal thing, scampering away to its hiding place before the light of the dawn.
"Look at that," whispered one of Emma's lackeys—Julia? Was that her name?—as I passed a gaggle of them in the hall. "Think she's high?"
"She's got no other reason to smile," said another snidely. "Not like anyone here actually likes her."
The malice slid off of me like cold water running against a steel blade. It meant nothing—less than nothing. Malice was without value unless it was backed by power, and not one of these sycophants had any.
And yet I couldn't really be angry with them. It wasn't as though they knew; they were just children playing out a role. I flashed them a faint smile as I passed them and entered the classroom.
My good mood didn't quite last all day. I had to meet Sophia eventually.
She shoved me aside roughly with her shoulder as we made our way to our shared math class. "Watch where you're walking, Hebert," she hissed as she passed.
Had she been anyone else, I'd have given her the same treatment I'd given others that day—a smile, and no other acknowledgement. But as I looked at her, Narya tightened slightly around my finger in warning, and a faint chill wormed its way up my spine.
I wasn't afraid of her. I knew what it was like to fear Sophia Hess, and this wasn't it. But, for the first time that day, I was suddenly cautious. Her eyes, glimmering with the same unabashed malice I'd seen in so many others, spoke of something more.
Power.
Sophia Hess, I realized, was more dangerous than the rest of Winslow High's population put together.
And I was her target.
Fuck.
Lunchtime came. Rather than cause myself trouble by trying to avoid notice in the cafeteria, I brought my food into the third floor girls' bathroom and started to eat my packed pita wrap in one of the toilet stalls.
It wasn't exactly what I'd call five-star ambiance, but then, neither was anywhere in the shithole that was Winslow High. Nor were many places, here in Brockton Bay.
Unfortunately, my peaceful lunch was not to be. I was about halfway through my wrap when I heard a gaggle of girls enter the room with a giggling and a chattering to wake the dead. I recognized the voices—these were girls who took an active part in my torment.
There were six stalls in the third-floor girls' bathroom. There were six girls' bathrooms throughout Winslow. So there was no doubt in my mind, when they knocked on the door of my stall, that they were looking for me.
I waited for the second knock before I sighed. "Occupied."
"Oh my God, it's Taylor!" one of them shrieked.
How many bathrooms had you already checked? I wondered, but didn't bother to say aloud. Instead, I slipped my unfinished pita back into its bag, stood up, and undid the lock.
"Do it," another girl said in response to a whisper.
There was a thump on the door just as I touched the handle. A gentle push failed to open it.
My lips twisted as I heard somebody squirm, as though stretching to reach a height. They were going to toss, or pour, something over the top of the door.
Well. Narya tightened gently over my finger. There was being non-confrontational, and then there was being weak. I was more than happy to do the former, but the latter did not sit well with me
Narya flared with power, augmenting my strength as I pushed the door open. I heard a startled cry as it bowled over both the girl who'd been holding it shut and the girl that had stood on her toes to pour—a can of cranberry juice, apparently—onto my head.
The red liquid spread across the floor as I appraised them, my lips twisted into what was probably a vaguely disapproving look. "Really?" I was less angry than annoyed. "You couldn't think of a better use for cranberry juice?"
They blinked up at me, the juice spreading into one girl's hair. I took pity on her and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the puddle. "You'll want to wash your hair," I advised sagely, nodding at the mess. "That stuff sticks, you know?"
They stared at me, blinking, without reply. After a few moments, I shrugged. "Well, anyway. Unless you want to try that again, I'm off. Done with lunch anyway."
I turned and walked out of the bathroom, waving nonchalantly behind me as the door shut. Vaguely I registered that this would seem out of character for me… but really, what could they do to me?
Sophia was dangerous, it was true, but the rest weren't. Not any more. I had Narya. I wouldn't be trapped in any lockers ever again.
Still, that girl hadn't had a handbag with her. No soap. Juice in one's hair was no joke—she'd be glad to get some help.
I made my way into the cafeteria and slipped through the crowd. They parted to allow me passage, often without even noticing they were doing it.
I flowed through them to the middle of the room, where Emma and Madison were sitting across from Sophia, talking merrily.
I came up behind the two. Sophia started as she saw me approaching.
"Hebert," she said, and there was a wary edge to her voice. "You're… here."
There was an odd note in her words, I noticed, and Narya tightened around my finger, but I ignored it. "Emma, Madison," I said, my voice low and casual. "A friend of yours got cranberry juice in her hair in the third floor bathroom. I told her to wash it, but that stuff sticks. Do you happen to have something to help her? You know, soap or shampoo?"
"What's it to you, loser?" Madison asked, sneering.
"Nothing, but I'm sure she'd be grateful for a bit of help getting cleaned up before class." I smiled at her before turning to leave.
"Wait a minute," Emma hissed, standing up. "You think you can just walk up to us like that and tell us what to do?"
I frowned at her. Not an angry, thunderous frown, which would take more effort than it was worth, but just a blank frown of bemusement. "Well, since the cranberry juice in her hair was supposed to go in mine, I don't really care whether you help her or not. I just thought I'd let you know."
I turned and left. No one stopped me. It struck me, later, how strange that was.
Not that they could have stopped me, of course. But they'd usually have tried.
I considered the three Rings before me, arranged in a small triangle on my desk. Already I itched to put Narya back on. Without it my body felt weak; my spirit, even weaker.
But there were two more Rings to experiment with, and today was Friday. I could wait for Monday to give the other two a proper test run, but something in me rebelled at the delay.
No. I was a cape. I was a superhero. I'd damn well act like it.
With a thought, my silver—no, mithril—hammer appeared in my right hand, and I turned to find the mithril anvil behind my chair. My power allowed me to summon them at any time, although neither was visible to other people around me.
(Learning that had made for a long and slightly embarrassing story. I'd been forging the Three downstairs in the afternoon, thinking Dad would be home late, when he'd walked in just as I raised my hammer over the anvil. He'd seen neither and had, in fact, walked around the anvil without noticing on his way to the kitchen. Stranger powers were... strange.)
I passed my left hand over the anvil's smooth surface, thinking. The Three had been the first designs to come into my head, but as I'd considered the need for a costume over the past weeks, more had risen in my mind: armor forged of mithril, platemail made to look like folded, silver leaves. It would be light as a feather, and harder than steel.
I crossed my bedroom, reached into the closet, and pulled out the beginnings of my armor. The breastplate and backplate were done, as were the boots and the leggings up to the knees. My thighs would be exposed if I went out in this, although my hips would be at least partly protected by the tassets.
That was good enough for a cape's first night out, I figured. Especially a cape bearing one of the Three.
One thing, however, was missing.
I smiled and took some of the metal junk and scrap I'd been salvaging over the past months back to my desk. I grabbed the long lighter I always kept there, lit it, and set it on the anvil, with the flame facing into the pile of scrap. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and began to strike at the twisted fragments with slow, steady blows from my hammer.
Bit by bit, the rusted metal began to transform—the tarnished steel and iron transmuting itself into bright mithril, reshaping into the form I desired. It would have been much faster if I had access to a fire hotter than a damn lighter, but a proper forge wasn't exactly something I could order online for a hundred bucks.
I was at it for hours, although I only occasionally noted the passing time. I greeted my Dad when he got home, and even went downstairs for a quick hug before returning to work. I went down again for dinner about half an hour later.
I hammered away at the metal until the early hours of the morning, but when I was done, I knew it had been worth it.
The shining silver helmet in my hands seemed to cast a glow as soft and luminous as the moonlight streaming in through the window—but where the moon lit only a thin strip of my floor, the helm's light seemed to spill over every surface in my bedroom. I turned it over in my hands and, after a moment, slipped it onto my head.
It fit perfectly, as I knew it would, but there was one more thing I wanted to try. I took it off, gathered up my long hair, and threaded it through the hole in the back as I put it on again, so that my hair ran down it like a plume.
The front of the helmet covered the skin around my eyes and nose like a store-bought domino mask, but infinitely higher in quality. I crept out of my room and slipped into the bathroom to study myself in the mirror.
I closed the door gently behind me, flicked on the lights, and was struck dumb, blinking at the unfamiliar visage in the mirror.
Nothing had changed besides the fact that I was wearing a mithril helmet. And yet, somehow, my too-wide mouth fit perfectly into the space between the side panels, and my large eyes seemed almost to shine from within behind the mithril plate. My pale skin, rather than being washed out by the glow of the metal, seemed instead to subsume its incandescence, it too glowing with starlight.
I never wanted to take this helmet off. I hadn't felt this good about my appearance in… well, ever.
I smiled, and the radiant person in the mirror smiled back. Sure, she was a little blurry without my glasses, but any of the Three would work in place of those.
Well, that settled it. Tomorrow, on Saturday, I would take up the mantle of a superhero for the first time.
A glance at the clock cut my musings short. For now, however, it was almost four in the morning, and in just two and a half hours, I would need to be rested for my run.
Please consider donating to my Patreon. Many thanks to those who have already donated.
-x-x-x-
The grey light of the early dawn filtered through my bedroom window as I looked over my newest—my first—creations. My teeth slowly worried my lower lip. Some Tinker I am, I thought ruefully. Can't even use more than one of my inventions at a time.
I hadn't tested that, of course. The knowledge was as instinctive as it was certain. To wield a single Ring of Power was a burden; to carry two at once would have been unconscionable, even to the Ring-Maker herself. It would have left me a burned-out husk—if that—both in body and in spirit.
Shaking those thoughts away, I took the first of the Three into my right hand and turned it around in my fingers, watching as the light caught on the golden band. "Narya," I whispered—its name. This Ring would have the power to keep its wearer, and their allies and friends, safe from domination and despair—including master effects. It was probably a trump power, by the PRT's classifications, since it would operate on other parahuman powers—but that was a woeful understatement.
In a slow, smooth motion, I slid the Ring of Power onto the index finger of my left hand. Its band was smooth and burnished and fit perfectly, seeming to pulse like a beating heart. In an instant, there was a rush of heat. Flame ignited and coursed through my veins, warming me from the tips of my toes to the peak of my scalp. Narya, the Ring of Fire.
A weight seemed to melt away from my shoulders. Winslow High suddenly seemed so far away. Emma, Sophia, and Madison seemed even farther.
I smiled, then glanced across my desk. The clock read 6:35 AM. Time to start my morning run. Staying up all night was usually a mistake, but with Narya on my finger I felt more invigorated than I would have after any mere night of sleep.
I was ready.
-x-x-x-
I tried to keep the smile off of my face as I walked through Winslow's gates, and found I couldn't do it. Narya was there, secure on my finger, as warm and nostalgic as the comforting embrace of a mother, and I just couldn't help smiling at the absurdity of fear in the face of that fact. Fear fled before me like some nocturnal thing, scampering away to its hiding place before the light of the dawn.
"Look at that," whispered one of Emma's lackeys—Julia? Was that her name?—as I passed a gaggle of them in the hall. "Think she's high?"
"She's got no other reason to smile," said another snidely. "Not like anyone here actually likes her."
The malice slid off of me like cold water running against a steel blade. It meant nothing—less than nothing. Malice was without value unless it was backed by power, and not one of these sycophants had any.
And yet I couldn't really be angry with them. It wasn't as though they knew; they were just children playing out a role. I flashed them a faint smile as I passed them and entered the classroom.
-x-x-x-
My good mood didn't quite last all day. I had to meet Sophia eventually.
She shoved me aside roughly with her shoulder as we made our way to our shared math class. "Watch where you're walking, Hebert," she hissed as she passed.
Had she been anyone else, I'd have given her the same treatment I'd given others that day—a smile, and no other acknowledgement. But as I looked at her, Narya tightened slightly around my finger in warning, and a faint chill wormed its way up my spine.
I wasn't afraid of her. I knew what it was like to fear Sophia Hess, and this wasn't it. But, for the first time that day, I was suddenly cautious. Her eyes, glimmering with the same unabashed malice I'd seen in so many others, spoke of something more.
Power.
Sophia Hess, I realized, was more dangerous than the rest of Winslow High's population put together.
And I was her target.
Fuck.
-x-x-x-
Lunchtime came. Rather than cause myself trouble by trying to avoid notice in the cafeteria, I brought my food into the third floor girls' bathroom and started to eat my packed pita wrap in one of the toilet stalls.
It wasn't exactly what I'd call five-star ambiance, but then, neither was anywhere in the shithole that was Winslow High. Nor were many places, here in Brockton Bay.
Unfortunately, my peaceful lunch was not to be. I was about halfway through my wrap when I heard a gaggle of girls enter the room with a giggling and a chattering to wake the dead. I recognized the voices—these were girls who took an active part in my torment.
There were six stalls in the third-floor girls' bathroom. There were six girls' bathrooms throughout Winslow. So there was no doubt in my mind, when they knocked on the door of my stall, that they were looking for me.
I waited for the second knock before I sighed. "Occupied."
"Oh my God, it's Taylor!" one of them shrieked.
How many bathrooms had you already checked? I wondered, but didn't bother to say aloud. Instead, I slipped my unfinished pita back into its bag, stood up, and undid the lock.
"Do it," another girl said in response to a whisper.
There was a thump on the door just as I touched the handle. A gentle push failed to open it.
My lips twisted as I heard somebody squirm, as though stretching to reach a height. They were going to toss, or pour, something over the top of the door.
Well. Narya tightened gently over my finger. There was being non-confrontational, and then there was being weak. I was more than happy to do the former, but the latter did not sit well with me
Narya flared with power, augmenting my strength as I pushed the door open. I heard a startled cry as it bowled over both the girl who'd been holding it shut and the girl that had stood on her toes to pour—a can of cranberry juice, apparently—onto my head.
The red liquid spread across the floor as I appraised them, my lips twisted into what was probably a vaguely disapproving look. "Really?" I was less angry than annoyed. "You couldn't think of a better use for cranberry juice?"
They blinked up at me, the juice spreading into one girl's hair. I took pity on her and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the puddle. "You'll want to wash your hair," I advised sagely, nodding at the mess. "That stuff sticks, you know?"
They stared at me, blinking, without reply. After a few moments, I shrugged. "Well, anyway. Unless you want to try that again, I'm off. Done with lunch anyway."
I turned and walked out of the bathroom, waving nonchalantly behind me as the door shut. Vaguely I registered that this would seem out of character for me… but really, what could they do to me?
Sophia was dangerous, it was true, but the rest weren't. Not any more. I had Narya. I wouldn't be trapped in any lockers ever again.
Still, that girl hadn't had a handbag with her. No soap. Juice in one's hair was no joke—she'd be glad to get some help.
I made my way into the cafeteria and slipped through the crowd. They parted to allow me passage, often without even noticing they were doing it.
I flowed through them to the middle of the room, where Emma and Madison were sitting across from Sophia, talking merrily.
I came up behind the two. Sophia started as she saw me approaching.
"Hebert," she said, and there was a wary edge to her voice. "You're… here."
There was an odd note in her words, I noticed, and Narya tightened around my finger, but I ignored it. "Emma, Madison," I said, my voice low and casual. "A friend of yours got cranberry juice in her hair in the third floor bathroom. I told her to wash it, but that stuff sticks. Do you happen to have something to help her? You know, soap or shampoo?"
"What's it to you, loser?" Madison asked, sneering.
"Nothing, but I'm sure she'd be grateful for a bit of help getting cleaned up before class." I smiled at her before turning to leave.
"Wait a minute," Emma hissed, standing up. "You think you can just walk up to us like that and tell us what to do?"
I frowned at her. Not an angry, thunderous frown, which would take more effort than it was worth, but just a blank frown of bemusement. "Well, since the cranberry juice in her hair was supposed to go in mine, I don't really care whether you help her or not. I just thought I'd let you know."
I turned and left. No one stopped me. It struck me, later, how strange that was.
Not that they could have stopped me, of course. But they'd usually have tried.
-x-x-x-
I considered the three Rings before me, arranged in a small triangle on my desk. Already I itched to put Narya back on. Without it my body felt weak; my spirit, even weaker.
But there were two more Rings to experiment with, and today was Friday. I could wait for Monday to give the other two a proper test run, but something in me rebelled at the delay.
No. I was a cape. I was a superhero. I'd damn well act like it.
With a thought, my silver—no, mithril—hammer appeared in my right hand, and I turned to find the mithril anvil behind my chair. My power allowed me to summon them at any time, although neither was visible to other people around me.
(Learning that had made for a long and slightly embarrassing story. I'd been forging the Three downstairs in the afternoon, thinking Dad would be home late, when he'd walked in just as I raised my hammer over the anvil. He'd seen neither and had, in fact, walked around the anvil without noticing on his way to the kitchen. Stranger powers were... strange.)
I passed my left hand over the anvil's smooth surface, thinking. The Three had been the first designs to come into my head, but as I'd considered the need for a costume over the past weeks, more had risen in my mind: armor forged of mithril, platemail made to look like folded, silver leaves. It would be light as a feather, and harder than steel.
I crossed my bedroom, reached into the closet, and pulled out the beginnings of my armor. The breastplate and backplate were done, as were the boots and the leggings up to the knees. My thighs would be exposed if I went out in this, although my hips would be at least partly protected by the tassets.
That was good enough for a cape's first night out, I figured. Especially a cape bearing one of the Three.
One thing, however, was missing.
I smiled and took some of the metal junk and scrap I'd been salvaging over the past months back to my desk. I grabbed the long lighter I always kept there, lit it, and set it on the anvil, with the flame facing into the pile of scrap. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and began to strike at the twisted fragments with slow, steady blows from my hammer.
Bit by bit, the rusted metal began to transform—the tarnished steel and iron transmuting itself into bright mithril, reshaping into the form I desired. It would have been much faster if I had access to a fire hotter than a damn lighter, but a proper forge wasn't exactly something I could order online for a hundred bucks.
I was at it for hours, although I only occasionally noted the passing time. I greeted my Dad when he got home, and even went downstairs for a quick hug before returning to work. I went down again for dinner about half an hour later.
I hammered away at the metal until the early hours of the morning, but when I was done, I knew it had been worth it.
The shining silver helmet in my hands seemed to cast a glow as soft and luminous as the moonlight streaming in through the window—but where the moon lit only a thin strip of my floor, the helm's light seemed to spill over every surface in my bedroom. I turned it over in my hands and, after a moment, slipped it onto my head.
It fit perfectly, as I knew it would, but there was one more thing I wanted to try. I took it off, gathered up my long hair, and threaded it through the hole in the back as I put it on again, so that my hair ran down it like a plume.
The front of the helmet covered the skin around my eyes and nose like a store-bought domino mask, but infinitely higher in quality. I crept out of my room and slipped into the bathroom to study myself in the mirror.
I closed the door gently behind me, flicked on the lights, and was struck dumb, blinking at the unfamiliar visage in the mirror.
Nothing had changed besides the fact that I was wearing a mithril helmet. And yet, somehow, my too-wide mouth fit perfectly into the space between the side panels, and my large eyes seemed almost to shine from within behind the mithril plate. My pale skin, rather than being washed out by the glow of the metal, seemed instead to subsume its incandescence, it too glowing with starlight.
I never wanted to take this helmet off. I hadn't felt this good about my appearance in… well, ever.
I smiled, and the radiant person in the mirror smiled back. Sure, she was a little blurry without my glasses, but any of the Three would work in place of those.
Well, that settled it. Tomorrow, on Saturday, I would take up the mantle of a superhero for the first time.
A glance at the clock cut my musings short. For now, however, it was almost four in the morning, and in just two and a half hours, I would need to be rested for my run.
-x-x-x-
Please consider donating to my Patreon. Many thanks to those who have already donated.
Last edited:
Glimmer 1.2
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Many thanks to @Carluun and @Lorostan for betareading.
My eyes were still fluttering open as I groggily fumbled for my alarm, shaking myself out of slumber.
Run. Yes. Good.
I gracelessly fell out of bed and stumbled over to my desk. As I opened the drawer, I screwed my eyes closed and opened them again to clear away the fog. The Three Rings of Power glinted in the half-light, shining like stars before me. Narya I now knew—it was time to try one of the other two.
"Nenya," I decided, running my fingertips along the the mithril-and-diamond band. This Ring would have the power to protect, preserve, and conceal, as well as defend its wearer from most Masters.
I slipped Nenya onto the index finger of my left hand and immediately felt refreshed, as if I had just bathed in and drank from a cool mountain stream. Clearest water ran through me, rushing through my bloodstream, cleansing, purifying, and fortifying. Nenya, the Ring of Water.
A smile spread across my face. I bounced on the balls of my feet, reveling in the smooth grace I felt in every muscle. Then I rolled my shoulders, turned, and dashed out of the room, my feet making barely a sound on the wooden floor.
Dad was awake when I got back. "I didn't hear you leave," he told me over the sound of frying eggs. "Have a good run?"
"Yeah," I said. "It's getting easier every day. Too easy, even. I should maybe start earlier, or go for another run in the afternoon."
"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it, but don't you think starting even earlier might be pushing it?" Dad's brows were furrowed and the corners of his mouth were turned down in worry. "It's already still dark out when you leave."
"True," I admitted. Of course, with a Ring of Power on my finger, I wasn't exactly afraid of muggers or petty criminals. Even so, there's no reason to worry Dad. "You're probably right. Maybe I'll go for a run after school instead."
"How is school, by the way?" Dad asked hesitating slightly on the question as he brought the skillet of scrambled eggs over to the table and set them down. "Still the same?"
I shrugged and gave him a smile. "Depends on what you mean," I said, serving myself a helping with the spatula. "They're still doing it, if that's what you're asking. I just…." I glanced out the window for a moment.
Do I tell him?
Nenya curled comfortingly around my finger. Not advising me; simply promising support regardless.
"I… had a bit of an epiphany yesterday," I said eventually.
"Oh, really?" Dad asked, a faint smile coming to his lips and clearing away the lines of care for a moment.
I nodded. "They really can't hurt me," I said, choosing my words carefully. "What do I care what a bunch of stupid kids say? They pulled off the locker"—I saw Dad wince as I turned back to him—"once, but they won't manage again. I won't let them."
Dad looked concerned again. "It's good to hear you standing up for yourself, Taylor, but what if they gang up on you?"
I smiled at him. "I won't let them." With Nenya on my finger, it really was that simple.
As I finished my meal, I thought about my plans for that night, and considered what I still had to prepare. Nenya was a wonderful thing, and my costume/armor was great, but if I was going to be a superhero, I needed a complete image.
I needed a weapon.
As I returned to my room, already summoning my hammer and anvil, I found myself smiling at the thought. I was a Tinker, and I had ideas.
One such idea would see me going out later that day for a long piece of wood. Rather than buy an overpriced plank from a hardware store, I went out to the nearest park and grabbed an oaken branch which had fallen off of a tree. I brought it home to carve, and used the bladed back-end of my hammer to carve a long cylinder out of it, which I then sanded and varnished until it shone.
By the time I finished that, it was getting dark. I'd have to add the blade tomorrow.
I took the haft and hid it in the closet before dinner. I spent the rest of the evening rushing through as much homework as I could before I turned in early, around eight.
My alarm was set for midnight. When it rang, I'd pull out my armor and the half-finished weapon, and head out with Nenya.
It was time to be a superhero.
With Nenya, my footsteps passed like slow water passing silently over rocks. It seemed natural that I could leap from the top of one building to the next, or jump down a story without any difficulty. I crept above the rooftops at a crouch, drawing on Nenya's power to conceal me from unfriendly eyes.
The night air was cool, and the faint wind coming down from the west kissed my exposed lips and nose. I smelled a faint hint of salt from the sea, as always, but mixed within it were the scents of the day, still lingering on the breeze—car exhaust, sweat, various foods, and sundry other smells. Nenya delivered these and other sensations to me with a clarity unmatched, save by the piercing light of the stars overhead.
There's nothing quite like deliberately walking into the most dangerous parts of a nearly bankrupt city in the dead of night. My heart was beating just a little faster than usual, and I felt laser-focused. Excitement—and a shade of caution—thrummed across the fine membrane of my skin like goosebumps.
As I passed over an alley, the silence of the night broke around me. Voices rose up from below, and Nenya picked the sound out of the air and fed it into my ears. "—didn't want to pay his dues, so we're gonna take what he owes us. With interest."
I was in ABB territory, so it was no real surprise when I looked over the edge of the building and saw four Asian guys huddled together. I glanced across the street. There was a small restaurant there, on the ground story, and the loft above it looked like the living quarters of the proprietor. No other businesses were present within sight.
I figured the owner had failed to pay the ABB protection money, and was now going to get robbed for it. Except, of course, that I was here.
Nenya curled about my finger. I agreed. I should at least wait until I was sure.
I stayed crouched on the roof of the one-story building as the gangbangers left the alley and stealthily crept over to the shop. One raised a crowbar as they approached the door.
That was when I acted. I vaulted over the low façade of the roof and fell the twelve or so feet to the ground. Nenya saw to it that my drop was feather-light. "You really shouldn't," I called.
They spun around, and oh my they had guns. Or two did, anyway; the others were carrying long combat knives.
Later, thinking back, I'd conclude that even then I hadn't been scared—not really. I had Nenya, I had my armor, I had my haft. There was nothing to fear from four gangbangers, even if one of them had a pistol, and another had a shotgun.
But I did stop and think.
"Who're you, bitch?" one asked.
"Cape, obviously," said another. "But alone. You're not a Ward, are ya, or Empire? Just a little girl playing superhero, picking a fight with the ABB."
A third sneered. "Big mistake, that."
I smiled. "We'll see," I said, shifting my grip on the incomplete weapon and beginning to stride forward.
The pistol fired, and that was a surprise—I expected them to at least try to negotiate before going for a kill. The boy who fired it looked younger than the others—perhaps he was new. He was grimacing in fear and nerves.
…Hell, I knew his face. He went to Winslow, didn't he? Small world.
Casually, I slid through the air, the bullet missing my shoulder by almost a foot. "Like I said," I told him, grinning slightly, "you really shouldn't."
"Shit," muttered one guy with a knife. "Mover—dodges bullets."
"Oh, I'm more than that," I said quietly. "Drop the guns and no one has to get hurt."
"Yeah, I don't think so," said the guy with the shotgun. "Like to see you dodge buckshot." Then he fired.
Probably I couldn't dodge buckshot. But Nenya was the Ring of Protection, so I just gestured with my left hand and a transparent barrier flared to life around me. The shot impacted it with a muted whoomph, setting it rippling in a hundred places, like raindrops on the surface of a pond.
I smiled at him.
"Fuck," he said, sounding almost resigned.
"Drop the weapons," I advised.
The looked at each other, hesitating, but after a moment they obeyed.
Suddenly, the world was swallowed up in darkness. A shadow seemed to pass over the night, deepening it to pitch. Even my sight, enhanced by Nenya to the point that I hadn't bothered wearing my glasses, was muted to nothing. Sound, too, was obscured.
I acted. I threw myself backward and clambered back up the wall opposite the shop.
The darkness dissipated as I did so, and when I reached the rooftop I spun, my eyes darting from one place to another, looking for the cause.
There. Just outside the cloud of shadows, taking cover behind a dumpster, were three people—two girls and one guy, a little older than me, by their body shapes. The guy was clad in a white renaissance affair, richly embroidered, with a scepter in his hand and a pale jester's mask. He was tall and thin, and his hair was brown. One of the girls was a blonde, wearing a purple bodysuit and domino mask. The other, with auburn hair… was wearing only a t-shirt and jeans, and a dog-shaped mask I recognized from the local Dollar Store.
Since she was astride one of three truly massive monstrosities, though, I somehow doubted she was harmless. What even are those things? I wondered. Projections?
I leapt from one rooftop to the next unnoticed, approaching them. I heard them as I got close.
"—new hero, I think," said the girl in purple. She sounded frustrated. "Couldn't really get a read on her. My power just… slipped off of her. Hard to explain. It's like she was… hiding in plain sight, or something."
I considered that. This girl clearly had some kind of Thinker ability which should have given her information on me, but Nenya's concealment had protected me.
Something to consider.
I quietly dropped into an alley near them and crept up behind them, hiding myself with Nenya. Soon, I was among them.
"So," I drawled. "What're you people up to?"
"Jesus fucking Christ!" The guy in white dove away, even as the girl on the… animal whistled.
"Hurt," she ordered.
Oh, fuck.
The two other things—dogs? The girl wore a dog mask. Some kind of mutant hounds?—leapt at me. I ducked, rolled, and slid out of the way before diving back into the alley.
The dog-things followed me to the entrance and then blinked, glancing around, as though looking for me. I'd ducked behind a box, but without Nenya I'd have been easily visible and even more easily smellable.
"Stranger power," said the voice of the girl in purple grimly. "We need to get out of here."
I smiled and crept away a little distance before climbing back up the wall to the roof.
The darkness had dissipated, and the three had been joined by a fourth—a guy in all black, with a helmet like a skull on his head. "…did you manage to get into the shop?" the girl in purple was saying.
The guy in black shook his head. "I came as soon as I heard Bitch," he said. "What happened?"
"The armored girl," the girl in purple said. "She's a stranger—snuck right up into the middle of us. We should get out of here. What happened to the gangbangers?"
"Knocked them out and left them there," the guy in black said. "Sure we can't make it into the shop?"
"Grue," the girl in purple said darkly, "I can't get a read on this girl. All we know is that she took exception to their shoplifting. Do you want to get into a fight with an unknown cape, who—in case you missed it—is immune to my powers?"
"No," admitted the guy in black—Grue, apparently. "Okay, Tattletale, we'll do it your way. Let's go."
Soon, all four were astride the dog-monsters and galloping away.
I let them go—I didn't like my odds against four supervillains, even people small-time enough that my cursory research hadn't turned them up—and returned to the gangbangers. As Grue had said, they were out cold in a head outside the shop door, their weapons in a pile beside them.
I quickly unloaded the ammunition from each weapon and then considered the four men.
I need a phone.
How was I supposed to call 9-1-1 without one, after all?
Oh, well. I had alternatives. I fished in the guys' pockets until I found a phone and dialed.
"9-1-1, what is your emergency?" a businesslike woman's voice said over the line.
"I'm…" I began, and paused. There was a word on the tip of my tongue, but I wasn't sure why.
After a moment, I shrugged and went with it. "I'm Annatar," I said, and the name felt right. "I've got four ABB gangbangers out in front of…" I glanced at the store's hanging sign, "…Toshi's Noodle House, on Westbrook Avenue. They're unconscious, and I've removed the ammo from their guns. Can I get a pickup?"
There was silence. "Annatar, you said?" the responder asked. "Is that a cape name?"
I smiled. "Yeah," I said. "You won't have heard of me. I'm… new."
"All right," said the responder. "Procedure with a cape's involvement is to send a Protectorate member with the PRT. I'll send them your way."
"Thank you." I hung up, tossed the phone back onto its owner's prone body, and settled down to wait.
Please consider donating to my Patreon. Many thanks to those who have already donated.
-x-x-x-
My eyes were still fluttering open as I groggily fumbled for my alarm, shaking myself out of slumber.
Run. Yes. Good.
I gracelessly fell out of bed and stumbled over to my desk. As I opened the drawer, I screwed my eyes closed and opened them again to clear away the fog. The Three Rings of Power glinted in the half-light, shining like stars before me. Narya I now knew—it was time to try one of the other two.
"Nenya," I decided, running my fingertips along the the mithril-and-diamond band. This Ring would have the power to protect, preserve, and conceal, as well as defend its wearer from most Masters.
I slipped Nenya onto the index finger of my left hand and immediately felt refreshed, as if I had just bathed in and drank from a cool mountain stream. Clearest water ran through me, rushing through my bloodstream, cleansing, purifying, and fortifying. Nenya, the Ring of Water.
A smile spread across my face. I bounced on the balls of my feet, reveling in the smooth grace I felt in every muscle. Then I rolled my shoulders, turned, and dashed out of the room, my feet making barely a sound on the wooden floor.
-x-x-x-
Dad was awake when I got back. "I didn't hear you leave," he told me over the sound of frying eggs. "Have a good run?"
"Yeah," I said. "It's getting easier every day. Too easy, even. I should maybe start earlier, or go for another run in the afternoon."
"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it, but don't you think starting even earlier might be pushing it?" Dad's brows were furrowed and the corners of his mouth were turned down in worry. "It's already still dark out when you leave."
"True," I admitted. Of course, with a Ring of Power on my finger, I wasn't exactly afraid of muggers or petty criminals. Even so, there's no reason to worry Dad. "You're probably right. Maybe I'll go for a run after school instead."
"How is school, by the way?" Dad asked hesitating slightly on the question as he brought the skillet of scrambled eggs over to the table and set them down. "Still the same?"
I shrugged and gave him a smile. "Depends on what you mean," I said, serving myself a helping with the spatula. "They're still doing it, if that's what you're asking. I just…." I glanced out the window for a moment.
Do I tell him?
Nenya curled comfortingly around my finger. Not advising me; simply promising support regardless.
"I… had a bit of an epiphany yesterday," I said eventually.
"Oh, really?" Dad asked, a faint smile coming to his lips and clearing away the lines of care for a moment.
I nodded. "They really can't hurt me," I said, choosing my words carefully. "What do I care what a bunch of stupid kids say? They pulled off the locker"—I saw Dad wince as I turned back to him—"once, but they won't manage again. I won't let them."
Dad looked concerned again. "It's good to hear you standing up for yourself, Taylor, but what if they gang up on you?"
I smiled at him. "I won't let them." With Nenya on my finger, it really was that simple.
As I finished my meal, I thought about my plans for that night, and considered what I still had to prepare. Nenya was a wonderful thing, and my costume/armor was great, but if I was going to be a superhero, I needed a complete image.
I needed a weapon.
As I returned to my room, already summoning my hammer and anvil, I found myself smiling at the thought. I was a Tinker, and I had ideas.
One such idea would see me going out later that day for a long piece of wood. Rather than buy an overpriced plank from a hardware store, I went out to the nearest park and grabbed an oaken branch which had fallen off of a tree. I brought it home to carve, and used the bladed back-end of my hammer to carve a long cylinder out of it, which I then sanded and varnished until it shone.
By the time I finished that, it was getting dark. I'd have to add the blade tomorrow.
I took the haft and hid it in the closet before dinner. I spent the rest of the evening rushing through as much homework as I could before I turned in early, around eight.
My alarm was set for midnight. When it rang, I'd pull out my armor and the half-finished weapon, and head out with Nenya.
It was time to be a superhero.
-x-x-x-
With Nenya, my footsteps passed like slow water passing silently over rocks. It seemed natural that I could leap from the top of one building to the next, or jump down a story without any difficulty. I crept above the rooftops at a crouch, drawing on Nenya's power to conceal me from unfriendly eyes.
The night air was cool, and the faint wind coming down from the west kissed my exposed lips and nose. I smelled a faint hint of salt from the sea, as always, but mixed within it were the scents of the day, still lingering on the breeze—car exhaust, sweat, various foods, and sundry other smells. Nenya delivered these and other sensations to me with a clarity unmatched, save by the piercing light of the stars overhead.
There's nothing quite like deliberately walking into the most dangerous parts of a nearly bankrupt city in the dead of night. My heart was beating just a little faster than usual, and I felt laser-focused. Excitement—and a shade of caution—thrummed across the fine membrane of my skin like goosebumps.
As I passed over an alley, the silence of the night broke around me. Voices rose up from below, and Nenya picked the sound out of the air and fed it into my ears. "—didn't want to pay his dues, so we're gonna take what he owes us. With interest."
I was in ABB territory, so it was no real surprise when I looked over the edge of the building and saw four Asian guys huddled together. I glanced across the street. There was a small restaurant there, on the ground story, and the loft above it looked like the living quarters of the proprietor. No other businesses were present within sight.
I figured the owner had failed to pay the ABB protection money, and was now going to get robbed for it. Except, of course, that I was here.
Nenya curled about my finger. I agreed. I should at least wait until I was sure.
I stayed crouched on the roof of the one-story building as the gangbangers left the alley and stealthily crept over to the shop. One raised a crowbar as they approached the door.
That was when I acted. I vaulted over the low façade of the roof and fell the twelve or so feet to the ground. Nenya saw to it that my drop was feather-light. "You really shouldn't," I called.
They spun around, and oh my they had guns. Or two did, anyway; the others were carrying long combat knives.
Later, thinking back, I'd conclude that even then I hadn't been scared—not really. I had Nenya, I had my armor, I had my haft. There was nothing to fear from four gangbangers, even if one of them had a pistol, and another had a shotgun.
But I did stop and think.
"Who're you, bitch?" one asked.
"Cape, obviously," said another. "But alone. You're not a Ward, are ya, or Empire? Just a little girl playing superhero, picking a fight with the ABB."
A third sneered. "Big mistake, that."
I smiled. "We'll see," I said, shifting my grip on the incomplete weapon and beginning to stride forward.
The pistol fired, and that was a surprise—I expected them to at least try to negotiate before going for a kill. The boy who fired it looked younger than the others—perhaps he was new. He was grimacing in fear and nerves.
…Hell, I knew his face. He went to Winslow, didn't he? Small world.
Casually, I slid through the air, the bullet missing my shoulder by almost a foot. "Like I said," I told him, grinning slightly, "you really shouldn't."
"Shit," muttered one guy with a knife. "Mover—dodges bullets."
"Oh, I'm more than that," I said quietly. "Drop the guns and no one has to get hurt."
"Yeah, I don't think so," said the guy with the shotgun. "Like to see you dodge buckshot." Then he fired.
Probably I couldn't dodge buckshot. But Nenya was the Ring of Protection, so I just gestured with my left hand and a transparent barrier flared to life around me. The shot impacted it with a muted whoomph, setting it rippling in a hundred places, like raindrops on the surface of a pond.
I smiled at him.
"Fuck," he said, sounding almost resigned.
"Drop the weapons," I advised.
The looked at each other, hesitating, but after a moment they obeyed.
Suddenly, the world was swallowed up in darkness. A shadow seemed to pass over the night, deepening it to pitch. Even my sight, enhanced by Nenya to the point that I hadn't bothered wearing my glasses, was muted to nothing. Sound, too, was obscured.
I acted. I threw myself backward and clambered back up the wall opposite the shop.
The darkness dissipated as I did so, and when I reached the rooftop I spun, my eyes darting from one place to another, looking for the cause.
There. Just outside the cloud of shadows, taking cover behind a dumpster, were three people—two girls and one guy, a little older than me, by their body shapes. The guy was clad in a white renaissance affair, richly embroidered, with a scepter in his hand and a pale jester's mask. He was tall and thin, and his hair was brown. One of the girls was a blonde, wearing a purple bodysuit and domino mask. The other, with auburn hair… was wearing only a t-shirt and jeans, and a dog-shaped mask I recognized from the local Dollar Store.
Since she was astride one of three truly massive monstrosities, though, I somehow doubted she was harmless. What even are those things? I wondered. Projections?
I leapt from one rooftop to the next unnoticed, approaching them. I heard them as I got close.
"—new hero, I think," said the girl in purple. She sounded frustrated. "Couldn't really get a read on her. My power just… slipped off of her. Hard to explain. It's like she was… hiding in plain sight, or something."
I considered that. This girl clearly had some kind of Thinker ability which should have given her information on me, but Nenya's concealment had protected me.
Something to consider.
I quietly dropped into an alley near them and crept up behind them, hiding myself with Nenya. Soon, I was among them.
"So," I drawled. "What're you people up to?"
"Jesus fucking Christ!" The guy in white dove away, even as the girl on the… animal whistled.
"Hurt," she ordered.
Oh, fuck.
The two other things—dogs? The girl wore a dog mask. Some kind of mutant hounds?—leapt at me. I ducked, rolled, and slid out of the way before diving back into the alley.
The dog-things followed me to the entrance and then blinked, glancing around, as though looking for me. I'd ducked behind a box, but without Nenya I'd have been easily visible and even more easily smellable.
"Stranger power," said the voice of the girl in purple grimly. "We need to get out of here."
I smiled and crept away a little distance before climbing back up the wall to the roof.
The darkness had dissipated, and the three had been joined by a fourth—a guy in all black, with a helmet like a skull on his head. "…did you manage to get into the shop?" the girl in purple was saying.
The guy in black shook his head. "I came as soon as I heard Bitch," he said. "What happened?"
"The armored girl," the girl in purple said. "She's a stranger—snuck right up into the middle of us. We should get out of here. What happened to the gangbangers?"
"Knocked them out and left them there," the guy in black said. "Sure we can't make it into the shop?"
"Grue," the girl in purple said darkly, "I can't get a read on this girl. All we know is that she took exception to their shoplifting. Do you want to get into a fight with an unknown cape, who—in case you missed it—is immune to my powers?"
"No," admitted the guy in black—Grue, apparently. "Okay, Tattletale, we'll do it your way. Let's go."
Soon, all four were astride the dog-monsters and galloping away.
I let them go—I didn't like my odds against four supervillains, even people small-time enough that my cursory research hadn't turned them up—and returned to the gangbangers. As Grue had said, they were out cold in a head outside the shop door, their weapons in a pile beside them.
I quickly unloaded the ammunition from each weapon and then considered the four men.
I need a phone.
How was I supposed to call 9-1-1 without one, after all?
Oh, well. I had alternatives. I fished in the guys' pockets until I found a phone and dialed.
"9-1-1, what is your emergency?" a businesslike woman's voice said over the line.
"I'm…" I began, and paused. There was a word on the tip of my tongue, but I wasn't sure why.
After a moment, I shrugged and went with it. "I'm Annatar," I said, and the name felt right. "I've got four ABB gangbangers out in front of…" I glanced at the store's hanging sign, "…Toshi's Noodle House, on Westbrook Avenue. They're unconscious, and I've removed the ammo from their guns. Can I get a pickup?"
There was silence. "Annatar, you said?" the responder asked. "Is that a cape name?"
I smiled. "Yeah," I said. "You won't have heard of me. I'm… new."
"All right," said the responder. "Procedure with a cape's involvement is to send a Protectorate member with the PRT. I'll send them your way."
"Thank you." I hung up, tossed the phone back onto its owner's prone body, and settled down to wait.
-x-x-x-
Please consider donating to my Patreon. Many thanks to those who have already donated.
Last edited:
Glimmer 1.3
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
I glanced up when I heard the oncoming motors. I'd been reclining against the wall of the shop, not dozing, but resting.
It seemed the PRT had arrived.
Not just the PRT, at that. I blinked, and suddenly there was someone standing in front of me. His costume was red, and stripes intersected on his chest to form a V. Velocity, Brockton Bay's very own speedster.
I smiled at him. "Hello," I said.
He smiled back, his lower face visible under the mask. "Hey," he responded. "Annatar, right?"
I nodded. "These four were about to rob this place," I said, jerking my head back at the noodle shop. "I stopped them."
"I can see that," Velocity said, gesturing to the PRT troopers just now getting out of their patrol vans. The men came forward and began to load the unconscious bodies onto the vehicles. Then he turned back to me. "So, Annatar," he said. "Is this your first night out?"
I nodded. "I only got my gear into working condition today," I said. "I mean, my spear isn't done, but I didn't intend to be stabbing anyone today anyway."
"That's good," Velocity chuckled. "Killing someone is usually a bad way to start a heroic career. I assume you are going to be a hero?"
"I'd like to be," I replied, watching as the PRT troopers gathered the ABB members' guns. I handed one of them the magazine I'd been idly playing with while I waited.
"Well, I'd say you're off to a good start," he said. "What happened here, exactly?"
"I was on the rooftops," I said, "and I saw these guys coming out of the alley. Heard them, too. They were saying that the shopkeeper—Toshi, I guess—hadn't paid the ABB his protection money."
"So they decided to take it from him."
"Guess so. I dropped down behind them and told them to stop. They shot at me; that didn't work. I told them to drop the guns, and they did, but then someone else got involved."
"Someone else?" Velocity's voice sharpened slightly.
I nodded. "Capes—four of them," I said. "Tattletale, Grue, and… Bitch, I think? And one more."
"The Undersiders," the Protectorate cape said grimly. "Small-time villain team. I guess 'Bitch' is another name for Hellhound. The fourth guy: was he wearing a white costume with a jester's mask?"
I nodded.
"His name's Regent," Velocity explained. "He's a master 2, causes muscle spasms. Which can be more dangerous than it sounds, in the right situation, and he's good with it. Bitch is another master—she can enhance and control dogs."
"I saw them," I said. "Those big mutant things. Those are dogs?"
He nodded. "She touches them and they grow. I think it wears off after a while. Grue creates big dark clouds which mute sounds and blind you. He's immune to it, though, and if you're both in it, he'll see you even if you don't see him. Tattletale's a thinker. We don't know the details. She claims to be telepathic. It's probably not that extreme, but we haven't been able to determine her limits."
I can't get a read on this girl. It seemed Concealment was for more than just hiding from mutant hounds.
"Grue put one of his clouds over us," I remembered. "I tried to get out of the way, and got out of the cloud, then snuck up on the others. I guess I spooked them; they called Grue back and ran without finishing the shoplift."
"Impressive," Velocity praised. "You're not hurt?"
I shook my head. "Bitch—uh, Hellhound—tried to set her dogs on me, but I got away."
"Nicely done," he said. "Not many people could drive off four supervillains without a scratch. Uh, you're… Wards-age, I'm guessing?"
"I am," I said slowly, watching him.
"Then, have you considered joining up?" Velocity asked carefully. "It's dangerous for an independent hero out here. You must know that."
"I do," I answered. "And I have. I still am, as a matter of fact. Considering, that is."
"Well, I don't want to rush you," he told me. "Just… be careful while you're deciding, all right? We don't get new heroes often, Wards or not, and I'd hate for you to die because you were going it alone. The Undersiders are just the start—there's far worse things out here."
"I'll be careful," I promised. "Thank you, Velocity."
He nodded. "Do you have a phone?" he asked. "I can give you a number for Protectorate consulting. We offer it to independent heroes. And, if you want, I can put your number into the system as an independent we can work with."
"Sorry," I said, grimacing. "No cell phone. Maybe I should get one."
"Probably a good idea," he agreed. "If only so you can call for help if you need it."
The irony struck me: I'd been denied a cell phone because one had gotten my mother killed, and if I wasn't careful, its absence might do the same to me.
"I'll do that," I said. "I'll probably get in touch with the Protectorate pretty soon about joining the Wards, if only to let you know I've decided not to."
"Fair enough," Velocity said. "Door's open, though. Good luck."
I grinned at him. "Same to you," I said.
With that, we parted ways.
I returned home unmolested. I took off my armor and deposited it in my closet, stored the haft I was working on, and crossed over to my desk, pulling off Nenya as I went.
I sighed at the feeling of loss that came with removing the Ring. I really didn't enjoy being without one anymore. I pulled open my drawer, placed it in, and then stopped.
Why not?
I shrugged, took up the last ring—gold, and embedded with a sapphire. I turned it over in my fingers for a moment. "Vilya," I murmured.
I slipped it onto my fingers, and suddenly felt light as a feather. A cool wind gusted across my skin, caressing me gently, cooling and tempering my aching muscles. My hair billowed slightly around me, and I found my eyes closing serenely. Vilya, the Ring of Air.
I smiled and, Vilya still firmly on my finger, went to bed.
Running was not especially fun on three hours of sleep. I'd done it twice now. But Vilya kept me aware and alert, and even soothed the soreness and the aches that came with the exertion.
Breakfast with Dad was much the same as it always was; simple, calm, and lacking in real conversation. For months, I'd been upset with him for how little he understood, how badly he knew me, and then I'd felt guilty about it because how could he hope to know me, when I told him nothing?
Now, I had distance, and strength. I could stand on my own two feet, and didn't need to lean on him, so it didn't hurt when he wasn't there to catch me.
But I still wasn't telling him.
I hammered away at the last parts of my leggings that day. The gauntlets, and the rest of my weapon, I'd finish over the course of the week. Then I did my homework—with Vilya keeping my thoughts clear and sharp, it was actually very fast—and by that time it was dinner.
Over dinner, I thought about whether I should go out that night. Vilya hadn't really been tested yet; I could get that out of the way tonight and then go to school tomorrow with whichever Ring I thought most suitable.
On the other hand, I kind of wanted to stay cautious. My armor was mostly done—all I needed now was gauntlets—but my weapon still wasn't, and I had no support. Independents had a bad habit of dying quickly in Brockton Bay, and dying didn't sound good, not when I had so much more to build.
I'd had a close shave with the Undersiders last night. What if next time it was Kaiser? Or Lung?
Also, the scrap metal I was transmuting into mithril really wasn't cutting it. I could transmute any metal into mithril, but purer, stronger ones were easier to work and took less time. I had a feeling the mithril I'd make that way was stronger, too. If I had a steady supply of steel, I could build twice as much in the same span of time, and it'd all be much higher quality.
But on the other hand, I didn't really need to finish my spear to go out. The haft was enough for everything I'd be doing with it. I wasn't about to skewer people, even villains. And the gauntlets, while I'd like to have them, weren't actually that important a component to my armor.
I'd had a taste of heroism, last night. It had been good. The rush of adrenaline that came with combat, short-lived as it was, and the pride that came with knowing I'd prevented a theft… I wanted that. I wanted more of that.
"Hey, kiddo, you all right?" Dad asked, interrupting my thoughts. He was looking at me, concerned, over our chicken and rice. "You've been awfully quiet today. Thinking about school tomorrow?"
"No," I said honestly, stabbing a piece of chicken with my fork and taking a bite, thinking.
Do I tell him?
"I was thinking about the Protectorate, actually," I said. It wasn't even a lie.
He blinked at that. "Oh? What about them?" he asked.
"I was just thinking," I said. "The Triumvirate; they're basically three of the most powerful people in the country, right?"
Dad shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, probably," he agreed.
"No," I said, shaking my head. "Not where it counts. Because they're still Protectorate; they still answer to the PRT, and to the government through them. Alexandria could crush the president's head like an egg, but she still has to listen to them."
"That's all about limiting people, isn't it?" Dad asked, frowning at me. "If we just let people run things because they could beat up anyone who got in their way, it'd be anarchy."
"No, I know that," I said. "But… well, look. Capes have to go into the Protectorate if they want to be heroes. I mean, they don't have to—they can try to go it as independents, but I've never heard of an independent lasting longer than a couple weeks without getting folded into another group."
"There's New Wave," Dad argued. "An independent could join them."
I snorted. "New Wave is a family team," I said, "and everyone knows it."
"I suppose someone could make a new hero team," Dad said. "Build it from the ground up."
"And how do you think the Protectorate would react?" I put down my fork and thumbed Vilya idly. "They'd see it as an attack on their authority. No matter how good the new guys were, the Protectorate would find dirt on them, bury them in bad PR, bit by bit, until they had to either accept status as rogues or villains or join the fold."
Dad sighed. "All right, so say the Protectorate has a monopoly," he said. "What's so bad about that? It's not like they can charge more for being heroes."
I sighed. "Say a cape wants to do something else," I said. "Like politics. Problem is, they're either Protectorate, which means they can't be in the federal government because they're answerable to it, or they're villains, which means the Protectorate won't let them run."
Dad frowned. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the idea of capes running the country, anyway," he said slowly. "What if they decided, I don't know, that normal people were somehow less than them?"
I snorted. "Then they'd get shut down," I said. "The other capes and the normal people wouldn't stand for it."
"Empire 88's still around," Dad reminded me.
I blinked. That was a good point. I shook my head. "Fair enough," I said. "That wasn't my point anyway. My point is, why does the Protectorate keep that system in place? Surely they could change things around if they wanted to. Why are the Triumvirate content to just run around in costumes rescuing kittens when they could easily be running the place?"
"Maybe they don't want to?" Dad shrugged.
"Power," I said, "always wants more power. Doesn't it?"
"I don't know," Dad said with a huffed laugh. "I've never really had enough power to know, kiddo."
After dinner, I considered my gear, running my thumb over Vilya on my left hand.
Power always wants more power, I thought. Right now, this city was in the grip of men for whom power was the end unto itself; people who would happily crush people like my dad under their feet if it meant even a tiny speck more power for them. And for years, they'd been running a campaign of aggression against the heroes and the innocent of this city.
Not one day more.
Look out, Brockton Bay. Annatar was coming. Maybe I'd run into Kaiser or Lung, but with Vilya I'd see them well before they saw me. I was done being afraid of bullies.
Tonight, I paid this city's scum back a bit for the hell they'd put me through. I knew for a fact there were villains in this city who were well within my weight class. I'd focus on them, avoid their betters, and get to work.
It seemed the PRT had arrived.
Not just the PRT, at that. I blinked, and suddenly there was someone standing in front of me. His costume was red, and stripes intersected on his chest to form a V. Velocity, Brockton Bay's very own speedster.
I smiled at him. "Hello," I said.
He smiled back, his lower face visible under the mask. "Hey," he responded. "Annatar, right?"
I nodded. "These four were about to rob this place," I said, jerking my head back at the noodle shop. "I stopped them."
"I can see that," Velocity said, gesturing to the PRT troopers just now getting out of their patrol vans. The men came forward and began to load the unconscious bodies onto the vehicles. Then he turned back to me. "So, Annatar," he said. "Is this your first night out?"
I nodded. "I only got my gear into working condition today," I said. "I mean, my spear isn't done, but I didn't intend to be stabbing anyone today anyway."
"That's good," Velocity chuckled. "Killing someone is usually a bad way to start a heroic career. I assume you are going to be a hero?"
"I'd like to be," I replied, watching as the PRT troopers gathered the ABB members' guns. I handed one of them the magazine I'd been idly playing with while I waited.
"Well, I'd say you're off to a good start," he said. "What happened here, exactly?"
"I was on the rooftops," I said, "and I saw these guys coming out of the alley. Heard them, too. They were saying that the shopkeeper—Toshi, I guess—hadn't paid the ABB his protection money."
"So they decided to take it from him."
"Guess so. I dropped down behind them and told them to stop. They shot at me; that didn't work. I told them to drop the guns, and they did, but then someone else got involved."
"Someone else?" Velocity's voice sharpened slightly.
I nodded. "Capes—four of them," I said. "Tattletale, Grue, and… Bitch, I think? And one more."
"The Undersiders," the Protectorate cape said grimly. "Small-time villain team. I guess 'Bitch' is another name for Hellhound. The fourth guy: was he wearing a white costume with a jester's mask?"
I nodded.
"His name's Regent," Velocity explained. "He's a master 2, causes muscle spasms. Which can be more dangerous than it sounds, in the right situation, and he's good with it. Bitch is another master—she can enhance and control dogs."
"I saw them," I said. "Those big mutant things. Those are dogs?"
He nodded. "She touches them and they grow. I think it wears off after a while. Grue creates big dark clouds which mute sounds and blind you. He's immune to it, though, and if you're both in it, he'll see you even if you don't see him. Tattletale's a thinker. We don't know the details. She claims to be telepathic. It's probably not that extreme, but we haven't been able to determine her limits."
I can't get a read on this girl. It seemed Concealment was for more than just hiding from mutant hounds.
"Grue put one of his clouds over us," I remembered. "I tried to get out of the way, and got out of the cloud, then snuck up on the others. I guess I spooked them; they called Grue back and ran without finishing the shoplift."
"Impressive," Velocity praised. "You're not hurt?"
I shook my head. "Bitch—uh, Hellhound—tried to set her dogs on me, but I got away."
"Nicely done," he said. "Not many people could drive off four supervillains without a scratch. Uh, you're… Wards-age, I'm guessing?"
"I am," I said slowly, watching him.
"Then, have you considered joining up?" Velocity asked carefully. "It's dangerous for an independent hero out here. You must know that."
"I do," I answered. "And I have. I still am, as a matter of fact. Considering, that is."
"Well, I don't want to rush you," he told me. "Just… be careful while you're deciding, all right? We don't get new heroes often, Wards or not, and I'd hate for you to die because you were going it alone. The Undersiders are just the start—there's far worse things out here."
"I'll be careful," I promised. "Thank you, Velocity."
He nodded. "Do you have a phone?" he asked. "I can give you a number for Protectorate consulting. We offer it to independent heroes. And, if you want, I can put your number into the system as an independent we can work with."
"Sorry," I said, grimacing. "No cell phone. Maybe I should get one."
"Probably a good idea," he agreed. "If only so you can call for help if you need it."
The irony struck me: I'd been denied a cell phone because one had gotten my mother killed, and if I wasn't careful, its absence might do the same to me.
"I'll do that," I said. "I'll probably get in touch with the Protectorate pretty soon about joining the Wards, if only to let you know I've decided not to."
"Fair enough," Velocity said. "Door's open, though. Good luck."
I grinned at him. "Same to you," I said.
With that, we parted ways.
-x-x-x-
I returned home unmolested. I took off my armor and deposited it in my closet, stored the haft I was working on, and crossed over to my desk, pulling off Nenya as I went.
I sighed at the feeling of loss that came with removing the Ring. I really didn't enjoy being without one anymore. I pulled open my drawer, placed it in, and then stopped.
Why not?
I shrugged, took up the last ring—gold, and embedded with a sapphire. I turned it over in my fingers for a moment. "Vilya," I murmured.
I slipped it onto my fingers, and suddenly felt light as a feather. A cool wind gusted across my skin, caressing me gently, cooling and tempering my aching muscles. My hair billowed slightly around me, and I found my eyes closing serenely. Vilya, the Ring of Air.
I smiled and, Vilya still firmly on my finger, went to bed.
-x-x-x-
Running was not especially fun on three hours of sleep. I'd done it twice now. But Vilya kept me aware and alert, and even soothed the soreness and the aches that came with the exertion.
Breakfast with Dad was much the same as it always was; simple, calm, and lacking in real conversation. For months, I'd been upset with him for how little he understood, how badly he knew me, and then I'd felt guilty about it because how could he hope to know me, when I told him nothing?
Now, I had distance, and strength. I could stand on my own two feet, and didn't need to lean on him, so it didn't hurt when he wasn't there to catch me.
But I still wasn't telling him.
I hammered away at the last parts of my leggings that day. The gauntlets, and the rest of my weapon, I'd finish over the course of the week. Then I did my homework—with Vilya keeping my thoughts clear and sharp, it was actually very fast—and by that time it was dinner.
Over dinner, I thought about whether I should go out that night. Vilya hadn't really been tested yet; I could get that out of the way tonight and then go to school tomorrow with whichever Ring I thought most suitable.
On the other hand, I kind of wanted to stay cautious. My armor was mostly done—all I needed now was gauntlets—but my weapon still wasn't, and I had no support. Independents had a bad habit of dying quickly in Brockton Bay, and dying didn't sound good, not when I had so much more to build.
I'd had a close shave with the Undersiders last night. What if next time it was Kaiser? Or Lung?
Also, the scrap metal I was transmuting into mithril really wasn't cutting it. I could transmute any metal into mithril, but purer, stronger ones were easier to work and took less time. I had a feeling the mithril I'd make that way was stronger, too. If I had a steady supply of steel, I could build twice as much in the same span of time, and it'd all be much higher quality.
But on the other hand, I didn't really need to finish my spear to go out. The haft was enough for everything I'd be doing with it. I wasn't about to skewer people, even villains. And the gauntlets, while I'd like to have them, weren't actually that important a component to my armor.
I'd had a taste of heroism, last night. It had been good. The rush of adrenaline that came with combat, short-lived as it was, and the pride that came with knowing I'd prevented a theft… I wanted that. I wanted more of that.
"Hey, kiddo, you all right?" Dad asked, interrupting my thoughts. He was looking at me, concerned, over our chicken and rice. "You've been awfully quiet today. Thinking about school tomorrow?"
"No," I said honestly, stabbing a piece of chicken with my fork and taking a bite, thinking.
Do I tell him?
"I was thinking about the Protectorate, actually," I said. It wasn't even a lie.
He blinked at that. "Oh? What about them?" he asked.
"I was just thinking," I said. "The Triumvirate; they're basically three of the most powerful people in the country, right?"
Dad shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, probably," he agreed.
"No," I said, shaking my head. "Not where it counts. Because they're still Protectorate; they still answer to the PRT, and to the government through them. Alexandria could crush the president's head like an egg, but she still has to listen to them."
"That's all about limiting people, isn't it?" Dad asked, frowning at me. "If we just let people run things because they could beat up anyone who got in their way, it'd be anarchy."
"No, I know that," I said. "But… well, look. Capes have to go into the Protectorate if they want to be heroes. I mean, they don't have to—they can try to go it as independents, but I've never heard of an independent lasting longer than a couple weeks without getting folded into another group."
"There's New Wave," Dad argued. "An independent could join them."
I snorted. "New Wave is a family team," I said, "and everyone knows it."
"I suppose someone could make a new hero team," Dad said. "Build it from the ground up."
"And how do you think the Protectorate would react?" I put down my fork and thumbed Vilya idly. "They'd see it as an attack on their authority. No matter how good the new guys were, the Protectorate would find dirt on them, bury them in bad PR, bit by bit, until they had to either accept status as rogues or villains or join the fold."
Dad sighed. "All right, so say the Protectorate has a monopoly," he said. "What's so bad about that? It's not like they can charge more for being heroes."
I sighed. "Say a cape wants to do something else," I said. "Like politics. Problem is, they're either Protectorate, which means they can't be in the federal government because they're answerable to it, or they're villains, which means the Protectorate won't let them run."
Dad frowned. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the idea of capes running the country, anyway," he said slowly. "What if they decided, I don't know, that normal people were somehow less than them?"
I snorted. "Then they'd get shut down," I said. "The other capes and the normal people wouldn't stand for it."
"Empire 88's still around," Dad reminded me.
I blinked. That was a good point. I shook my head. "Fair enough," I said. "That wasn't my point anyway. My point is, why does the Protectorate keep that system in place? Surely they could change things around if they wanted to. Why are the Triumvirate content to just run around in costumes rescuing kittens when they could easily be running the place?"
"Maybe they don't want to?" Dad shrugged.
"Power," I said, "always wants more power. Doesn't it?"
"I don't know," Dad said with a huffed laugh. "I've never really had enough power to know, kiddo."
After dinner, I considered my gear, running my thumb over Vilya on my left hand.
Power always wants more power, I thought. Right now, this city was in the grip of men for whom power was the end unto itself; people who would happily crush people like my dad under their feet if it meant even a tiny speck more power for them. And for years, they'd been running a campaign of aggression against the heroes and the innocent of this city.
Not one day more.
Look out, Brockton Bay. Annatar was coming. Maybe I'd run into Kaiser or Lung, but with Vilya I'd see them well before they saw me. I was done being afraid of bullies.
Tonight, I paid this city's scum back a bit for the hell they'd put me through. I knew for a fact there were villains in this city who were well within my weight class. I'd focus on them, avoid their betters, and get to work.
Glimmer 1.4
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
'Avoiding the capes above my weight class' was a really good plan. I was quite proud of it.
A shame, then, that plans seldom, if ever, survive contact with the enemy.
I watched from the dark of the rooftop as Lung addressed his ABB. "…the children, just shoot. Doesn't matter your aim, just shoot. You see one lying on the ground? Shoot the little bitch twice more to be sure. We give them no chances to be clever or lucky, understand?"
I knew this was a bad idea. I knew I wasn't strong enough to take on Lung, Brockton Bay's resident dragon, arguably the city's strongest single parahuman.
But I also knew that if I turned my back and let children die, I'd never forgive myself.
Vilya cooled my thoughts, aired out my brain, let me think. So I did. I could use a payphone, call the PRT hotline, but the payphones were all down on the street, and the closest one that I could get to without being heard was over a block away. By that time, it might already be too late to offer any assistance.
The guys would have cellphones. If I could separate one from the pack, I could get it off of him and call the PRT.
But I also couldn't afford to wait until they engaged. At that point, it would be too late to cut Lung off before he started ramping up. I needed a distraction, and I needed to hope it either got Lung to back off or got him to split his group. And in case the hope was vain, I needed to make sure the distraction didn't compromise my location.
I glanced at my left hand, where Vilya glittered. Well, I thought. Here goes nothing.
I raised my left hand high, drew on the power of the Ring, and cast my thoughts outward to a nearby alleyway.
Light flashed, bright and pure, with a crack like the strike of lightning. Nothing dangerous to anyone—just a sound and a sight to draw attention.
That much it did. The entire ABB group whirled toward the noise.
"You three," Lung ordered, pointing at three of his guys. "Go see what that was. If you see anyone, come back at once. If you don't see anyone, check the alley, and then come back. You have three minutes."
He hadn't even missed a beat. I wondered why he wasn't going himself to investigate the probably parahuman phenomenon, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
I leapt nimbly from one rooftop to another until I reached the one-story roof above the alley. The guys were just going into it. I swallowed.
Their guns were out and they were staying in a careful formation, going down the alley in a triangle. The guy in front had a shotgun; the other two had pistols.
I missed Nenya.
I tensed, ready to leap, and then, just as the guy in front passed behind a barrel—momentarily out of sight of the other two—I leapt down on them.
I fell on the shoulders of one of the guys in the back. He went down, but I came up rolling, and struck the guy with the shotgun with my haft. He bellowed as I hit him, and I knew Lung must have heard, and that was very bad.
But I wasn't dead yet. I struck him again, across the temple, and he went down properly. The third guy fired his pistol, and the round glanced off of my chestplate as I turned.
"Mistake," I said flatly, and pointed at him with the index finger of my left hand, Vilya shining like a blue star.
A bolt of lightning—far too weak to kill someone, as I intended—arced forth and struck him. He flew backwards out of the alley with a strangled yell. Without sparing him another thought I turned my attention to the last guy, who was clambering to his feet.
I gently put my Ring-bearing hand on his brow and allowed the Dominant Ring to do its work. "You're mine," I whispered.
For a moment, our wills strove against one another, my mind reaching out through Vilya and meeting his halfway. But he was a man accustomed to obedience, a man whose will had systematically been broken down by Lung, whereas I was the Ring-Maker.
He nodded dumbly, ceasing his attempts to rise, his eyes staring up into mine blankly.
"Follow me," I murmured. I heard the approaching ABB, Lung barking orders at their head.
I led my thrall out the back way of the alley and we ran in a crouch down the next road for about thirty feet before ducking into another alley. We crouched together behind a dumpster, and then I turned to him. "Give me your phone," I ordered.
He obeyed, and I punched in the PRT hotline.
"Parahuman response, what is your emergency?" the responder said.
"Lung," I replied flatly. "I heard him ordering his ABB around. They were going to kill kids. Intersection of Fifteenth and Chesterton."
There was a beat. "Very well, I've flagged this; Protectorate support is on its way," said the responder quickly. "Can you tell me your name?"
"Annatar. I'll try to stay alive. Gotta run." I hung up and handed the phone back.
For a moment, I studied my thrall's blank face. Then I made my decision. "Try to get into PRT custody," I said quietly. "They can protect you from Lung—he'll hurt you for disobeying, master or no master. If the ABB catches you, surrender to them; don't try to fight or escape. Once you're in either of their care, you'll be free from my power."
He nodded dully.
"Get moving."
He left, running down the alleyway opposite the way we'd come. I took a single deep breath and then left cover too, making for the nearest fire escape.
I clambered my way up it and onto the roof, then jumped across the alley and onto the next. I could hear voices in the street, Lung snarling at his mooks to keep searching.
I couldn't fight them; not like this, not without a lot more training, better gear, and a proper weapon. I needed to just keep quiet and hope the Protectorate got here before Lung either found me, or went back to what he was doing before.
Where would the Protectorate come from?
West. The knowledge came to me like a whisper, Vilya shimmering as its power flared.
And where would Lung go to look for the kids?
East.
Then my path was clear. I had to draw him west.
I moved across the roof as stealthily as I could manage, toward the road where Lung was ordering his men. Apparently, however, I was insufficiently careful. He hissed, seeming to tense, and then shouted once. "Quiet!"
I didn't dare breathe. Enhanced senses. I'd had them myself not twenty-four hours ago, for God's sake! I bit my lip and reached out with Vilya. Another flash burst forth from inside an alleyway to Lung's right and some distance ahead of him—west of his location.
He hissed. "A distraction," he said darkly. "They're too afraid to face us. Ignore it! Let's get on with things."
Shit.
I couldn't move for fear Lung would hear me, I couldn't attack because that was suicide, and I couldn't distract him because he'd caught on.
What did that leave? Stay here and pray the Protectorate would get here before Lung could kill his targets, doing nothing?
Fuck that.
I stood. I saw Lung's head whip around to face me, but I was already running—away, and to the west.
I heard him roar. I heard the whistling through the air as he leapt. I heard the crunch of his feet on the roof behind me. He was onto me now.
I dove off the roof and into the next street, landing in a roll, and kept running. He jumped down behind me and gave chase. I heard his guys yelling farther back.
Thing is, I had Vilya, and had been running three times every two days for months. Lung was a fucking dragon. They weren't fast enough to keep up, and they fell behind.
The problem? Lung was faster than me. He was gaining.
I couldn't afford to let him catch me mid-run. I had to face him at some point, because I couldn't defend myself when my back was turned. I waited too long, though, and when he was a little more than fifteen feet behind me (I think—without Nenya, my senses were only a little above human average) I felt a blast of intense heat on my back, blasting me forward and sending me sprawling ten, twenty feet down the road.
I rolled over and picked myself up, facing him. He was advancing more slowly now, his brown-on-red eyes glaring balefully at me from under that metal mask of his.
"You picked a bad fight, little girl," he said darkly. He was starting to change: his legs had shifted a little, tearing up his shoes as the ankle rose to form a digitigrade joint, and his spine had arched slightly so he was hunched a little as he approached, but he had grown, too, so he was still well over six feet tall.
I didn't answer except by shifting my grip on my haft.
"Any last words?" he asked, but that wasn't the only sound that came to my ears.
An engine.
I smiled. "Surrender," I said.
"You surrender?" He laughed. "You fuck with my boys, in my territory, and you think it's okay because you surrender?"
"No," I said. "I'm offering you a chance to surrender."
If anything he laughed harder. "What's your name, little girl?" he asked.
"Annatar," I said.
"Well, Annatar," he said, fire licking around his clenching fists. "I'll see your tombstone says 'she ha' 'alls.' 'Ow's 'at 'ound?" He was still growing visibly, hunching further, metal scales growing across his body in a slow creep. His words were starting to become muddled as his face morphed into a snout, rapidly becoming incomprehensible.
"It sounds," I said, "like you're not surrendering." I gestured with Vilya and lightning burst forth again, blowing him backward.
I'd pushed a hell of a lot more into the attack this time, and it left me a little out of breath, but I was proud to see that I'd at least had an effect, knocking him stumbling back a couple of steps.
He roared as he skidded, fire beginning to engulf his form, but I could see a light shining on him from behind me somewhere. I didn't dare turn and look, instead bringing my left hand to bear again, Vilya glowing bright on my finger.
A blue motorcycle came to rest beside me and a man in power armor swung his legs off of it. "You must be Annatar," he murmured.
"That's my name," I said. "Armsmaster?"
"That's right." The famous halberd was drawn and put forth at the ready. "Lung," Armsmaster called with a voice like steel. "Surrender, and this doesn't have to be hard."
" 'Uck 'oo." Lung's voice was little more than a brutal, animal snarl now. Fire lanced forth from him, launching at us in a blast.
Vilya could control the elements—fire, water, lightning, earth, the air itself… nothing totally drastic, like cracking open the planet or creating a vacuum, but I should be able to redirect a short burst of flame.
This was not a short burst, it was a steady stream. Besides which, it was dragon-fire, and dragon-fire is immune to most pyrokinesis. So I did what I could do, which was to throw myself out of the way. Armsmaster did the same, diving in the opposite direction, and then charging.
His halberd launched a dart of some kind, which struck Lung in the gut. Then another struck his neck. Lung bellowed, but there was something off, a note of weakness in the sound.
Tranquilizers, I guessed.
Armsmaster slowed as he approached Lung, firing off another dart into the man's leg. Lung fell to his knees, breathing heavily. I followed the Protectorate cape in, Vilya at the ready.
"Fuck you," gasped Lung, his transformation fading rapidly. "This isn't over."
"I think it is," said Armsmaster, and struck him hard across the temple. Lung went down.
I stared down at the dragon's fallen form, and then looked up at the hero. "Tinkertech tranquilizers?" I asked.
He nodded, turning to me. "You said he was going after kids?" he asked.
I nodded. "I heard him ordering his guys to shoot them," I said. "Children, he said."
Armsmaster nodded. "You're telling the truth," he said, and wasn't there something odd about that phrasing? "Admirable of you, to try to prevent that. Bit stupid, trying to take him on, though."
"I wasn't taking him on," I protested. "I had him running almost three blocks in this direction, headed for you. I only turned around when I heard your bike."
"Oh," Armsmaster said, glancing at the aforementioned bike. "How'd you know which direction I was coming from?"
I thumbed Vilya compulsively. "Minor precognition," I said. "I don't know exactly how it works. I just knew."
"A precog?" Armsmaster sounded interested. "That's a rare power."
I nodded. There was a reason Vilya was the greatest of the Three, even if its powers did spook me a little bit. Possibly that was why its powers spooked me.
"Velocity approached you about joining the Wards yesterday, didn't he?" Armsmaster asked.
"Yeah." I sighed. "Independents don't last long by themselves."
"Do you see why, now?" Armsmaster nodded at Lung's unconscious form. "I can only fight him because I've spent a long time coming up with a specific counter to him. You wouldn't have stood a chance on your own."
"I know."
"Then you'll join the Wards?"
I bit my lip. "I still need to think about it more."
"Look." Armsmaster sounded exasperated. "You seem like a good kid, but you're out of your depth, here. We can help you."
"That's what the adults tend to say," I said flatly. "Doesn't stop us triggering. You understand, Armsmaster? I got my powers because of people in the same position of power as you, right now. Because of their negligence. Forgive me if I'm not eager to trust another one."
There was silence.
"I understand," said Armsmaster quietly. "You didn't have a phone yesterday—I assume you've gotten one now, since you called the hotline?"
I shook my head. "I mastered an ABB guy and used his," I said. "Hopefully he'll find his way to PRT custody. I ordered him to turn himself in, and set my control to drop after that."
"You're a master, too?" Armsmaster asked.
I nodded. At least with Vilya, I privately added.
A slight frown spread over his face. "You're keeping something from me," he declared.
"Yes," I said honestly. "Shouldn't I?"
"We're not enemies," Armsmaster said. "We're both heroes, aren't we?"
As if it's that simple.
"But not all heroes are created equal," I said flatly. "Wouldn't you agree? I'd rather not have my powers become public knowledge to everyone in the Protectorate and PRT, if I can avoid it."
Armsmaster grunted. "Fine," he said. "We'd appreciate it if you came in for testing, though. Just so we know what kinds of problem you can best help with."
"I'll be honest," I said. "That's a big reason why I'm worried about working with you. My powers come with weaknesses." A phantom pain skidded a line of fire across my index finger, just above the knuckle. "Publicizing them just sounds like a bad idea."
"It's not as though we'll be telling the world every detail of your powers." Armsmaster sounded almost defensive.
"I don't like not controlling my own information," I said coldly. "I've had people turn on me before."
Armsmaster grunted and picked Lung up, slinging him over his shoulder. He started walking back to his motorcycle, talking to me as he did so. "There's nothing I can say to change your mind?"
"Like I said, I'm thinking about it."
"Well, think fast," said Armsmaster shortly. He strapped Lung to the back of the seat, zip-tied his legs and arms up so they wouldn't drag on the ground, and looked back at me. "You may not get this lucky again."
I smiled thinly. "I don't intend to need to get this lucky again," I said flatly.
Armsmaster sighed. "I hope to see you in the Wards, Annatar," he said, and drove off. I watched him go.
Then I sighed, stretched, and smiled. I'd rescued children from a murderer, and said murderer was now in Protectorate custody. Despite my sudden nascent dislike for Armsmaster as a person, I had to respect his efficacy.
Tonight had been a good night.
A shame, then, that plans seldom, if ever, survive contact with the enemy.
I watched from the dark of the rooftop as Lung addressed his ABB. "…the children, just shoot. Doesn't matter your aim, just shoot. You see one lying on the ground? Shoot the little bitch twice more to be sure. We give them no chances to be clever or lucky, understand?"
I knew this was a bad idea. I knew I wasn't strong enough to take on Lung, Brockton Bay's resident dragon, arguably the city's strongest single parahuman.
But I also knew that if I turned my back and let children die, I'd never forgive myself.
Vilya cooled my thoughts, aired out my brain, let me think. So I did. I could use a payphone, call the PRT hotline, but the payphones were all down on the street, and the closest one that I could get to without being heard was over a block away. By that time, it might already be too late to offer any assistance.
The guys would have cellphones. If I could separate one from the pack, I could get it off of him and call the PRT.
But I also couldn't afford to wait until they engaged. At that point, it would be too late to cut Lung off before he started ramping up. I needed a distraction, and I needed to hope it either got Lung to back off or got him to split his group. And in case the hope was vain, I needed to make sure the distraction didn't compromise my location.
I glanced at my left hand, where Vilya glittered. Well, I thought. Here goes nothing.
I raised my left hand high, drew on the power of the Ring, and cast my thoughts outward to a nearby alleyway.
Light flashed, bright and pure, with a crack like the strike of lightning. Nothing dangerous to anyone—just a sound and a sight to draw attention.
That much it did. The entire ABB group whirled toward the noise.
"You three," Lung ordered, pointing at three of his guys. "Go see what that was. If you see anyone, come back at once. If you don't see anyone, check the alley, and then come back. You have three minutes."
He hadn't even missed a beat. I wondered why he wasn't going himself to investigate the probably parahuman phenomenon, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
I leapt nimbly from one rooftop to another until I reached the one-story roof above the alley. The guys were just going into it. I swallowed.
Their guns were out and they were staying in a careful formation, going down the alley in a triangle. The guy in front had a shotgun; the other two had pistols.
I missed Nenya.
I tensed, ready to leap, and then, just as the guy in front passed behind a barrel—momentarily out of sight of the other two—I leapt down on them.
I fell on the shoulders of one of the guys in the back. He went down, but I came up rolling, and struck the guy with the shotgun with my haft. He bellowed as I hit him, and I knew Lung must have heard, and that was very bad.
But I wasn't dead yet. I struck him again, across the temple, and he went down properly. The third guy fired his pistol, and the round glanced off of my chestplate as I turned.
"Mistake," I said flatly, and pointed at him with the index finger of my left hand, Vilya shining like a blue star.
A bolt of lightning—far too weak to kill someone, as I intended—arced forth and struck him. He flew backwards out of the alley with a strangled yell. Without sparing him another thought I turned my attention to the last guy, who was clambering to his feet.
I gently put my Ring-bearing hand on his brow and allowed the Dominant Ring to do its work. "You're mine," I whispered.
For a moment, our wills strove against one another, my mind reaching out through Vilya and meeting his halfway. But he was a man accustomed to obedience, a man whose will had systematically been broken down by Lung, whereas I was the Ring-Maker.
He nodded dumbly, ceasing his attempts to rise, his eyes staring up into mine blankly.
"Follow me," I murmured. I heard the approaching ABB, Lung barking orders at their head.
I led my thrall out the back way of the alley and we ran in a crouch down the next road for about thirty feet before ducking into another alley. We crouched together behind a dumpster, and then I turned to him. "Give me your phone," I ordered.
He obeyed, and I punched in the PRT hotline.
"Parahuman response, what is your emergency?" the responder said.
"Lung," I replied flatly. "I heard him ordering his ABB around. They were going to kill kids. Intersection of Fifteenth and Chesterton."
There was a beat. "Very well, I've flagged this; Protectorate support is on its way," said the responder quickly. "Can you tell me your name?"
"Annatar. I'll try to stay alive. Gotta run." I hung up and handed the phone back.
For a moment, I studied my thrall's blank face. Then I made my decision. "Try to get into PRT custody," I said quietly. "They can protect you from Lung—he'll hurt you for disobeying, master or no master. If the ABB catches you, surrender to them; don't try to fight or escape. Once you're in either of their care, you'll be free from my power."
He nodded dully.
"Get moving."
He left, running down the alleyway opposite the way we'd come. I took a single deep breath and then left cover too, making for the nearest fire escape.
I clambered my way up it and onto the roof, then jumped across the alley and onto the next. I could hear voices in the street, Lung snarling at his mooks to keep searching.
I couldn't fight them; not like this, not without a lot more training, better gear, and a proper weapon. I needed to just keep quiet and hope the Protectorate got here before Lung either found me, or went back to what he was doing before.
Where would the Protectorate come from?
West. The knowledge came to me like a whisper, Vilya shimmering as its power flared.
And where would Lung go to look for the kids?
East.
Then my path was clear. I had to draw him west.
I moved across the roof as stealthily as I could manage, toward the road where Lung was ordering his men. Apparently, however, I was insufficiently careful. He hissed, seeming to tense, and then shouted once. "Quiet!"
I didn't dare breathe. Enhanced senses. I'd had them myself not twenty-four hours ago, for God's sake! I bit my lip and reached out with Vilya. Another flash burst forth from inside an alleyway to Lung's right and some distance ahead of him—west of his location.
He hissed. "A distraction," he said darkly. "They're too afraid to face us. Ignore it! Let's get on with things."
Shit.
I couldn't move for fear Lung would hear me, I couldn't attack because that was suicide, and I couldn't distract him because he'd caught on.
What did that leave? Stay here and pray the Protectorate would get here before Lung could kill his targets, doing nothing?
Fuck that.
I stood. I saw Lung's head whip around to face me, but I was already running—away, and to the west.
I heard him roar. I heard the whistling through the air as he leapt. I heard the crunch of his feet on the roof behind me. He was onto me now.
I dove off the roof and into the next street, landing in a roll, and kept running. He jumped down behind me and gave chase. I heard his guys yelling farther back.
Thing is, I had Vilya, and had been running three times every two days for months. Lung was a fucking dragon. They weren't fast enough to keep up, and they fell behind.
The problem? Lung was faster than me. He was gaining.
I couldn't afford to let him catch me mid-run. I had to face him at some point, because I couldn't defend myself when my back was turned. I waited too long, though, and when he was a little more than fifteen feet behind me (I think—without Nenya, my senses were only a little above human average) I felt a blast of intense heat on my back, blasting me forward and sending me sprawling ten, twenty feet down the road.
I rolled over and picked myself up, facing him. He was advancing more slowly now, his brown-on-red eyes glaring balefully at me from under that metal mask of his.
"You picked a bad fight, little girl," he said darkly. He was starting to change: his legs had shifted a little, tearing up his shoes as the ankle rose to form a digitigrade joint, and his spine had arched slightly so he was hunched a little as he approached, but he had grown, too, so he was still well over six feet tall.
I didn't answer except by shifting my grip on my haft.
"Any last words?" he asked, but that wasn't the only sound that came to my ears.
An engine.
I smiled. "Surrender," I said.
"You surrender?" He laughed. "You fuck with my boys, in my territory, and you think it's okay because you surrender?"
"No," I said. "I'm offering you a chance to surrender."
If anything he laughed harder. "What's your name, little girl?" he asked.
"Annatar," I said.
"Well, Annatar," he said, fire licking around his clenching fists. "I'll see your tombstone says 'she ha' 'alls.' 'Ow's 'at 'ound?" He was still growing visibly, hunching further, metal scales growing across his body in a slow creep. His words were starting to become muddled as his face morphed into a snout, rapidly becoming incomprehensible.
"It sounds," I said, "like you're not surrendering." I gestured with Vilya and lightning burst forth again, blowing him backward.
I'd pushed a hell of a lot more into the attack this time, and it left me a little out of breath, but I was proud to see that I'd at least had an effect, knocking him stumbling back a couple of steps.
He roared as he skidded, fire beginning to engulf his form, but I could see a light shining on him from behind me somewhere. I didn't dare turn and look, instead bringing my left hand to bear again, Vilya glowing bright on my finger.
A blue motorcycle came to rest beside me and a man in power armor swung his legs off of it. "You must be Annatar," he murmured.
"That's my name," I said. "Armsmaster?"
"That's right." The famous halberd was drawn and put forth at the ready. "Lung," Armsmaster called with a voice like steel. "Surrender, and this doesn't have to be hard."
" 'Uck 'oo." Lung's voice was little more than a brutal, animal snarl now. Fire lanced forth from him, launching at us in a blast.
Vilya could control the elements—fire, water, lightning, earth, the air itself… nothing totally drastic, like cracking open the planet or creating a vacuum, but I should be able to redirect a short burst of flame.
This was not a short burst, it was a steady stream. Besides which, it was dragon-fire, and dragon-fire is immune to most pyrokinesis. So I did what I could do, which was to throw myself out of the way. Armsmaster did the same, diving in the opposite direction, and then charging.
His halberd launched a dart of some kind, which struck Lung in the gut. Then another struck his neck. Lung bellowed, but there was something off, a note of weakness in the sound.
Tranquilizers, I guessed.
Armsmaster slowed as he approached Lung, firing off another dart into the man's leg. Lung fell to his knees, breathing heavily. I followed the Protectorate cape in, Vilya at the ready.
"Fuck you," gasped Lung, his transformation fading rapidly. "This isn't over."
"I think it is," said Armsmaster, and struck him hard across the temple. Lung went down.
I stared down at the dragon's fallen form, and then looked up at the hero. "Tinkertech tranquilizers?" I asked.
He nodded, turning to me. "You said he was going after kids?" he asked.
I nodded. "I heard him ordering his guys to shoot them," I said. "Children, he said."
Armsmaster nodded. "You're telling the truth," he said, and wasn't there something odd about that phrasing? "Admirable of you, to try to prevent that. Bit stupid, trying to take him on, though."
"I wasn't taking him on," I protested. "I had him running almost three blocks in this direction, headed for you. I only turned around when I heard your bike."
"Oh," Armsmaster said, glancing at the aforementioned bike. "How'd you know which direction I was coming from?"
I thumbed Vilya compulsively. "Minor precognition," I said. "I don't know exactly how it works. I just knew."
"A precog?" Armsmaster sounded interested. "That's a rare power."
I nodded. There was a reason Vilya was the greatest of the Three, even if its powers did spook me a little bit. Possibly that was why its powers spooked me.
"Velocity approached you about joining the Wards yesterday, didn't he?" Armsmaster asked.
"Yeah." I sighed. "Independents don't last long by themselves."
"Do you see why, now?" Armsmaster nodded at Lung's unconscious form. "I can only fight him because I've spent a long time coming up with a specific counter to him. You wouldn't have stood a chance on your own."
"I know."
"Then you'll join the Wards?"
I bit my lip. "I still need to think about it more."
"Look." Armsmaster sounded exasperated. "You seem like a good kid, but you're out of your depth, here. We can help you."
"That's what the adults tend to say," I said flatly. "Doesn't stop us triggering. You understand, Armsmaster? I got my powers because of people in the same position of power as you, right now. Because of their negligence. Forgive me if I'm not eager to trust another one."
There was silence.
"I understand," said Armsmaster quietly. "You didn't have a phone yesterday—I assume you've gotten one now, since you called the hotline?"
I shook my head. "I mastered an ABB guy and used his," I said. "Hopefully he'll find his way to PRT custody. I ordered him to turn himself in, and set my control to drop after that."
"You're a master, too?" Armsmaster asked.
I nodded. At least with Vilya, I privately added.
A slight frown spread over his face. "You're keeping something from me," he declared.
"Yes," I said honestly. "Shouldn't I?"
"We're not enemies," Armsmaster said. "We're both heroes, aren't we?"
As if it's that simple.
"But not all heroes are created equal," I said flatly. "Wouldn't you agree? I'd rather not have my powers become public knowledge to everyone in the Protectorate and PRT, if I can avoid it."
Armsmaster grunted. "Fine," he said. "We'd appreciate it if you came in for testing, though. Just so we know what kinds of problem you can best help with."
"I'll be honest," I said. "That's a big reason why I'm worried about working with you. My powers come with weaknesses." A phantom pain skidded a line of fire across my index finger, just above the knuckle. "Publicizing them just sounds like a bad idea."
"It's not as though we'll be telling the world every detail of your powers." Armsmaster sounded almost defensive.
"I don't like not controlling my own information," I said coldly. "I've had people turn on me before."
Armsmaster grunted and picked Lung up, slinging him over his shoulder. He started walking back to his motorcycle, talking to me as he did so. "There's nothing I can say to change your mind?"
"Like I said, I'm thinking about it."
"Well, think fast," said Armsmaster shortly. He strapped Lung to the back of the seat, zip-tied his legs and arms up so they wouldn't drag on the ground, and looked back at me. "You may not get this lucky again."
I smiled thinly. "I don't intend to need to get this lucky again," I said flatly.
Armsmaster sighed. "I hope to see you in the Wards, Annatar," he said, and drove off. I watched him go.
Then I sighed, stretched, and smiled. I'd rescued children from a murderer, and said murderer was now in Protectorate custody. Despite my sudden nascent dislike for Armsmaster as a person, I had to respect his efficacy.
Tonight had been a good night.
Glimmer 1.5
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
School was standard, for most of the next day. The girls were still trying to get at me with words, words, words, and I was still having none of it.
I'd brought Vilya—despite its impressive performance the night before, I still hadn't tested it in school and I wanted to see how it worked out of combat. It became clear really quickly that Vilya wasn't Narya. I wasn't practically busting at the seams with confidence the way I had been on Friday. But I wasn't weak, either. I was a buried boulder to Narya's raised obelisk—more unassuming, but even less pliant.
But one thing was worrying me. Something had set Sophia off, and not in any way I wanted. If she'd just stepped up her campaign to physically harass me at every turn, that would've been fine. I could take that now, easily.
No, instead, she'd withdrawn a bit. She was still taking part in the teasing and the insults but she never even came within arm's length of me all day. Something I'd done the previous Friday had set her on edge.
Which of Narya's powers had she observed? Obviously, I'd been behaving differently; was it simply my newfound confidence that had tipped her off? Or had she heard of my increased strength from the girls in the bathroom? Or had it been the way the lunchroom parted for me when I passed?
For now, I doubted it mattered, but something about the girl had set Narya off as well, and Vilya was responding to her, too. Malice, backed by power. I would have to be careful.
Not too careful, though. I'd just faced down Lung and survived. I could handle Sophia Hess.
I had computer class with Mrs. Knott that day. Once I'd done the assignment, which took all of three minutes, I started browsing the Web, looking for information on the local cape scene. Specifically, I tried to learn more about the Wards.
The local Wards were seven in number.
Their leader, Aegis, was a classic brute: flight and redundant biology, which he could abuse to become an absolute tank on the battlefield.
Clockblocker was a striker who could freeze objects, including other people, in time. Kid Win was a tinker—like me—who used lasers and a hoverboard.
Browbeat was another brute who didn't have flight but who seemed to heal faster than Aegis did.
Gallant was possibly a tinker, although there was some speculation on PHO that his power armor was maintained by another tinker. Regardless, he could apparently shoot energy blasts which some witnesses said affected people's emotions in small ways.
Vista was younger than the other Wards, but had been a member for longer. She could apparently bend and stretch physical space.
Shadow Stalker was a former vigilante who carried a crossbow and could transform into a breaker state which made her look like a moving wisp of shadow.
The Wards program as a whole seemed to be a pretty good deal, but then, it had really good PR. Heroes were compensated both weekly and by way of a trust fund, accessible when they turned eighteen. In addition, tinkers—those whose inventions were replicable, at least, which wasn't all of them—would sell their patents to the PRT and would receive compensation.
There was discussion on PHO about whether it was more that they had to sell their patents, but that was probably no big deal to me. My armor and weapons were nothing special except that they were made of mithril, which only I could transmute, and I seriously doubted my Rings were replicable.
And even if they were, there was always—
I shook off that idea. I really didn't want to go there with my powers. I leaned back in the library chair with a sigh and thought about it.
On the one hand, that was an inflow of money—money both my dad and I sorely needed. It was also support, and possibly even a way to find allies to whom I'd want to give more of the Rings of Power.
On the other hand, it was a bureaucracy, an authority, to which I would be willingly subjecting myself. If Principal Blackwell and the rest of Winslow's staff had taught me anything, it was that authority was corruptible and, as a rule, untrustworthy.
Besides all that, I'd have to expose my weaknesses. I wasn't stupid enough to think I was invulnerable. All it would take was one Ring stolen, one dagger in the back, one slash across the knuckles, and I'd be down. End of story. Having to publicize that my powers came from my Rings didn't sit well at all.
I needed to think further. And I needed to finish my spear.
On my way home, I stopped at a supermarket and got myself a small, easily concealed safe with a combination lock. It wasn't a permanent solution, nor a perfect one, but I had a feeling something would present itself. Already I was having ideas for a mithril lockbox which couldn't be opened by anyone but the owner.
I didn't understand exactly how it would go about being permanently locked, but I'd learned not to question my powers. The Three worked fine, after all.
"Welcome home, Taylor," my dad called from the couch as I came in. "How was school?"
"Not bad," I said honestly.
"Really?" he asked, a smile spreading across his face.
I chuckled. "Sophia didn't try to push me around today," I said, and then frowned. "I'm worried about it, actually. I'm hoping they're not planning something big."
My Dad winced. " 'Big' as in…"
I sighed. "It's not out of the question," I admitted. "If they think they're not getting through to me, and they're not, they might escalate."
"What do you want to do, then?" Dad asked. "We could… I don't know, I guess we could try to take it to the administration again?"
I shook my head. "No, you don't get it," I said. "I'm worried they'll escalate, but not because I'm afraid of what might happen to me. I just don't want to have to escalate back." I grinned at him. "They pulled out all the stops a while back. I've got some ideas on how I can pay them back, if I need to."
Dad still looked worried. "Just promise me you'll be careful, Taylor," he said. "When they called me, after…"
"I know," I said gently. "I promise, Dad: I won't be getting shoved into any lockers or put into the hospital by those bitches again anytime soon."
I spent the rest of the evening molding mithril into the bladed head of that spear. In all honesty, it was less a traditional European spear and more a Japanese naginata, with a curved blade at the end.
On the flat of the blade, I carved a verse in a flowing script whose origins I didn't know. As I carved, I whispered the words to myself.
Gil-galad ech vae vaegannen matha
Aith heleg nín I orch gostatha
Nin cíniel na nguruthos
Hon ess nín istatha:
Aeglos
I pulled away the summoned hammer and chisel and studied the Tengwar inscription. This is weird, I thought. A whole language, now? Do other tinkers get things like this?
I sighed. It wasn't as though it didn't look fantastic. The engraved script seemed almost to shimmer blue against the silvery metal of the blade.
"Aeglos, huh?" I said softly, running my finger along the dull side of the blade. It was ice-cold to the touch. "You'll do nicely."
It was getting late, but I still had to bind the head to the haft I'd carved before. I did that with mithril bolts and some welding, and by then it was dark.
And now it was time to make decisions. Should I go out again tonight? Sleep deprivation didn't seem to be affecting me too badly as long as I kept my Rings on. I could probably manage it.
Or should I contact Armsmaster and the Protectorate? Much as I didn't really like the guy, he was right about one thing: I needed a team. Alone, I wasn't a pushover. With a solid group of Ring-Bearers behind me? I'd be unstoppable.
What was I so afraid of? Betrayal? I could handle betrayal, I thought. The only worry I had was that it would kill me before I dealt with it.
Realistically, though, was that likely? Did I really think the Wards could have stayed as a prominent, heroic organization if they were the type of group to take advantage of their members to that extent? Sure, they might try to stick me in a lab and get me forging Rings for them permanently, but if that happened—
I bit my lip. I couldn't even think about it without my stomach churning.
—if that happened, I… had options.
I really didn't want to, though. I didn't want the—that to be necessary. But they'd never done that to tinkers before. Kid Win, Gallant, and Armsmaster all went out into frontline combat just fine.
It'd be a good idea to downplay my Rings if I decided to join the Wards. Make them seem like ordinary, if powerful, tinkertech, instead of the fantastically broken artifacts they were.
Was it possible for me not to tell them about the Rings at all? Could I, say, claim to imbue my armor with powers, one powerset at a time?
I sighed. My train of thought was too far down the rabbit hole. I crossed my room and stood before my window, opening the blinds and the glass pane.
The stars were dim overhead, and shone pale and stark in only a few places against the black. Brockton Bay didn't offer much by way of stargazing, with the haze of city life and the light pollution washing out the sky.
I sighed, breathing in the cool spring air. Only one question mattered: Did I want to join the Wards? In the end, no matter what team I joined or formed, I'd have to open myself to betrayal from them, unless I wanted to go full Heartbreaker and make myself a force of Ring-thralls. And I didn't.
I really, really didn't.
The Wards were heroes, but I'd had a hero once. Her name was Annette Hebert.
I'd had two. The other was named Emma Barnes.
Vilya glimmered, and a single star, bright in the northern sky, seemed to twinkle brighter, as if in response.
I brought the Ring of Air to my lips, closing my eyes as I felt the cool metal against my skin.
Could I do this?
I smiled slightly.
Yes.
This world wasn't good to heroes, and anyone who believed in them was slowly learning cynicism. Brockton Bay hadn't had any hope for a long time.
I slipped Vilya off of my finger, crossed to my desk, dropped it into the lockbox, and slipped on Narya. The rush of fire, hot in my veins, invigorated and revived me, instilling a sense of purpose.
If the world wasn't willing to provide heroes, well, I'd just have to be one. The Wards were a start, but only a start. I had no illusions: the Protectorate ladder, with its bureaucracy, its rules, its rigidity, and its sense of entitlement to the very idea of heroism was not going to be my career path for the rest of my life.
But it was a start. In the Wards, I was fairly sure I could find a few like-minded people, people who were tired of the bullshit and the status quo, people who were willing to strike out on their own in the name of making a change.
So that was the plan. Today, the Wards—tomorrow, independence. One day, perhaps, I could look out my window and not have to look at the stars to find beauty.
But the Wards were a government organization, and they'd never allow me to join without parental approval. I was sure they'd willingly employ some morally gray methods to get that approval, if I asked, but I doubted that would be necessary.
I slipped into my armor. Only one thing was necessary now.
I left my room and headed downstairs. "Dad?" I called. "We need to talk."
I'd brought Vilya—despite its impressive performance the night before, I still hadn't tested it in school and I wanted to see how it worked out of combat. It became clear really quickly that Vilya wasn't Narya. I wasn't practically busting at the seams with confidence the way I had been on Friday. But I wasn't weak, either. I was a buried boulder to Narya's raised obelisk—more unassuming, but even less pliant.
But one thing was worrying me. Something had set Sophia off, and not in any way I wanted. If she'd just stepped up her campaign to physically harass me at every turn, that would've been fine. I could take that now, easily.
No, instead, she'd withdrawn a bit. She was still taking part in the teasing and the insults but she never even came within arm's length of me all day. Something I'd done the previous Friday had set her on edge.
Which of Narya's powers had she observed? Obviously, I'd been behaving differently; was it simply my newfound confidence that had tipped her off? Or had she heard of my increased strength from the girls in the bathroom? Or had it been the way the lunchroom parted for me when I passed?
For now, I doubted it mattered, but something about the girl had set Narya off as well, and Vilya was responding to her, too. Malice, backed by power. I would have to be careful.
Not too careful, though. I'd just faced down Lung and survived. I could handle Sophia Hess.
I had computer class with Mrs. Knott that day. Once I'd done the assignment, which took all of three minutes, I started browsing the Web, looking for information on the local cape scene. Specifically, I tried to learn more about the Wards.
The local Wards were seven in number.
Their leader, Aegis, was a classic brute: flight and redundant biology, which he could abuse to become an absolute tank on the battlefield.
Clockblocker was a striker who could freeze objects, including other people, in time. Kid Win was a tinker—like me—who used lasers and a hoverboard.
Browbeat was another brute who didn't have flight but who seemed to heal faster than Aegis did.
Gallant was possibly a tinker, although there was some speculation on PHO that his power armor was maintained by another tinker. Regardless, he could apparently shoot energy blasts which some witnesses said affected people's emotions in small ways.
Vista was younger than the other Wards, but had been a member for longer. She could apparently bend and stretch physical space.
Shadow Stalker was a former vigilante who carried a crossbow and could transform into a breaker state which made her look like a moving wisp of shadow.
The Wards program as a whole seemed to be a pretty good deal, but then, it had really good PR. Heroes were compensated both weekly and by way of a trust fund, accessible when they turned eighteen. In addition, tinkers—those whose inventions were replicable, at least, which wasn't all of them—would sell their patents to the PRT and would receive compensation.
There was discussion on PHO about whether it was more that they had to sell their patents, but that was probably no big deal to me. My armor and weapons were nothing special except that they were made of mithril, which only I could transmute, and I seriously doubted my Rings were replicable.
And even if they were, there was always—
I shook off that idea. I really didn't want to go there with my powers. I leaned back in the library chair with a sigh and thought about it.
On the one hand, that was an inflow of money—money both my dad and I sorely needed. It was also support, and possibly even a way to find allies to whom I'd want to give more of the Rings of Power.
On the other hand, it was a bureaucracy, an authority, to which I would be willingly subjecting myself. If Principal Blackwell and the rest of Winslow's staff had taught me anything, it was that authority was corruptible and, as a rule, untrustworthy.
Besides all that, I'd have to expose my weaknesses. I wasn't stupid enough to think I was invulnerable. All it would take was one Ring stolen, one dagger in the back, one slash across the knuckles, and I'd be down. End of story. Having to publicize that my powers came from my Rings didn't sit well at all.
I needed to think further. And I needed to finish my spear.
-x-x-x-
On my way home, I stopped at a supermarket and got myself a small, easily concealed safe with a combination lock. It wasn't a permanent solution, nor a perfect one, but I had a feeling something would present itself. Already I was having ideas for a mithril lockbox which couldn't be opened by anyone but the owner.
I didn't understand exactly how it would go about being permanently locked, but I'd learned not to question my powers. The Three worked fine, after all.
"Welcome home, Taylor," my dad called from the couch as I came in. "How was school?"
"Not bad," I said honestly.
"Really?" he asked, a smile spreading across his face.
I chuckled. "Sophia didn't try to push me around today," I said, and then frowned. "I'm worried about it, actually. I'm hoping they're not planning something big."
My Dad winced. " 'Big' as in…"
I sighed. "It's not out of the question," I admitted. "If they think they're not getting through to me, and they're not, they might escalate."
"What do you want to do, then?" Dad asked. "We could… I don't know, I guess we could try to take it to the administration again?"
I shook my head. "No, you don't get it," I said. "I'm worried they'll escalate, but not because I'm afraid of what might happen to me. I just don't want to have to escalate back." I grinned at him. "They pulled out all the stops a while back. I've got some ideas on how I can pay them back, if I need to."
Dad still looked worried. "Just promise me you'll be careful, Taylor," he said. "When they called me, after…"
"I know," I said gently. "I promise, Dad: I won't be getting shoved into any lockers or put into the hospital by those bitches again anytime soon."
-x-x-x-
I spent the rest of the evening molding mithril into the bladed head of that spear. In all honesty, it was less a traditional European spear and more a Japanese naginata, with a curved blade at the end.
On the flat of the blade, I carved a verse in a flowing script whose origins I didn't know. As I carved, I whispered the words to myself.
Gil-galad ech vae vaegannen matha
Aith heleg nín I orch gostatha
Nin cíniel na nguruthos
Hon ess nín istatha:
Aeglos
I pulled away the summoned hammer and chisel and studied the Tengwar inscription. This is weird, I thought. A whole language, now? Do other tinkers get things like this?
I sighed. It wasn't as though it didn't look fantastic. The engraved script seemed almost to shimmer blue against the silvery metal of the blade.
"Aeglos, huh?" I said softly, running my finger along the dull side of the blade. It was ice-cold to the touch. "You'll do nicely."
It was getting late, but I still had to bind the head to the haft I'd carved before. I did that with mithril bolts and some welding, and by then it was dark.
And now it was time to make decisions. Should I go out again tonight? Sleep deprivation didn't seem to be affecting me too badly as long as I kept my Rings on. I could probably manage it.
Or should I contact Armsmaster and the Protectorate? Much as I didn't really like the guy, he was right about one thing: I needed a team. Alone, I wasn't a pushover. With a solid group of Ring-Bearers behind me? I'd be unstoppable.
What was I so afraid of? Betrayal? I could handle betrayal, I thought. The only worry I had was that it would kill me before I dealt with it.
Realistically, though, was that likely? Did I really think the Wards could have stayed as a prominent, heroic organization if they were the type of group to take advantage of their members to that extent? Sure, they might try to stick me in a lab and get me forging Rings for them permanently, but if that happened—
I bit my lip. I couldn't even think about it without my stomach churning.
—if that happened, I… had options.
I really didn't want to, though. I didn't want the—that to be necessary. But they'd never done that to tinkers before. Kid Win, Gallant, and Armsmaster all went out into frontline combat just fine.
It'd be a good idea to downplay my Rings if I decided to join the Wards. Make them seem like ordinary, if powerful, tinkertech, instead of the fantastically broken artifacts they were.
Was it possible for me not to tell them about the Rings at all? Could I, say, claim to imbue my armor with powers, one powerset at a time?
I sighed. My train of thought was too far down the rabbit hole. I crossed my room and stood before my window, opening the blinds and the glass pane.
The stars were dim overhead, and shone pale and stark in only a few places against the black. Brockton Bay didn't offer much by way of stargazing, with the haze of city life and the light pollution washing out the sky.
I sighed, breathing in the cool spring air. Only one question mattered: Did I want to join the Wards? In the end, no matter what team I joined or formed, I'd have to open myself to betrayal from them, unless I wanted to go full Heartbreaker and make myself a force of Ring-thralls. And I didn't.
I really, really didn't.
The Wards were heroes, but I'd had a hero once. Her name was Annette Hebert.
I'd had two. The other was named Emma Barnes.
Vilya glimmered, and a single star, bright in the northern sky, seemed to twinkle brighter, as if in response.
I brought the Ring of Air to my lips, closing my eyes as I felt the cool metal against my skin.
Could I do this?
I smiled slightly.
Yes.
This world wasn't good to heroes, and anyone who believed in them was slowly learning cynicism. Brockton Bay hadn't had any hope for a long time.
I slipped Vilya off of my finger, crossed to my desk, dropped it into the lockbox, and slipped on Narya. The rush of fire, hot in my veins, invigorated and revived me, instilling a sense of purpose.
If the world wasn't willing to provide heroes, well, I'd just have to be one. The Wards were a start, but only a start. I had no illusions: the Protectorate ladder, with its bureaucracy, its rules, its rigidity, and its sense of entitlement to the very idea of heroism was not going to be my career path for the rest of my life.
But it was a start. In the Wards, I was fairly sure I could find a few like-minded people, people who were tired of the bullshit and the status quo, people who were willing to strike out on their own in the name of making a change.
So that was the plan. Today, the Wards—tomorrow, independence. One day, perhaps, I could look out my window and not have to look at the stars to find beauty.
But the Wards were a government organization, and they'd never allow me to join without parental approval. I was sure they'd willingly employ some morally gray methods to get that approval, if I asked, but I doubted that would be necessary.
I slipped into my armor. Only one thing was necessary now.
I left my room and headed downstairs. "Dad?" I called. "We need to talk."
Last edited:
Interlude 1a: Danny
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
"Dad?" Taylor called, her approach making the stairs creak. "We need to talk."
Danny glanced at the hall from the coffee table where he'd been signing work authorizations. "I'm in the living room!" he called to her.
Taylor emerged from the hall, and Danny felt his jaw drop. His little girl, who'd only two hours ago gone up after dinner, was wearing some kind of armor which seemed to shimmer silver, as though reflecting moonlight. In her right hand was a long spear, its tip shimmering blue, which she carefully held low to avoid slicing into the ceiling.
She came to a halt just inside the room. Danny Hebert stared, trying to find his voice.
"Don't worry," she said, and there was a laugh in her voice. "I have time."
"You're a cape." Danny felt the quaver in his voice even before it emerged.
Taylor nodded, her bushy hair bobbing where it emerged from the helmet like a plume. "Yes," she said.
"How?" he asked weakly. "When?"
"The locker," she said softly, and his heart froze.
"Oh, Christ, Taylor," he murmured. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be," she said, and her voice was gentle. "It wasn't your fault."
Danny ignored that particular lie for the moment. "And you… made that?"
"Yes," she said. "I'm a tinker, Dad. I made my armor, and my spear… and my Rings." She knelt, carefully setting the long spear on the ground, before slipping her right hand over her left and pulling something off of her index finger. Suddenly he saw it—a small ring, made of gold, with a large ruby shining in it like a blood-red star.
"This is why you haven't been afraid lately," he realized. "This is why you've been so… confident, these past few days. You have powers. You can fight back."
"Fighting back," Taylor said, slipping the ring back on, "would be a very bad idea. At least if I did it directly. Before, the best they could do was punish me for fighting on school grounds. Now? I could get charged with assault with a parahuman ability. But that doesn't mean I have to take everything, either."
She fell silent, seemingly content to let her father take the affair in at his own pace. He tried to do so. His daughter, his sweet little girl, was a cape. A parahuman. A class of person who regularly threw themselves into life-threatening danger, whether for personal gain or for selfless reasons.
She'd been put under so much stress by those three monsters at her school that she'd come out changed. He'd known that already, but to have that change thrust before him in such a direct and concrete way was startling. Painful.
"So…." He tried to figure out what to say. "What are you going to do?"
"I want to join the Wards," she said promptly. "At least for now. I need allies, and my options there are the Wards, villains, or trying to start up my own team. I don't like the second option, and the third is too dangerous right now. The ABB will be gunning for me."
Danny tensed. "Why," he began slowly, "will the ABB be gunning for you?"
She smiled wryly. "Because last night, I helped Armsmaster take down Lung," she said.
Danny thought his eye might be twitching. "You what?" he asked.
"I went out in costume for the first time on Saturday," she said quietly, evenly. "I stopped a robbery and scared off some villains. Then, yesterday, I ran into Lung and the ABB. They were going to kill kids, Dad. I couldn't stand by. So I got my hands on a phone, called the Protectorate, and distracted Lung until Armsmaster got there."
"You fought Lung?" His voice was hoarse and weak with horror.
"And I won, Dad." Hers, however, was firm. "I won. Sure, I only won because Armsmaster got there in time. But a win is a win. I'm strong—I can help people. I have to try."
Danny fell back against the couch, his core giving out, leaving him sprawled and spread over the seat. "Please, Taylor," he implored. "Be more careful. I can't lose you."
"Believe me, Dad," she said with a chuckle. "I'd prefer not to die, too. Which is why I'm going to join the Wards. It's the safest option for me, right now, if I want to actually contribute and not just hide away and do nothing. And I can't do nothing."
He met her eyes. She wasn't wearing her glasses, but her gaze still seemed sharp and clear. Part of her powers, perhaps?
"Just promise me," he begged. "Promise me you'll be careful."
She came forward and embraced him. "I promise, Dad," she said gently. "I'll be careful. I promise."
He held her, and she comforted him, and as nice as it was, he loathed himself because it was supposed to be him that was the pillar she could lean on, not the other way around.
But Annette's death had broken him, just when she'd needed him most, and their relationship had never set quite right. She'd been through eighteen months of hell before he even found out the details, and even then she hadn't told him the whole story.
No, that he'd only found out tonight. His daughter has powers.
What was he supposed to do now?
"I'm sorry," he said. He wasn't even sure what he was sorry for, exactly, but he knew it was true.
"I forgive you," she said, and he thought she understood. She pulled away and met his gaze. "I can't promise 'no more secrets,' Dad, you know that," she said quietly. "I'll have to protect secret identities, and even classified information. I won't be able to tell you everything. But I love you, Dad. Even if I can't tell you everything, I love you."
He sat up and embraced her, and this time it wasn't her holding him while he tried to pull himself together; it was the two of them, holding one another close, relishing one another's presence.
"I love you too, kiddo," he said. "You want to skip school tomorrow, take a trip to the PRT office?"
She smiled against him. "That'd be great," she said.
He hadn't slept especially well that night. Who could blame him? His daughter was throwing herself headlong into one of the most dangerous professions in the world.
But he did sleep, and he woke up, as usual, a little after six in the morning. What wasn't usual was that Taylor was already up, and merrily frying bacon and eggs.
She looked up with a smile as he came down. "Hey, Dad," she said. "Seems like I don't need to sleep as much anymore."
Danny raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked.
"Yep," she said, flipping a few rashes of bacon deftly with a spatula. "The Three seem to make me need only about four hours of sleep. Which is all I've been getting, the past couple of days, so I didn't notice."
Danny winced at the reminder. "Promise me you'll at least tell me when you're going out alone at the dead of night from now on?" he begged.
She smiled at him. "I doubt it'll be a problem," she said, "at least for a little while. I'll be a Ward, remember?" She pulled the skillet from the heat and turned off the gas. "Their patrol schedules are probably pretty regular, and I'm sure they'll make sure you know them."
He sighed. "I hope so," he said honestly.
She served two plates of bacon and eggs, set the skillet in the sink, and brought the plates to the table. "It'll be fine, Dad," she said gently. "I'll be fine."
He grimaced. "I'm just worried, Taylor."
"I know," she said. "And that's okay, but you don't need to be."
"It'll take me a while to adjust," he said.
"I figured," she said, laughing lightly. "It took me a while, too. I thought I was going crazy when the designs first started showing up in my head."
"Designs?"
She nodded. "How to make them—the Rings, and the weapons, and the armor," she said. "I thought I was hallucinating, or losing my mind. Apparently that happens to a lot of tinkers."
"They lose their minds?" he asked, startled.
She laughed. "No, they think they are," she said. "When the designs start coming. It's… I can't really describe it. It's like something half-remembered, out of a dream, or another life. But"—she gestured with her left hand, and for a moment he thought he saw the red star on her finger again—"they're real. They're not a dream. I think that's why I started with the Three—they seemed so fantastical, so magical, that if they were real, it all had to be."
"You mentioned the Three before," he said. "The Three what?"
"The Three Rings of Power," Taylor said. "Sorry, I've just started calling them 'the Three' in my head. They're three of twen—of nineteen. They're the only ones I've made so far."
Nineteen, or twenty? Danny wanted to ask, but the look on Taylor's face convinced him not to. Instead, he took a bite of bacon and chewed slowly. Once he'd swallowed, he asked, "So, what's the plan for today?"
Taylor's face seemed to set slightly in determination. "Right," she said. "We need to get my armor into the car—preferably soon, before people really start to wake up—and we should cover it up with a tarp. Aeglos, too."
"Aeglos?"
"My spear," she said. "It means 'icicle' in Sindarin."
He blinked at her. "In what?"
She blinked twice. "Uh," she said. "Never mind. Like I said: something out of a dream."
He frowned at her. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
She chuckled. "I'm feeling fine," she said. "Maybe I'm starting to pick up a couple of languages that don't exist, but hey. Some capes have worse side effects. Look at Case-53s."
He grimaced. "Fair enough," he said. "Yeah, we should probably load your stuff soon."
She nodded and stood. He suddenly realized that, through their whole conversation, she'd been eating quickly and had already finished. "I'll start bringing stuff downstairs," she said. "You finish up. Protectorate doesn't open until 7:30, and we should call ahead anyway, so there's no rush except to get my stuff squared away before someone sees."
He nodded, and she left, bounding upstairs with infectious energy.
He looked after her for a moment, and then tucked back into his food. As he ate, he thought about his wife.
Annette, he thought, what would you do about this, I wonder? You always knew what to do better than I did.
He couldn't help but imagine that Annette would have known just how to help Taylor through Emma's betrayal, her trigger, her powers. Annette had been a natural mother, as though born to it. He just wasn't that. He'd never been that.
Looking back, how many of their fights were because he'd felt ashamed of not being a better father to Taylor? How many could have been avoided if he'd just gotten over himself?
If he'd been a better man, would that horrible, horrible day have gone differently?
"It's okay," Taylor murmured from behind him. He started, and looked over his shoulder. She was smiling slightly over the pile of armor in her arms. "It's okay," she repeated. "Today's going to be a good day. Tomorrow will be better."
Taylor seemed almost to glow, as if peering in as a ray of sunlight through a parting in the clouds. Despair fell away, shame receded, and all that was left was…
"Hope," she said lightly. "My favorite of Narya's powers."
"What is this?" he asked, and his voice was awed.
"Hope," she said simply.
"That's it?"
"That's it," she chuckled. "It's wonderful, isn't it?"
He laughed, and his voice was raw. "It really is," he said. "You shouldn't have to be my therapist."
She grinned. "I'm the one with powers," she said, turning and starting to walk out the door, her armor clinking in her arms. "Can you go downstairs and grab a tarp?"
"Yeah," he said, standing and taking up his empty plate. "Be right back." And as he set his empty plate in the sink, he smiled.
Danny glanced at the hall from the coffee table where he'd been signing work authorizations. "I'm in the living room!" he called to her.
Taylor emerged from the hall, and Danny felt his jaw drop. His little girl, who'd only two hours ago gone up after dinner, was wearing some kind of armor which seemed to shimmer silver, as though reflecting moonlight. In her right hand was a long spear, its tip shimmering blue, which she carefully held low to avoid slicing into the ceiling.
She came to a halt just inside the room. Danny Hebert stared, trying to find his voice.
"Don't worry," she said, and there was a laugh in her voice. "I have time."
"You're a cape." Danny felt the quaver in his voice even before it emerged.
Taylor nodded, her bushy hair bobbing where it emerged from the helmet like a plume. "Yes," she said.
"How?" he asked weakly. "When?"
"The locker," she said softly, and his heart froze.
"Oh, Christ, Taylor," he murmured. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be," she said, and her voice was gentle. "It wasn't your fault."
Danny ignored that particular lie for the moment. "And you… made that?"
"Yes," she said. "I'm a tinker, Dad. I made my armor, and my spear… and my Rings." She knelt, carefully setting the long spear on the ground, before slipping her right hand over her left and pulling something off of her index finger. Suddenly he saw it—a small ring, made of gold, with a large ruby shining in it like a blood-red star.
"This is why you haven't been afraid lately," he realized. "This is why you've been so… confident, these past few days. You have powers. You can fight back."
"Fighting back," Taylor said, slipping the ring back on, "would be a very bad idea. At least if I did it directly. Before, the best they could do was punish me for fighting on school grounds. Now? I could get charged with assault with a parahuman ability. But that doesn't mean I have to take everything, either."
She fell silent, seemingly content to let her father take the affair in at his own pace. He tried to do so. His daughter, his sweet little girl, was a cape. A parahuman. A class of person who regularly threw themselves into life-threatening danger, whether for personal gain or for selfless reasons.
She'd been put under so much stress by those three monsters at her school that she'd come out changed. He'd known that already, but to have that change thrust before him in such a direct and concrete way was startling. Painful.
"So…." He tried to figure out what to say. "What are you going to do?"
"I want to join the Wards," she said promptly. "At least for now. I need allies, and my options there are the Wards, villains, or trying to start up my own team. I don't like the second option, and the third is too dangerous right now. The ABB will be gunning for me."
Danny tensed. "Why," he began slowly, "will the ABB be gunning for you?"
She smiled wryly. "Because last night, I helped Armsmaster take down Lung," she said.
Danny thought his eye might be twitching. "You what?" he asked.
"I went out in costume for the first time on Saturday," she said quietly, evenly. "I stopped a robbery and scared off some villains. Then, yesterday, I ran into Lung and the ABB. They were going to kill kids, Dad. I couldn't stand by. So I got my hands on a phone, called the Protectorate, and distracted Lung until Armsmaster got there."
"You fought Lung?" His voice was hoarse and weak with horror.
"And I won, Dad." Hers, however, was firm. "I won. Sure, I only won because Armsmaster got there in time. But a win is a win. I'm strong—I can help people. I have to try."
Danny fell back against the couch, his core giving out, leaving him sprawled and spread over the seat. "Please, Taylor," he implored. "Be more careful. I can't lose you."
"Believe me, Dad," she said with a chuckle. "I'd prefer not to die, too. Which is why I'm going to join the Wards. It's the safest option for me, right now, if I want to actually contribute and not just hide away and do nothing. And I can't do nothing."
He met her eyes. She wasn't wearing her glasses, but her gaze still seemed sharp and clear. Part of her powers, perhaps?
"Just promise me," he begged. "Promise me you'll be careful."
She came forward and embraced him. "I promise, Dad," she said gently. "I'll be careful. I promise."
He held her, and she comforted him, and as nice as it was, he loathed himself because it was supposed to be him that was the pillar she could lean on, not the other way around.
But Annette's death had broken him, just when she'd needed him most, and their relationship had never set quite right. She'd been through eighteen months of hell before he even found out the details, and even then she hadn't told him the whole story.
No, that he'd only found out tonight. His daughter has powers.
What was he supposed to do now?
"I'm sorry," he said. He wasn't even sure what he was sorry for, exactly, but he knew it was true.
"I forgive you," she said, and he thought she understood. She pulled away and met his gaze. "I can't promise 'no more secrets,' Dad, you know that," she said quietly. "I'll have to protect secret identities, and even classified information. I won't be able to tell you everything. But I love you, Dad. Even if I can't tell you everything, I love you."
He sat up and embraced her, and this time it wasn't her holding him while he tried to pull himself together; it was the two of them, holding one another close, relishing one another's presence.
"I love you too, kiddo," he said. "You want to skip school tomorrow, take a trip to the PRT office?"
She smiled against him. "That'd be great," she said.
-x-x-x-
He hadn't slept especially well that night. Who could blame him? His daughter was throwing herself headlong into one of the most dangerous professions in the world.
But he did sleep, and he woke up, as usual, a little after six in the morning. What wasn't usual was that Taylor was already up, and merrily frying bacon and eggs.
She looked up with a smile as he came down. "Hey, Dad," she said. "Seems like I don't need to sleep as much anymore."
Danny raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked.
"Yep," she said, flipping a few rashes of bacon deftly with a spatula. "The Three seem to make me need only about four hours of sleep. Which is all I've been getting, the past couple of days, so I didn't notice."
Danny winced at the reminder. "Promise me you'll at least tell me when you're going out alone at the dead of night from now on?" he begged.
She smiled at him. "I doubt it'll be a problem," she said, "at least for a little while. I'll be a Ward, remember?" She pulled the skillet from the heat and turned off the gas. "Their patrol schedules are probably pretty regular, and I'm sure they'll make sure you know them."
He sighed. "I hope so," he said honestly.
She served two plates of bacon and eggs, set the skillet in the sink, and brought the plates to the table. "It'll be fine, Dad," she said gently. "I'll be fine."
He grimaced. "I'm just worried, Taylor."
"I know," she said. "And that's okay, but you don't need to be."
"It'll take me a while to adjust," he said.
"I figured," she said, laughing lightly. "It took me a while, too. I thought I was going crazy when the designs first started showing up in my head."
"Designs?"
She nodded. "How to make them—the Rings, and the weapons, and the armor," she said. "I thought I was hallucinating, or losing my mind. Apparently that happens to a lot of tinkers."
"They lose their minds?" he asked, startled.
She laughed. "No, they think they are," she said. "When the designs start coming. It's… I can't really describe it. It's like something half-remembered, out of a dream, or another life. But"—she gestured with her left hand, and for a moment he thought he saw the red star on her finger again—"they're real. They're not a dream. I think that's why I started with the Three—they seemed so fantastical, so magical, that if they were real, it all had to be."
"You mentioned the Three before," he said. "The Three what?"
"The Three Rings of Power," Taylor said. "Sorry, I've just started calling them 'the Three' in my head. They're three of twen—of nineteen. They're the only ones I've made so far."
Nineteen, or twenty? Danny wanted to ask, but the look on Taylor's face convinced him not to. Instead, he took a bite of bacon and chewed slowly. Once he'd swallowed, he asked, "So, what's the plan for today?"
Taylor's face seemed to set slightly in determination. "Right," she said. "We need to get my armor into the car—preferably soon, before people really start to wake up—and we should cover it up with a tarp. Aeglos, too."
"Aeglos?"
"My spear," she said. "It means 'icicle' in Sindarin."
He blinked at her. "In what?"
She blinked twice. "Uh," she said. "Never mind. Like I said: something out of a dream."
He frowned at her. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
She chuckled. "I'm feeling fine," she said. "Maybe I'm starting to pick up a couple of languages that don't exist, but hey. Some capes have worse side effects. Look at Case-53s."
He grimaced. "Fair enough," he said. "Yeah, we should probably load your stuff soon."
She nodded and stood. He suddenly realized that, through their whole conversation, she'd been eating quickly and had already finished. "I'll start bringing stuff downstairs," she said. "You finish up. Protectorate doesn't open until 7:30, and we should call ahead anyway, so there's no rush except to get my stuff squared away before someone sees."
He nodded, and she left, bounding upstairs with infectious energy.
He looked after her for a moment, and then tucked back into his food. As he ate, he thought about his wife.
Annette, he thought, what would you do about this, I wonder? You always knew what to do better than I did.
He couldn't help but imagine that Annette would have known just how to help Taylor through Emma's betrayal, her trigger, her powers. Annette had been a natural mother, as though born to it. He just wasn't that. He'd never been that.
Looking back, how many of their fights were because he'd felt ashamed of not being a better father to Taylor? How many could have been avoided if he'd just gotten over himself?
If he'd been a better man, would that horrible, horrible day have gone differently?
"It's okay," Taylor murmured from behind him. He started, and looked over his shoulder. She was smiling slightly over the pile of armor in her arms. "It's okay," she repeated. "Today's going to be a good day. Tomorrow will be better."
Taylor seemed almost to glow, as if peering in as a ray of sunlight through a parting in the clouds. Despair fell away, shame receded, and all that was left was…
"Hope," she said lightly. "My favorite of Narya's powers."
"What is this?" he asked, and his voice was awed.
"Hope," she said simply.
"That's it?"
"That's it," she chuckled. "It's wonderful, isn't it?"
He laughed, and his voice was raw. "It really is," he said. "You shouldn't have to be my therapist."
She grinned. "I'm the one with powers," she said, turning and starting to walk out the door, her armor clinking in her arms. "Can you go downstairs and grab a tarp?"
"Yeah," he said, standing and taking up his empty plate. "Be right back." And as he set his empty plate in the sink, he smiled.
Glimmer 1.6
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
"Hello, this is the PRT information line; how may I help you?" It was rapidly becoming clear that the PRT put a lot into training its responders. Also, I was spending too much of my time talking to them.
"Hi," I said, drumming my fingers idly on the table as Dad watched me from across it. "I'm Annatar. I want to talk about joining the Wards."
"Oh!" The responder sounded excited, and I didn't blame her. I doubted calls like this came in often. "Well, I'll let Director Piggot know immediately. Procedure for a new parahuman joining the Wards is to have a minimum of one in-person interview either here at PRT HQ, or on the Rig at Protectorate HQ. When can you have that meeting?"
"Today, if possible," I said. "Any time works."
"Are you not in school?"
"I took the day off for this," I said. "My dad gave permission."
"So, he knows about your identity?" the responder asked rhetorically. "That's good—we require parental permission to accept a parahuman into the Wards, in most cases."
"I figured," I told her. "Can the Director meet me today?"
"I've already sent her a message," the responder said. "If you'd like, I can call you back—oh, wait, I've got a response. Yes, she can meet you. She's at the Rig for most of the morning—if you can meet there, then how does 9 AM sound?"
An hour and a half from now. "That sounds fine," I said. "I'll be there. Should I bring my dad? And should I come in costume?"
"Ideally, you and your guardian should come separately," the responder replied promptly. "You in costume, and your guardian in his or her civilian identity. We can pair you together once you're here. This minimizes the number of people to whom you unmask."
"I can't drive," I said. "How will I get to the Rig without a ride?"
"We can send a PRT transport to pick you up if you like."
"That'll work. So, we'll set up a pickup of some kind, and then my Dad and I will make our separate ways to the Rig?"
"That's the idea. Does that sound acceptable?"
"Yeah," I said, decidedly. "Yeah, that sounds fine. Can you pick me up at..." I bit my lip. "The Westbridge shopping center in the south part of the Docks?"
"Of course. Can you be there by 8:45?"
"Definitely.
"Great!" the responder chirped. "I'll get things set up on our end. Tell your guardian, when he arrives at the Rig, to wait for the receptionist to call ticket number 80-469. That's eighty, forty-six, nine."
"Eighty, forty-six, nine. Got it. Thanks."
"No problem!" she said happily. "Good luck on your admission to the Wards, Annatar! I'm Kylie, and I'm looking forward to working with you!"
"Yeah," I chuckled. "Looking forward to it." I hung up and glanced up at Dad. "So," I summarized, "I need to meet a PRT patrol at the Westbridge Mall in a little over an hour, while you get the the Rig your own way. Just wait in the lobby until they call ticket 80-469, or until I come out. Okay?"
"All right," Dad said. "I guess they're taking this secret identity thing pretty seriously?"
"Seems like it." I stood up, stretched. "I can probably jog to the mall from here, and I can find a place to change there. I should head out soon, though."
The PRT troopers were extremely professional when they picked me up, which is basically code for "they were shitty conversationalists." After trying to make small talk for all of thirty seconds, I settled into the back of the patrol van and watched the streets go by.
I expected us to approach the North Ferry, but instead we approached a pier near the middle of the Docks. I could see the Rig in the distance, shrouded in mist and smog, directly ahead of us. The van slowed as it moved along the pier until it eventually came to a halt beside a small booth right at the end of the roadway. I noticed that the road seemed to continue straight into the water, although a small liftable divider like the gates of a parking structure completed the barrier which was elsewhere formed by wood and chain.
The guy in the passenger seat of the van got out and entered that little booth. For a moment, he fiddled with a console in there, and the divider rose slowly. That was all that happened, for a short while, until suddenly a faint blue shimmer appeared in the space where the road ought to continue out over the sea. The shimmering grew stronger until it was almost translucent, and the guy got back in the van.
The Rig had a force-field roadway. That was so hilariously sci-fi I'd never even considered it. I guess an organization with that many tinkers on its payroll could do that sort of thing.
We approached the headquarters of Protectorate ENE Headquarters, set on an offshore platform, by car. As it grew, I leaned forward slightly and craned my neck to see around the PRT guys and try to examine the superstructure.
The Rig was a veritable fortress, on a level I'd only peripherally imagined. The force-field roadway and barrier were just the start: tinkertech turrets, air superiority vehicles, and probably a whole lot more that I couldn't see.
Honestly, I was a little jealous. I wanted a big impenetrable fortress, too!
The guy behind the front desk was talking to an armored PRT trooper, but he turned to me as we approached. "Hello," he said. "Who might you be, and how can I help you?"
"Hi," I said. "I'm Annatar, here to discuss joining the Wards with the PRT director."
He nodded, his blank smile unchanging. "Right," he said. "I'll tell the director you've arrived. You should have someone here to escort you in just a couple of minutes."
"Thank you," I said politely. "I'll wait here."
Dad wasn't in the lobby yet. That was probably a good thing—I didn't want to be tempted to approach him and blow my cover. As such, I just found a chair near the door and sat down, crossing my left leg over my right and resting my chin in the palm of my left hand. Narya was warm against my cheek. I allowed my eyes to drift shut and simply rested like that, for a time, Aeglos leaning against my thigh upright.
"Annatar?"
I looked up.
"Dauntless?" I asked, in surprise. I'd expected them to send an aide or some such. Apparently I warranted a more notable escort.
I thought the man smiled under his helmet. "That's me," he said. "Please follow me."
I stood up and followed the man out of the lobby down a side corridor. As soon as the automatic door slid shut behind us, he turned to me.
"Okay, Annatar," he said, "before we continue, I've got to tell you a couple things."
"All right," I said, slightly stiff. The sudden shift set me a bit on edge.
He grinned under his helmet—I could tell because the fabric that covered his mouth shifted. "Nothing bad, don't worry," he said. "First, because you're a known master, the base was put into level 0 M/S—that's master/stranger, by the way—lockdown the moment we got confirmation you'd walked in. You understand?"
I nodded. Of course, I knew that I couldn't master anyone right now, without Vilya, but they didn't. Nor did they need to.
"Second," he said, "You'll be staying masked until you're pretty confident you want to join the Wards. It's only at that point that your ticket will be called out front and your guardian will be brought in to join you. That shouldn't take more than about half an hour, but it might take longer if you have a lot of questions. Not that there's anything wrong with having questions!" he added hastily. "I just have to let you know how things are going to go."
"I understand," I said. "I appreciate the measures to maintain my privacy."
He chuckled. "We've all been there," he said. "Two identities are hard to keep track of as it is—no need to make it harder on our Wards. The important thing is that you're free to walk out at any time, right up until you decide to join up and no one can reveal your identity. You understand?"
"I do."
"Great." He clapped his hands. "Now, do you have any questions for me, before we go in to meet the director?"
"One," I said. "I've noticed a lot of security surrounding my identity, but not as much surrounding the director. Isn't it a bit dangerous to let me in to meet her without further security? What if a cape used the admissions procedure to get a shot at the PRT director?"
Dauntless raised an eyebrow at me. "Careful asking questions like that, Annatar," he said lightly. "Wouldn't want us getting suspicious. To answer your question, though, the office you'll be meeting her in is on a hair-trigger to flood with containment foam if you make a threatening move, and Armsmaster will be present for the interview, with at least a couple of other people watching remotely. Obviously it's not safe, because this is capes we're talking about, but it's not exactly a prime shot at the director either."
"Fair enough," I said. "Oh, uh, I'm not planning to assassinate the Director. Just in case you were wondering."
He laughed. "I wasn't," he said, "but thanks for letting me know. If there's nothing else, Director Piggot's office is this way."
Director Piggot was a large woman. That was what struck me first. It wasn't that I was unaccustomed to seeing people who were overweight, or even that she was all that fat—I'd known plenty of much heavier people—it was that this was the woman in charge of the local branch of a sanctioned paramilitary outfit.
Her hair was bleached blonde, and her skin was an unhealthy pale. Then I met her eyes—as hard and grey as steel.
Suddenly, her position made a great deal more sense.
"Annatar," she said. Armsmaster gave me a nod from behind her. "Come in, sit down. Leave the spear outside, if you please."
I set Aeglos down against the outer wall and glanced at the PRT trooper standing at attention there. "Don't touch it," I advised him. "It's sharp."
He nodded once, crisply and wordlessly.
I stepped past him into the room and shut the door behind me. "Director Piggot," I said with a nod. "Armsmaster."
"Good to finally meet you," Piggot said shortly as I approached her desk and sat across from her. "it's not often I get reports from two separate Protectorate capes in as many nights about an independent hero no one's heard of before then. It's almost as rare as parahumans as powerful as Lung getting captured."
I didn't answer. I merely watched her, waiting to see where she was headed.
"I'm told you want to join the Wards," she said, her eyes boring into mine. "Is that accurate?"
"It is."
"Good," said Piggot, "but it's not that simple. Why do you want to join the Wards?"
I took a deep breath. "Short answer, I want to be a hero."
"And the long answer?"
"I need a team," I said simply. "I need a team of people who I can trust to have my back, because my powers are made for group work. I didn't want to be a villain, New Wave is a family team, and none of the other independent heroes in this city have enough members or real viability to give me what I need."
"So we're your last resort?" Piggot's voice was a little hard now.
I snorted. "Technically you were my first resort, since I haven't approached anyone else yet," I said. "But if you're asking whether I buy into all your rose-tinted PR materials and advertisements, the answer is no."
"Care to explain why? What don't you like about us?"
I bit my lip. "I've had… bad experiences with adults who were supposed to be in charge of me," I said. "Organizations responsible for me. I don't trust them, as a rule."
"What kind of bad experiences?"
"My trigger event, for one."
A moment of silence.
"Could you please explain?" Armsmaster spoke for the first time. His voice was a touch frosty. I wondered whether he was angry at me for making the comparison, or angry on my behalf. Solidarity among heroes, or some such?
I grimaced. "I'd rather do it after we decided whether I was joining up," I said. "It would… probably unmask me." The locker hadn't exactly been all over the news, but it hadn't been totally hushed up, either, and I was sure there weren't a lot of other instances of girls getting shoved into their school lockers in the past few years, let alone the past several months, and if anyone could track my story to its source, it would be the PRT.
"Fair enough," said Piggot, giving Armsmaster a hard look. I wondered if she was upset over his intrusion into the interview. "Now, you told Armsmaster you were a master on Sunday night. Can you explain you master powers?"
"The first thing you need to know about my powers," I said, "is that they're modular. I can't use more than one… set of powers at a time, and I can't switch in the field. Not without setting something up that I haven't done yet." A pouch to hold my Rings might have worked, but it might also have been an easy target, and the idea of Lung getting his hands on a Ring of Power because I'd been careless and it fell off my belt sent a chill down my spine. "I can, however, give my modules to my allies. Or I should be able to—I haven't tried yet. And I don't want to until I really trust someone—personally. They're not small powers." I cleared my throat awkwardly. "So, uh, if as part of my contract I'll be expected to hand those out to people whenever I'm ordered to, that's going to be a dealbreaker."
"The contract is negotiable," Piggot said. "We'll get to that later. One of your… modules… contains the master power you used?"
I nodded. "By the way, did you recover the guy?"
"We did not, unfortunately," Piggot said shortly. "We believe the ABB retrieved him."
I grimaced. "Damn. I told him he'd be released if they got him, too, but I hope he doesn't get too badly hurt over this."
"Can you give us any details about how your master ability works?"
I nodded. "I can… dominate weak wills," I said. "I basically put myself into a contest of wills with my target. I doubt I'd be able to master either of you, but an ABB gangbanger who's gotten used to just obeying Lung and never thinking for himself was easy pickings."
"We'll decide on what rating to give that later," Piggot said. "is that all that module can do?"
"Not even close," I said through a huffed laugh. "Elemental control—pyrokinetics, aerokinetics, that kind of thing—minor precognition… probably a couple other things I haven't tested. The Ri—the modules' powers come to me when I need them, and I already kind of know how to use them."
"Is that the module you're using now?"
"No," I said. "Right now I'm using one which gives me and my allies protection from master abilities and from despair, as well as enhancing my strength and giving me a sort of inverse-stranger power that demands respect."
Piggot exhaled a long breath. "So what you're saying," she said slowly, "is that you've been using a master power on both me and Armsmaster this whole time?"
I blinked. "What?" I asked blankly. Then I thought about it. "Oh, hell."
Piggot considered me coldly. "Can you disable the module in some way?"
I grimaced. "Can I have access to an enclosed space? Away from any recording devices?"
"You may." Piggot nodded at a side door. "You can use my office restroom. Come out when your master power is inactive."
I nodded and stood. I crossed over to the restroom and slipped inside, shutting the door behind me. After quickly casting my eyes around to see if there were any obvious cameras, I slipped off one of my thighplates and took Narya off my finger. Ignoring the sense of diminishing, I shoved the Ring of Power in my pocket, clipped my armor back on, and returned to the interview.
"You're no longer using a master power?" Piggot asked as soon as I entered.
"Yes," I confirmed as I crossed the room. Then I hesitated. "Um, that is, yes, I'm no longer using a master power."
"Good. Please sit back down. How many of these modules do you have?"
"Three," I said as I sat. "But I can add more. I've got plans for twen--nineteen in my head. Sixteen more."
"Nineteen?" Armsmaster asked, his voice slightly sharp.
"Twenty, then." I grimaced. "I don't like the last one."
"Plans, you said?" Piggot asked. "Are you a tinker, then?"
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. Like I said, I can theoretically give my modules out to other people. That's because they're made with my tinker ability."
"Tinker 8," said Armsmaster flatly. "At minimum."
"High tinker, at the least," Piggot agreed. "Well. You certainly aren't a minor player, are you?"
"On my own?" I asked. "I'm just another fairly strong cape. With a team? I can be a massive boost. I want to use that to help the heroes."
"And that's good," Piggot said. "You'll have to run through intensive vetting, obviously, but that can be done after we sign you up as a trial Ward."
"Intensive vetting?" I asked.
"Master/stranger screening, non-disclosure agreements, and a more security-oriented interview with Armsmaster," Piggot explained. "But for now, if you're still willing, we'd be happy to accept you into the Wards program as a trial member."
"I am. Trial member?"
Piggot nodded. "You'll be allowed to be a member of the Wards for a trial period of one week, during which we'll allow you to take part in all Wards activities, before you actually have to sign the contract. We'll give you the contract immediately, so you can look it over in the meantime. You'll also have to sign an NDA regarding the other Wards' secret identities."
"I didn't know that trial period existed," I said, surprised. "Why isn't it more public?"
Piggot smiled wryly. "Several reasons, the most pressing of which is that it's recent. It was only put into place by Chief Director Costa-Brown a few weeks ago."
"Fair enough," I said. "Do I still have to unmask to you?"
Piggot nodded. "We can't get you in the system otherwise," she said. "You're willing?"
"Yes."
"Good. Armsmaster, please tell Corporal Mines outside to contact the front desk and send in Annatar's guardian."
Armsmaster nodded came around the desk, and opened the door behind me. I bit my lip and then forced out a question. "Director, while we wait for my dad, could I... put my module back on?"
Piggot considered me suspiciously. "Why do you want it?" she asked.
"I feel more comfortable with it," I said frankly. "I feel... weaker without it. I promise not to use my master power if I can help it."
She sighed. "Fine. You can use my restroom again."
Dad arrived about ten minutes after that, during which time I'd glanced over and signed the NDA. It was exactly what they said--a document affirming that the signatory would not reveal the identities of any Wards who unmasked to them except is the event of a criminal investigation into a Ward's behavior. It had actually no strings attached and no fine print--I assumed they saved that for the contract itself. "Hey, kiddo," he said. "You doing okay?"
"Fine," I said gently. "Don't worry about me. Nothing worse than I expected."
"Please sir, sit down," Piggot said.
Dad approached. Armsmaster shut the door behind him and came around to his old position behind the Director.
"Now, Annatar," Piggot said. "If you're ready?"
I nodded, brought both hands up to my temples, and pulled off the helmet. "Hi," I said, smiling slightly self-consciously. "I'm Taylor Hebert."
"Danny Hebert," my dad introduced.
Piggot nodded. "Director Emily Piggot, PRT ENE," she said formally. "Now… Taylor. You said something about your trigger event being caused by authority figures?"
I grimaced. "Not caused, exactly," I said. "They just let it happen and let the bitches responsible get off scot free."
Dad put his hand on mine. I took it in my fingers and squeezed.
"You don't mind if I tell you now?" I asked. "I'll be honest, I was hoping you could help me if I joined up."
Piggot shrugged. "I can't make any promises," she said. "But if you want to tell us, I'll be able to tell you what we can do."
"Right," I said, and took a deep breath. "Okay. I go to Winslow High, and I've been getting bullied there."
"Bullied," Dad said grimly, "really doesn't cover it."
"The locker incident," Armsmaster put in. "Yes? We had that flagged as a potential trigger event."
I nodded. "I was hoping you could transfer me to Arcadia," I confessed. "I heard the Wards mostly go there."
"That can probably be arranged," Piggot agreed.
I sighed. "Oh, thank God."
"Armsmaster," Piggot said, looking over at the hero. "This 'locker incident'—I admit I've forgotten the details."
"I'll brief you later," Armsmaster said evenly. "I'd rather not talk in depth about a probable Ward's trigger event while she's in the room."
"Do you think you could help us press charges?" Dad asked. "The school wouldn't even hear a word of punishing the people who did it—said it was Taylor's word against theirs, and no one came forward with witnesses."
"Unlikely," Piggot said. "We don't have any direct jurisdiction there, or over anyone who's not a parahuman."
"It's fine, Dad, honestly," I said. "I don't…. If I can just get away from Madison, Sophia, and Emma, I'll be fine."
"I know, kiddo," Dad said quietly, looking at me. "It's just… it really isn't fair."
I snorted. "Life isn't."
"No," Piggot said, and there was something dark in her voice. "No, it really isn't. What were those names again?"
I glanced at her. Her face, which had been fairly set throughout the whole conversation, had darkened into an ugly scowl. I thought about asking why she wanted to know, but decided that any authority figure who seemed remotely interested probably wasn't a bad thing.
"Emma Barnes, Sophia Hess, and Madison Clements," I said.
In the ensuing silence, I saw Armsmaster's gauntleted fist clench.
"Hi," I said, drumming my fingers idly on the table as Dad watched me from across it. "I'm Annatar. I want to talk about joining the Wards."
"Oh!" The responder sounded excited, and I didn't blame her. I doubted calls like this came in often. "Well, I'll let Director Piggot know immediately. Procedure for a new parahuman joining the Wards is to have a minimum of one in-person interview either here at PRT HQ, or on the Rig at Protectorate HQ. When can you have that meeting?"
"Today, if possible," I said. "Any time works."
"Are you not in school?"
"I took the day off for this," I said. "My dad gave permission."
"So, he knows about your identity?" the responder asked rhetorically. "That's good—we require parental permission to accept a parahuman into the Wards, in most cases."
"I figured," I told her. "Can the Director meet me today?"
"I've already sent her a message," the responder said. "If you'd like, I can call you back—oh, wait, I've got a response. Yes, she can meet you. She's at the Rig for most of the morning—if you can meet there, then how does 9 AM sound?"
An hour and a half from now. "That sounds fine," I said. "I'll be there. Should I bring my dad? And should I come in costume?"
"Ideally, you and your guardian should come separately," the responder replied promptly. "You in costume, and your guardian in his or her civilian identity. We can pair you together once you're here. This minimizes the number of people to whom you unmask."
"I can't drive," I said. "How will I get to the Rig without a ride?"
"We can send a PRT transport to pick you up if you like."
"That'll work. So, we'll set up a pickup of some kind, and then my Dad and I will make our separate ways to the Rig?"
"That's the idea. Does that sound acceptable?"
"Yeah," I said, decidedly. "Yeah, that sounds fine. Can you pick me up at..." I bit my lip. "The Westbridge shopping center in the south part of the Docks?"
"Of course. Can you be there by 8:45?"
"Definitely.
"Great!" the responder chirped. "I'll get things set up on our end. Tell your guardian, when he arrives at the Rig, to wait for the receptionist to call ticket number 80-469. That's eighty, forty-six, nine."
"Eighty, forty-six, nine. Got it. Thanks."
"No problem!" she said happily. "Good luck on your admission to the Wards, Annatar! I'm Kylie, and I'm looking forward to working with you!"
"Yeah," I chuckled. "Looking forward to it." I hung up and glanced up at Dad. "So," I summarized, "I need to meet a PRT patrol at the Westbridge Mall in a little over an hour, while you get the the Rig your own way. Just wait in the lobby until they call ticket 80-469, or until I come out. Okay?"
"All right," Dad said. "I guess they're taking this secret identity thing pretty seriously?"
"Seems like it." I stood up, stretched. "I can probably jog to the mall from here, and I can find a place to change there. I should head out soon, though."
-x-x-x-
The PRT troopers were extremely professional when they picked me up, which is basically code for "they were shitty conversationalists." After trying to make small talk for all of thirty seconds, I settled into the back of the patrol van and watched the streets go by.
I expected us to approach the North Ferry, but instead we approached a pier near the middle of the Docks. I could see the Rig in the distance, shrouded in mist and smog, directly ahead of us. The van slowed as it moved along the pier until it eventually came to a halt beside a small booth right at the end of the roadway. I noticed that the road seemed to continue straight into the water, although a small liftable divider like the gates of a parking structure completed the barrier which was elsewhere formed by wood and chain.
The guy in the passenger seat of the van got out and entered that little booth. For a moment, he fiddled with a console in there, and the divider rose slowly. That was all that happened, for a short while, until suddenly a faint blue shimmer appeared in the space where the road ought to continue out over the sea. The shimmering grew stronger until it was almost translucent, and the guy got back in the van.
The Rig had a force-field roadway. That was so hilariously sci-fi I'd never even considered it. I guess an organization with that many tinkers on its payroll could do that sort of thing.
We approached the headquarters of Protectorate ENE Headquarters, set on an offshore platform, by car. As it grew, I leaned forward slightly and craned my neck to see around the PRT guys and try to examine the superstructure.
The Rig was a veritable fortress, on a level I'd only peripherally imagined. The force-field roadway and barrier were just the start: tinkertech turrets, air superiority vehicles, and probably a whole lot more that I couldn't see.
Honestly, I was a little jealous. I wanted a big impenetrable fortress, too!
-x-x-x-
The guy behind the front desk was talking to an armored PRT trooper, but he turned to me as we approached. "Hello," he said. "Who might you be, and how can I help you?"
"Hi," I said. "I'm Annatar, here to discuss joining the Wards with the PRT director."
He nodded, his blank smile unchanging. "Right," he said. "I'll tell the director you've arrived. You should have someone here to escort you in just a couple of minutes."
"Thank you," I said politely. "I'll wait here."
Dad wasn't in the lobby yet. That was probably a good thing—I didn't want to be tempted to approach him and blow my cover. As such, I just found a chair near the door and sat down, crossing my left leg over my right and resting my chin in the palm of my left hand. Narya was warm against my cheek. I allowed my eyes to drift shut and simply rested like that, for a time, Aeglos leaning against my thigh upright.
"Annatar?"
I looked up.
"Dauntless?" I asked, in surprise. I'd expected them to send an aide or some such. Apparently I warranted a more notable escort.
I thought the man smiled under his helmet. "That's me," he said. "Please follow me."
I stood up and followed the man out of the lobby down a side corridor. As soon as the automatic door slid shut behind us, he turned to me.
"Okay, Annatar," he said, "before we continue, I've got to tell you a couple things."
"All right," I said, slightly stiff. The sudden shift set me a bit on edge.
He grinned under his helmet—I could tell because the fabric that covered his mouth shifted. "Nothing bad, don't worry," he said. "First, because you're a known master, the base was put into level 0 M/S—that's master/stranger, by the way—lockdown the moment we got confirmation you'd walked in. You understand?"
I nodded. Of course, I knew that I couldn't master anyone right now, without Vilya, but they didn't. Nor did they need to.
"Second," he said, "You'll be staying masked until you're pretty confident you want to join the Wards. It's only at that point that your ticket will be called out front and your guardian will be brought in to join you. That shouldn't take more than about half an hour, but it might take longer if you have a lot of questions. Not that there's anything wrong with having questions!" he added hastily. "I just have to let you know how things are going to go."
"I understand," I said. "I appreciate the measures to maintain my privacy."
He chuckled. "We've all been there," he said. "Two identities are hard to keep track of as it is—no need to make it harder on our Wards. The important thing is that you're free to walk out at any time, right up until you decide to join up and no one can reveal your identity. You understand?"
"I do."
"Great." He clapped his hands. "Now, do you have any questions for me, before we go in to meet the director?"
"One," I said. "I've noticed a lot of security surrounding my identity, but not as much surrounding the director. Isn't it a bit dangerous to let me in to meet her without further security? What if a cape used the admissions procedure to get a shot at the PRT director?"
Dauntless raised an eyebrow at me. "Careful asking questions like that, Annatar," he said lightly. "Wouldn't want us getting suspicious. To answer your question, though, the office you'll be meeting her in is on a hair-trigger to flood with containment foam if you make a threatening move, and Armsmaster will be present for the interview, with at least a couple of other people watching remotely. Obviously it's not safe, because this is capes we're talking about, but it's not exactly a prime shot at the director either."
"Fair enough," I said. "Oh, uh, I'm not planning to assassinate the Director. Just in case you were wondering."
He laughed. "I wasn't," he said, "but thanks for letting me know. If there's nothing else, Director Piggot's office is this way."
-x-x-x-
Director Piggot was a large woman. That was what struck me first. It wasn't that I was unaccustomed to seeing people who were overweight, or even that she was all that fat—I'd known plenty of much heavier people—it was that this was the woman in charge of the local branch of a sanctioned paramilitary outfit.
Her hair was bleached blonde, and her skin was an unhealthy pale. Then I met her eyes—as hard and grey as steel.
Suddenly, her position made a great deal more sense.
"Annatar," she said. Armsmaster gave me a nod from behind her. "Come in, sit down. Leave the spear outside, if you please."
I set Aeglos down against the outer wall and glanced at the PRT trooper standing at attention there. "Don't touch it," I advised him. "It's sharp."
He nodded once, crisply and wordlessly.
I stepped past him into the room and shut the door behind me. "Director Piggot," I said with a nod. "Armsmaster."
"Good to finally meet you," Piggot said shortly as I approached her desk and sat across from her. "it's not often I get reports from two separate Protectorate capes in as many nights about an independent hero no one's heard of before then. It's almost as rare as parahumans as powerful as Lung getting captured."
I didn't answer. I merely watched her, waiting to see where she was headed.
"I'm told you want to join the Wards," she said, her eyes boring into mine. "Is that accurate?"
"It is."
"Good," said Piggot, "but it's not that simple. Why do you want to join the Wards?"
I took a deep breath. "Short answer, I want to be a hero."
"And the long answer?"
"I need a team," I said simply. "I need a team of people who I can trust to have my back, because my powers are made for group work. I didn't want to be a villain, New Wave is a family team, and none of the other independent heroes in this city have enough members or real viability to give me what I need."
"So we're your last resort?" Piggot's voice was a little hard now.
I snorted. "Technically you were my first resort, since I haven't approached anyone else yet," I said. "But if you're asking whether I buy into all your rose-tinted PR materials and advertisements, the answer is no."
"Care to explain why? What don't you like about us?"
I bit my lip. "I've had… bad experiences with adults who were supposed to be in charge of me," I said. "Organizations responsible for me. I don't trust them, as a rule."
"What kind of bad experiences?"
"My trigger event, for one."
A moment of silence.
"Could you please explain?" Armsmaster spoke for the first time. His voice was a touch frosty. I wondered whether he was angry at me for making the comparison, or angry on my behalf. Solidarity among heroes, or some such?
I grimaced. "I'd rather do it after we decided whether I was joining up," I said. "It would… probably unmask me." The locker hadn't exactly been all over the news, but it hadn't been totally hushed up, either, and I was sure there weren't a lot of other instances of girls getting shoved into their school lockers in the past few years, let alone the past several months, and if anyone could track my story to its source, it would be the PRT.
"Fair enough," said Piggot, giving Armsmaster a hard look. I wondered if she was upset over his intrusion into the interview. "Now, you told Armsmaster you were a master on Sunday night. Can you explain you master powers?"
"The first thing you need to know about my powers," I said, "is that they're modular. I can't use more than one… set of powers at a time, and I can't switch in the field. Not without setting something up that I haven't done yet." A pouch to hold my Rings might have worked, but it might also have been an easy target, and the idea of Lung getting his hands on a Ring of Power because I'd been careless and it fell off my belt sent a chill down my spine. "I can, however, give my modules to my allies. Or I should be able to—I haven't tried yet. And I don't want to until I really trust someone—personally. They're not small powers." I cleared my throat awkwardly. "So, uh, if as part of my contract I'll be expected to hand those out to people whenever I'm ordered to, that's going to be a dealbreaker."
"The contract is negotiable," Piggot said. "We'll get to that later. One of your… modules… contains the master power you used?"
I nodded. "By the way, did you recover the guy?"
"We did not, unfortunately," Piggot said shortly. "We believe the ABB retrieved him."
I grimaced. "Damn. I told him he'd be released if they got him, too, but I hope he doesn't get too badly hurt over this."
"Can you give us any details about how your master ability works?"
I nodded. "I can… dominate weak wills," I said. "I basically put myself into a contest of wills with my target. I doubt I'd be able to master either of you, but an ABB gangbanger who's gotten used to just obeying Lung and never thinking for himself was easy pickings."
"We'll decide on what rating to give that later," Piggot said. "is that all that module can do?"
"Not even close," I said through a huffed laugh. "Elemental control—pyrokinetics, aerokinetics, that kind of thing—minor precognition… probably a couple other things I haven't tested. The Ri—the modules' powers come to me when I need them, and I already kind of know how to use them."
"Is that the module you're using now?"
"No," I said. "Right now I'm using one which gives me and my allies protection from master abilities and from despair, as well as enhancing my strength and giving me a sort of inverse-stranger power that demands respect."
Piggot exhaled a long breath. "So what you're saying," she said slowly, "is that you've been using a master power on both me and Armsmaster this whole time?"
I blinked. "What?" I asked blankly. Then I thought about it. "Oh, hell."
Piggot considered me coldly. "Can you disable the module in some way?"
I grimaced. "Can I have access to an enclosed space? Away from any recording devices?"
"You may." Piggot nodded at a side door. "You can use my office restroom. Come out when your master power is inactive."
I nodded and stood. I crossed over to the restroom and slipped inside, shutting the door behind me. After quickly casting my eyes around to see if there were any obvious cameras, I slipped off one of my thighplates and took Narya off my finger. Ignoring the sense of diminishing, I shoved the Ring of Power in my pocket, clipped my armor back on, and returned to the interview.
"You're no longer using a master power?" Piggot asked as soon as I entered.
"Yes," I confirmed as I crossed the room. Then I hesitated. "Um, that is, yes, I'm no longer using a master power."
"Good. Please sit back down. How many of these modules do you have?"
"Three," I said as I sat. "But I can add more. I've got plans for twen--nineteen in my head. Sixteen more."
"Nineteen?" Armsmaster asked, his voice slightly sharp.
"Twenty, then." I grimaced. "I don't like the last one."
"Plans, you said?" Piggot asked. "Are you a tinker, then?"
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. Like I said, I can theoretically give my modules out to other people. That's because they're made with my tinker ability."
"Tinker 8," said Armsmaster flatly. "At minimum."
"High tinker, at the least," Piggot agreed. "Well. You certainly aren't a minor player, are you?"
"On my own?" I asked. "I'm just another fairly strong cape. With a team? I can be a massive boost. I want to use that to help the heroes."
"And that's good," Piggot said. "You'll have to run through intensive vetting, obviously, but that can be done after we sign you up as a trial Ward."
"Intensive vetting?" I asked.
"Master/stranger screening, non-disclosure agreements, and a more security-oriented interview with Armsmaster," Piggot explained. "But for now, if you're still willing, we'd be happy to accept you into the Wards program as a trial member."
"I am. Trial member?"
Piggot nodded. "You'll be allowed to be a member of the Wards for a trial period of one week, during which we'll allow you to take part in all Wards activities, before you actually have to sign the contract. We'll give you the contract immediately, so you can look it over in the meantime. You'll also have to sign an NDA regarding the other Wards' secret identities."
"I didn't know that trial period existed," I said, surprised. "Why isn't it more public?"
Piggot smiled wryly. "Several reasons, the most pressing of which is that it's recent. It was only put into place by Chief Director Costa-Brown a few weeks ago."
"Fair enough," I said. "Do I still have to unmask to you?"
Piggot nodded. "We can't get you in the system otherwise," she said. "You're willing?"
"Yes."
"Good. Armsmaster, please tell Corporal Mines outside to contact the front desk and send in Annatar's guardian."
Armsmaster nodded came around the desk, and opened the door behind me. I bit my lip and then forced out a question. "Director, while we wait for my dad, could I... put my module back on?"
Piggot considered me suspiciously. "Why do you want it?" she asked.
"I feel more comfortable with it," I said frankly. "I feel... weaker without it. I promise not to use my master power if I can help it."
She sighed. "Fine. You can use my restroom again."
-x-x-x-
Dad arrived about ten minutes after that, during which time I'd glanced over and signed the NDA. It was exactly what they said--a document affirming that the signatory would not reveal the identities of any Wards who unmasked to them except is the event of a criminal investigation into a Ward's behavior. It had actually no strings attached and no fine print--I assumed they saved that for the contract itself. "Hey, kiddo," he said. "You doing okay?"
"Fine," I said gently. "Don't worry about me. Nothing worse than I expected."
"Please sir, sit down," Piggot said.
Dad approached. Armsmaster shut the door behind him and came around to his old position behind the Director.
"Now, Annatar," Piggot said. "If you're ready?"
I nodded, brought both hands up to my temples, and pulled off the helmet. "Hi," I said, smiling slightly self-consciously. "I'm Taylor Hebert."
"Danny Hebert," my dad introduced.
Piggot nodded. "Director Emily Piggot, PRT ENE," she said formally. "Now… Taylor. You said something about your trigger event being caused by authority figures?"
I grimaced. "Not caused, exactly," I said. "They just let it happen and let the bitches responsible get off scot free."
Dad put his hand on mine. I took it in my fingers and squeezed.
"You don't mind if I tell you now?" I asked. "I'll be honest, I was hoping you could help me if I joined up."
Piggot shrugged. "I can't make any promises," she said. "But if you want to tell us, I'll be able to tell you what we can do."
"Right," I said, and took a deep breath. "Okay. I go to Winslow High, and I've been getting bullied there."
"Bullied," Dad said grimly, "really doesn't cover it."
"The locker incident," Armsmaster put in. "Yes? We had that flagged as a potential trigger event."
I nodded. "I was hoping you could transfer me to Arcadia," I confessed. "I heard the Wards mostly go there."
"That can probably be arranged," Piggot agreed.
I sighed. "Oh, thank God."
"Armsmaster," Piggot said, looking over at the hero. "This 'locker incident'—I admit I've forgotten the details."
"I'll brief you later," Armsmaster said evenly. "I'd rather not talk in depth about a probable Ward's trigger event while she's in the room."
"Do you think you could help us press charges?" Dad asked. "The school wouldn't even hear a word of punishing the people who did it—said it was Taylor's word against theirs, and no one came forward with witnesses."
"Unlikely," Piggot said. "We don't have any direct jurisdiction there, or over anyone who's not a parahuman."
"It's fine, Dad, honestly," I said. "I don't…. If I can just get away from Madison, Sophia, and Emma, I'll be fine."
"I know, kiddo," Dad said quietly, looking at me. "It's just… it really isn't fair."
I snorted. "Life isn't."
"No," Piggot said, and there was something dark in her voice. "No, it really isn't. What were those names again?"
I glanced at her. Her face, which had been fairly set throughout the whole conversation, had darkened into an ugly scowl. I thought about asking why she wanted to know, but decided that any authority figure who seemed remotely interested probably wasn't a bad thing.
"Emma Barnes, Sophia Hess, and Madison Clements," I said.
In the ensuing silence, I saw Armsmaster's gauntleted fist clench.
Interlude 1b: Sophia
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Sophia stalked past the PRT mook behind the desk, her gloved hands fiddling with her mask's straps. It was just after lunchtime, and she'd gotten the call from the PRT that the Wards were being called in.
Probably an assembly or some shit, she grumbled. An announcement, maybe. Still, she was honestly glad to get away from Emma for the rest of the day. The girl had been insufferable since Friday.
It wasn't that she'd changed. It was that she hadn't. Was she really that stupid? Did she really think antagonizing the Hebert girl was a good idea, now?
Sophia knew what happened when you pushed a new cape too far. It wasn't that she was scared of Hebert—obviously—but if there was any class of people that epitomized the ideal of predator it was the parahuman. It paid to be cautious when dealing with them. Not every parahuman was strong any more than every normal was weak--and Emma put paid to that notion--but there was something that set capes apart.
They'd all triggered. They'd all survived. That meant something. What, exactly, varied from cape to cape. But, just like Emma had survived the alley, every cape had in some way lived through something bad.
She'd been relieved when Hebert hadn't shown up to school today, at least at first: hopefully, she could talk some sense into Emma before it got to be a problem. But there hadn't been a chance before lunch, and now she was stuck here.
I'll call her tonight, Sophia decided. Tell her we need to back off. At least until Hebert joins a villain group, and I can go after her properly.
It was part of what rankled so much when the Wards got rid of her lethal ammo. Yeah, sure, she could take your average ganger or mugger with tranqs, but how the fuck did they expect her to deal with someone like Lung without proper weapons? The enemy wasn't holding back. As long as the other 'heroes' did, it was only going to cripple them, and get them killed.
Especially if people like Grue were allowed to run around and interfere with the heroes' powers. If Sophia couldn't trust her weapons or her powers, well, that was a really bad situation all around, and now—thanks to the PRT's bullshit—it was the situation she was in every damn day out there.
She found that she was clenching her fists. She forced herself to relax. It wouldn't do to get Piggy on her case before even walking into the room.
She ran into Aegis just as she was reaching the elevator to go down the Wards' section of the base. "Shadow Stalker," he greeted politely. "You got any idea why we're here?"
She shook her head. "No," she said flatly. "Hope it's not a waste of time."
The elevator door opened. She almost wished he'd tried to enter first so she could shove past him, but he didn't, so she had to settle for going in first and watching him follow.
He was watching her. "The PRT doesn't waste our time all that often," he said. "Think it might be a new Ward?"
Sophia grunted. "Maybe," she said. "Doesn't happen often."
"Yeah," agreed Aegis, "but nor does this. They usually only pull all of us out for emergencies. Now we're suddenly all getting called into HQ during school?"
Sophia shrugged. "They didn't call everyone in when I was recruited," she said.
"Yeah, but your recruitment was… an unusual case," said Aegis, avoiding the issue like the pussy he was.
Sophia rolled her eyes and said nothing.
The elevator opened. Sophia exited first and looked around. Vista was already there—she looked up when Sophia and Aegis came in. "Hey, Carlos, Shadow Stalker," she called. "Seen any of the others yet?"
Sophia just grunted.
"No," Aegis said, passing Sophia and approaching the younger girl. "Do you know what this is about?"
Vista shook her head. "Armsmaster was in here earlier," she said. "Told me we'd talk about it when everyone was here. He seemed… grim."
"More than usual?" Sophia asked flippantly, throwing herself down onto a couch.
"Yes," Vista said shortly.
The elevator on the other side of the room, leading from the south side of the base, opened, and in stepped three more of the Wards—Gallant, Clockblocker, and Browbeat.
"Dean!" Vista called, waving. "Dennis, Sam, hey."
"Hey, Missy," Gallant said, raising a hand in greeting. "Carlos, Shadow Stalker."
Sophia grunted, rolling her eyes at Vista's pathetic display. "Where's Kid Win?" she asked.
"On his way," Clockblocker said. "Carlos, you know what's happening?"
Aegis shook his head. "Missy said Armsmaster was waiting until we all got here to tell us."
"Well," Sophia said dryly, "he'd better get here soon. This is a waste of time."
"Nice to see you too, Stalker," said Vista caustically. "How have you been? Meet any cute boys lately?"
Sophia swung her legs up onto the couch so she was laying back on it, and brought her hand up, middle finger raised at Vista, in the same motion. "Fuck you," she said succinctly. "Oh, wait, sorry, would that be pedophilia?"
"Enough," Aegis said, and there was an edge to his voice. "Missy, don't antagonize her. Stalker, there's no need for that."
Sophia shifted her hand so her finger was facing her so-called 'leader' before lowering it.
The south elevator opened again, and in rushed Kid Win, still adjusting his visor. "Sorry I'm late, guys," he apologized. "Had to make a stop at home on the way."
"Nah, it's fine," Sophia drawled. "Feel free to waste our time whenever you want."
"Can it, Stalker," Aegis said flatly. "Chris, it's no big deal. Missy, did Armsmaster say to get him when we all got here?"
Vista shook her head. "He just said he'd be here."
A door to one of the quiet rooms on the side of the area opened, and in walked Armsmaster. "So I did," he said. "Thank you, Vista, for not telling them."
Wait, he was there the whole time? Sophia blinked, then glared. And the little bitch didn't tell us? Fuck her. I don't think I said anything too bad.
Vista gave him a thumbs-up. "So, what's this about, boss?" she asked.
Armsmaster walked across the room and came to a halt right in front of Sophia. "Shadow Stalker," he said, and there was something in his voice that set Sophia's teeth on edge. "You will go into that room, alone, and shut the door behind you. There's someone in there to talk to you. I'll debrief your teammates."
Sophia grimaced. "What'd I do this time?" she asked gruffly, sitting up.
Armsmaster shook his head. "No, we're not having that conversation," he said flatly. "In the room. Now."
Sophia snarled, stood up, and pushed past him, crossing the lobby and entering the side room.
There was someone sitting at the table. A girl, in silvery armor that seemed to glow. She was white, and her brown eyes were locked onto Sophia's mask the moment she walked in.
"Close the door, please," she said, and there was something about her voice that made Sophia want to grind her teeth.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"Annatar," said the girl. "Close the door, now. You and I need to talk."
"Close the door, Shadow Stalker," Armsmaster ordered from behind her.
Sophia let out a growl, but obeyed, then threw herself into a chair across from Annatar. "So, what?" she asked. "You're a new Ward?"
Annatar nodded. "That's the certain part," she said. "The uncertain part is what happens to you now."
Sophia's fists clenched. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I mean," Annatar said, and she was perfectly calm, "that if I choose, after this conversation, I can have you summarily drummed out of the Wards, taken off the streets, and shoved into juvie at the least. So let's talk."
Sophia stood up sharply. "You think you can threaten me?" she snarled.
"I just got classified," Annatar said quietly. "Tinker 7, Trump 6. A few other ratings. I'm a valuable cape, Shadow Stalker, and the PRT wants me in the Wards a lot more than they want you."
"Well, what the hell does that have to do with anything?" Sophia demanded. "Why would they just kick me out? I haven't done anything!"
Annatar let out a short, sharp laugh. "Oh, you are funny," she said. Then she reached up and took off her helmet.
Sophia's world tilted on its axis.
Taylor Hebert shook out her hair and set her helmet on the desk. "Sit down, Sophia," she said smoothly, "and let's talk."
"No." Sophia barely heard the word coming out of her own mouth.
"It's in your interest," Taylor said. "If you walk out now, there's no hope for you."
"No. No way. You? A Ward? A hero?"
Taylor snorted. "I said the same thing when I found out, you know?" she chuckled. "You? The girl so vicious and vile she thought shoving a classmate into her locker with a literal biohazard was an innocent prank? But them's the breaks, I'm afraid."
"No," Sophia said, and some quiet corner of her brain registered that her voice was getting a little shrill. "No, fuck this. I'm not going to work with you."
"Is that your final answer?"
There was something about how Hebert said that that made Sophia stop.
"Because, believe me," Taylor said evenly, "I would love to have you walk out that door right now and be unceremoniously arrested and kicked out on your ass. That would be wonderful. I owe you for a hell of a lot of shit, Sophia. But there's an alternative. Sit down."
Sophia sat. She found, in a horrible moment, that she had no idea what to say.
Taylor folder her hands together. "Now, Sophia," she said, and her voice was like silk—smooth and almost alluring. "What do you desire?"
"What?"
"Do you know what Annatar means?"
Sophia blinked at the non-sequitur. "It sounds made-up."
"It's Quenya." Taylor chuckled. "Don't ask. It means 'Lord of Gifts.' So let's talk, and we'll see if I can find it in me to give you a gift."
Sophia twitched. "What are you on about, Hebert?" she asked warily.
Hebert smiled. "Take off your mask," she instructed. "I want to see your face."
"Why?"
"Just do it," Taylor said wearily. "It's not as though I don't already know who you are."
Sophia snarled, but obeyed. The two girls' eyes locked.
"Now, Sophia," said Taylor. "Answer me honestly. What did you enjoy about what you were doing to me?"
Sophia bared her teeth. "Fuck you," she said. "You don't get to psychoanalyze me."
"So you don't know?"
"Fuck you."
Taylor sighed. "Let me make something clear to you," she said. "I'm trying to help you. God knows why. But I know this city needs heroes. If you're willing to work with me, I'm willing to work with you in the name of making sure it gets them. But I've already compromised as much as I'm willing—I'm willing to refrain from pressing charges, I'm willing to let you stay, even though you've made my life hell for a year and a half. I've already accommodated more than my fair share. This conversation? This is you meeting me halfway, and the only person who loses if you don't is you."
Sophia gritted her teeth.
"Now answer the question," Taylor said. "What did you enjoy about torturing me?"
"I'm a predator, bitch," Sophia snarled. "Preying on the weak is what I do. The weak, the stupid, people who don't fight back. People like you."
Taylor smiled. "I see," she said. A chill went through Sophia's core at her tone.
"Fuck you."
"Sorry, I'm straight. Try Emma. Now, why me?"
"What?" Sophia blinked at the lightning-fast retort.
"There must have been a few hundred 'weak' people in Winslow," Taylor said. "Madison, for instance. Why was I the one you targeted?"
Sophia rolled her eyes. "What is this, a pity party?"
Taylor snorted. "Do you really think I give a damn what you think about me anymore?" she asked dryly. "I'm trying to understand you. Trying to see how we can work together. So answer the question."
"You were holding Emma back," Sophia said, sneering. "Girl was just getting a spine after that mess two summers ago, and then you came back and you were weak as shit. So I tried to buck her up, get her to toss you." She grimaced. "Then she got obsessive. Which was, honestly, kinda weird."
"I'm going to need some background," Taylor said evenly. "What happened two summers ago?"
Sophia sighed. "Look, I don't have all day—"
"Pretty sure you do, actually," said Taylor in a voice about fifty times drier than sandpaper. "What happened?"
"She and her dad got attacked by ABB gangers," Sophia said flatly. "They blocked the road with a dumpster, then pulled Emma out of the car. I saw it happen. At first, I was going to let them rough her up a bit so I could really cut loose on them—justifiable assault, you know?"
Taylor blinked evenly at her. "But?"
"Well, Emma got a spine," Sophia said, a grin coming to her lips at the memory. "She tried to claw the guy's eyes out. Sure, she wasn't a match for them, but at least she was trying. She was predator material. I saved her, and took her under my wing. Tried to teach her how the world works."
"And that was this idea of predators and prey?"
"What, you don't think it works like that?" Sophia snorted. "The strong eat the weak. That's nature, that's life. Humans—and capes—are no different."
Taylor seemed to consider that. "And then Emma seemed to have a weak spot for me," she said. "So you cauterized it. And she learned to love the hot iron. Like a slave begging for the whip."
"The fuck?" Sophia blanched. "Where did you come up with that shit?"
Taylor smiled slightly. "Oh, don't mind me," she said. "Now, Sophia, what do you think is the difference between a hero and a villain?"
Sophia snorted. "What the hell kind of question is that?"
"One you've got no answer to, I think."
Silence fell. Sophia's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, and then she settled for a weak "You don't know me."
"Don't I?"
Sophia couldn't answer. Eventually, she forced out, "What are you, a Thinker?"
"Maybe," Taylor allowed. "I don't think these are my powers though. This is all me." Then she smiled. "Now, Sophia, would you like to know the difference between a hero and a villain?"
"Fuck you," Sophia ground out. "Heroes stop villains from breaking the law. That's all there is to it."
"You and I both know that's not true."
Sophia gritted her teeth.
"Before we talk about the difference between heroes and villains," Taylor said, "we need to talk about a common misconception—the Protectorate, and the Wards, are all heroes, and everyone that's labeled a villain is a villain. Neither of those statements is true. The only thing that determines labels is PR. You were labeled an independent hero because you got decent PR for targeting villains, before you joined the Wards, but you were a villain."
"Fuck you. No I wasn't."
"You were," Taylor said gently, "and you still are, Sophia. This is your last and only chance to change that—listening to me here and now. Because I can tell you what makes someone like, I don't know, Panacea a hero, and what makes someone like Jack Slash a villain, regardless of the labels people give them. I'm your only chance at this before you get thrown into juvie. If you listen, you can stay out of there, and get one last chance to be better. If you don't, well, that's one more villain off the streets. It's your choice."
When Taylor put it like that, it wasn't much of a choice at all. "Fine, talk."
"A villain," Taylor said quietly, "is anyone—anyone at all, cape or otherwise—who thinks that the strong should prey on the weak, and that they are among the strong."
"Fuck you." That's me.
"A hero," Taylor steamrolled over her, "is someone among the strong who protects the weak. Being a hero isn't about beating up bad guys, Sophia. It's about making the world better. Not for you, not for the strong, not for the 'predators,' but for the weak. A hero is the voice of the voiceless, the song of the mute, the sword of the disarmed, the shield of the defenseless. That, Sophia, is what a hero is. That's why you're a villain—to you, it's all about conflict, about hurting people, about making the world worse, even if it is worse specifically for people you think are bad."
"That's bull." The words sounded somehow hollow even as they came out of her mouth.
"Do you have any better definitions?"
Sophia would have liked to say that the words stuck in her throat, but it would be a lie—there were no words at all. Somehow, under Taylor's eyes, pinned by the fire behind them, she couldn't lie; not to Taylor, and not to herself.
"That, Sophia, is my gift," Taylor said quietly. "I offer you that understanding, and this chance. You'll probably get out of juvie well before you're eighteen, if you want to. Then you'll be out on the street, a fugitive with powers. A villain. Or you can stay here. Deal with me. And try to be a hero. And I do mean try," she added with a twisted smile. "No one's expecting you to break years of habit in a day. But you do have to at least try to do better."
"So that's it?" Sophia asked. "Hero or villain? That's it? Just like that?"
"It's the same choice every parahuman makes," Taylor said. "Regardless of all the PR, and the mislabeling, and the speculation on PHO, each of us has to decide whether we want to take advantage of the people weaker than us, or protect them. We decide that right at the beginning. Sometimes, we change our minds. You made the wrong choice once, Sophia. Will you do it again?"
"Fuck you."
"You don't have to like me," Taylor chuckled. "I know I'll probably never like you. But you do have to choose."
And Sophia did.
Probably an assembly or some shit, she grumbled. An announcement, maybe. Still, she was honestly glad to get away from Emma for the rest of the day. The girl had been insufferable since Friday.
It wasn't that she'd changed. It was that she hadn't. Was she really that stupid? Did she really think antagonizing the Hebert girl was a good idea, now?
Sophia knew what happened when you pushed a new cape too far. It wasn't that she was scared of Hebert—obviously—but if there was any class of people that epitomized the ideal of predator it was the parahuman. It paid to be cautious when dealing with them. Not every parahuman was strong any more than every normal was weak--and Emma put paid to that notion--but there was something that set capes apart.
They'd all triggered. They'd all survived. That meant something. What, exactly, varied from cape to cape. But, just like Emma had survived the alley, every cape had in some way lived through something bad.
She'd been relieved when Hebert hadn't shown up to school today, at least at first: hopefully, she could talk some sense into Emma before it got to be a problem. But there hadn't been a chance before lunch, and now she was stuck here.
I'll call her tonight, Sophia decided. Tell her we need to back off. At least until Hebert joins a villain group, and I can go after her properly.
It was part of what rankled so much when the Wards got rid of her lethal ammo. Yeah, sure, she could take your average ganger or mugger with tranqs, but how the fuck did they expect her to deal with someone like Lung without proper weapons? The enemy wasn't holding back. As long as the other 'heroes' did, it was only going to cripple them, and get them killed.
Especially if people like Grue were allowed to run around and interfere with the heroes' powers. If Sophia couldn't trust her weapons or her powers, well, that was a really bad situation all around, and now—thanks to the PRT's bullshit—it was the situation she was in every damn day out there.
She found that she was clenching her fists. She forced herself to relax. It wouldn't do to get Piggy on her case before even walking into the room.
She ran into Aegis just as she was reaching the elevator to go down the Wards' section of the base. "Shadow Stalker," he greeted politely. "You got any idea why we're here?"
She shook her head. "No," she said flatly. "Hope it's not a waste of time."
The elevator door opened. She almost wished he'd tried to enter first so she could shove past him, but he didn't, so she had to settle for going in first and watching him follow.
He was watching her. "The PRT doesn't waste our time all that often," he said. "Think it might be a new Ward?"
Sophia grunted. "Maybe," she said. "Doesn't happen often."
"Yeah," agreed Aegis, "but nor does this. They usually only pull all of us out for emergencies. Now we're suddenly all getting called into HQ during school?"
Sophia shrugged. "They didn't call everyone in when I was recruited," she said.
"Yeah, but your recruitment was… an unusual case," said Aegis, avoiding the issue like the pussy he was.
Sophia rolled her eyes and said nothing.
The elevator opened. Sophia exited first and looked around. Vista was already there—she looked up when Sophia and Aegis came in. "Hey, Carlos, Shadow Stalker," she called. "Seen any of the others yet?"
Sophia just grunted.
"No," Aegis said, passing Sophia and approaching the younger girl. "Do you know what this is about?"
Vista shook her head. "Armsmaster was in here earlier," she said. "Told me we'd talk about it when everyone was here. He seemed… grim."
"More than usual?" Sophia asked flippantly, throwing herself down onto a couch.
"Yes," Vista said shortly.
The elevator on the other side of the room, leading from the south side of the base, opened, and in stepped three more of the Wards—Gallant, Clockblocker, and Browbeat.
"Dean!" Vista called, waving. "Dennis, Sam, hey."
"Hey, Missy," Gallant said, raising a hand in greeting. "Carlos, Shadow Stalker."
Sophia grunted, rolling her eyes at Vista's pathetic display. "Where's Kid Win?" she asked.
"On his way," Clockblocker said. "Carlos, you know what's happening?"
Aegis shook his head. "Missy said Armsmaster was waiting until we all got here to tell us."
"Well," Sophia said dryly, "he'd better get here soon. This is a waste of time."
"Nice to see you too, Stalker," said Vista caustically. "How have you been? Meet any cute boys lately?"
Sophia swung her legs up onto the couch so she was laying back on it, and brought her hand up, middle finger raised at Vista, in the same motion. "Fuck you," she said succinctly. "Oh, wait, sorry, would that be pedophilia?"
"Enough," Aegis said, and there was an edge to his voice. "Missy, don't antagonize her. Stalker, there's no need for that."
Sophia shifted her hand so her finger was facing her so-called 'leader' before lowering it.
The south elevator opened again, and in rushed Kid Win, still adjusting his visor. "Sorry I'm late, guys," he apologized. "Had to make a stop at home on the way."
"Nah, it's fine," Sophia drawled. "Feel free to waste our time whenever you want."
"Can it, Stalker," Aegis said flatly. "Chris, it's no big deal. Missy, did Armsmaster say to get him when we all got here?"
Vista shook her head. "He just said he'd be here."
A door to one of the quiet rooms on the side of the area opened, and in walked Armsmaster. "So I did," he said. "Thank you, Vista, for not telling them."
Wait, he was there the whole time? Sophia blinked, then glared. And the little bitch didn't tell us? Fuck her. I don't think I said anything too bad.
Vista gave him a thumbs-up. "So, what's this about, boss?" she asked.
Armsmaster walked across the room and came to a halt right in front of Sophia. "Shadow Stalker," he said, and there was something in his voice that set Sophia's teeth on edge. "You will go into that room, alone, and shut the door behind you. There's someone in there to talk to you. I'll debrief your teammates."
Sophia grimaced. "What'd I do this time?" she asked gruffly, sitting up.
Armsmaster shook his head. "No, we're not having that conversation," he said flatly. "In the room. Now."
Sophia snarled, stood up, and pushed past him, crossing the lobby and entering the side room.
There was someone sitting at the table. A girl, in silvery armor that seemed to glow. She was white, and her brown eyes were locked onto Sophia's mask the moment she walked in.
"Close the door, please," she said, and there was something about her voice that made Sophia want to grind her teeth.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"Annatar," said the girl. "Close the door, now. You and I need to talk."
"Close the door, Shadow Stalker," Armsmaster ordered from behind her.
Sophia let out a growl, but obeyed, then threw herself into a chair across from Annatar. "So, what?" she asked. "You're a new Ward?"
Annatar nodded. "That's the certain part," she said. "The uncertain part is what happens to you now."
Sophia's fists clenched. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I mean," Annatar said, and she was perfectly calm, "that if I choose, after this conversation, I can have you summarily drummed out of the Wards, taken off the streets, and shoved into juvie at the least. So let's talk."
Sophia stood up sharply. "You think you can threaten me?" she snarled.
"I just got classified," Annatar said quietly. "Tinker 7, Trump 6. A few other ratings. I'm a valuable cape, Shadow Stalker, and the PRT wants me in the Wards a lot more than they want you."
"Well, what the hell does that have to do with anything?" Sophia demanded. "Why would they just kick me out? I haven't done anything!"
Annatar let out a short, sharp laugh. "Oh, you are funny," she said. Then she reached up and took off her helmet.
Sophia's world tilted on its axis.
Taylor Hebert shook out her hair and set her helmet on the desk. "Sit down, Sophia," she said smoothly, "and let's talk."
"No." Sophia barely heard the word coming out of her own mouth.
"It's in your interest," Taylor said. "If you walk out now, there's no hope for you."
"No. No way. You? A Ward? A hero?"
Taylor snorted. "I said the same thing when I found out, you know?" she chuckled. "You? The girl so vicious and vile she thought shoving a classmate into her locker with a literal biohazard was an innocent prank? But them's the breaks, I'm afraid."
"No," Sophia said, and some quiet corner of her brain registered that her voice was getting a little shrill. "No, fuck this. I'm not going to work with you."
"Is that your final answer?"
There was something about how Hebert said that that made Sophia stop.
"Because, believe me," Taylor said evenly, "I would love to have you walk out that door right now and be unceremoniously arrested and kicked out on your ass. That would be wonderful. I owe you for a hell of a lot of shit, Sophia. But there's an alternative. Sit down."
Sophia sat. She found, in a horrible moment, that she had no idea what to say.
Taylor folder her hands together. "Now, Sophia," she said, and her voice was like silk—smooth and almost alluring. "What do you desire?"
"What?"
"Do you know what Annatar means?"
Sophia blinked at the non-sequitur. "It sounds made-up."
"It's Quenya." Taylor chuckled. "Don't ask. It means 'Lord of Gifts.' So let's talk, and we'll see if I can find it in me to give you a gift."
Sophia twitched. "What are you on about, Hebert?" she asked warily.
Hebert smiled. "Take off your mask," she instructed. "I want to see your face."
"Why?"
"Just do it," Taylor said wearily. "It's not as though I don't already know who you are."
Sophia snarled, but obeyed. The two girls' eyes locked.
"Now, Sophia," said Taylor. "Answer me honestly. What did you enjoy about what you were doing to me?"
Sophia bared her teeth. "Fuck you," she said. "You don't get to psychoanalyze me."
"So you don't know?"
"Fuck you."
Taylor sighed. "Let me make something clear to you," she said. "I'm trying to help you. God knows why. But I know this city needs heroes. If you're willing to work with me, I'm willing to work with you in the name of making sure it gets them. But I've already compromised as much as I'm willing—I'm willing to refrain from pressing charges, I'm willing to let you stay, even though you've made my life hell for a year and a half. I've already accommodated more than my fair share. This conversation? This is you meeting me halfway, and the only person who loses if you don't is you."
Sophia gritted her teeth.
"Now answer the question," Taylor said. "What did you enjoy about torturing me?"
"I'm a predator, bitch," Sophia snarled. "Preying on the weak is what I do. The weak, the stupid, people who don't fight back. People like you."
Taylor smiled. "I see," she said. A chill went through Sophia's core at her tone.
"Fuck you."
"Sorry, I'm straight. Try Emma. Now, why me?"
"What?" Sophia blinked at the lightning-fast retort.
"There must have been a few hundred 'weak' people in Winslow," Taylor said. "Madison, for instance. Why was I the one you targeted?"
Sophia rolled her eyes. "What is this, a pity party?"
Taylor snorted. "Do you really think I give a damn what you think about me anymore?" she asked dryly. "I'm trying to understand you. Trying to see how we can work together. So answer the question."
"You were holding Emma back," Sophia said, sneering. "Girl was just getting a spine after that mess two summers ago, and then you came back and you were weak as shit. So I tried to buck her up, get her to toss you." She grimaced. "Then she got obsessive. Which was, honestly, kinda weird."
"I'm going to need some background," Taylor said evenly. "What happened two summers ago?"
Sophia sighed. "Look, I don't have all day—"
"Pretty sure you do, actually," said Taylor in a voice about fifty times drier than sandpaper. "What happened?"
"She and her dad got attacked by ABB gangers," Sophia said flatly. "They blocked the road with a dumpster, then pulled Emma out of the car. I saw it happen. At first, I was going to let them rough her up a bit so I could really cut loose on them—justifiable assault, you know?"
Taylor blinked evenly at her. "But?"
"Well, Emma got a spine," Sophia said, a grin coming to her lips at the memory. "She tried to claw the guy's eyes out. Sure, she wasn't a match for them, but at least she was trying. She was predator material. I saved her, and took her under my wing. Tried to teach her how the world works."
"And that was this idea of predators and prey?"
"What, you don't think it works like that?" Sophia snorted. "The strong eat the weak. That's nature, that's life. Humans—and capes—are no different."
Taylor seemed to consider that. "And then Emma seemed to have a weak spot for me," she said. "So you cauterized it. And she learned to love the hot iron. Like a slave begging for the whip."
"The fuck?" Sophia blanched. "Where did you come up with that shit?"
Taylor smiled slightly. "Oh, don't mind me," she said. "Now, Sophia, what do you think is the difference between a hero and a villain?"
Sophia snorted. "What the hell kind of question is that?"
"One you've got no answer to, I think."
Silence fell. Sophia's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, and then she settled for a weak "You don't know me."
"Don't I?"
Sophia couldn't answer. Eventually, she forced out, "What are you, a Thinker?"
"Maybe," Taylor allowed. "I don't think these are my powers though. This is all me." Then she smiled. "Now, Sophia, would you like to know the difference between a hero and a villain?"
"Fuck you," Sophia ground out. "Heroes stop villains from breaking the law. That's all there is to it."
"You and I both know that's not true."
Sophia gritted her teeth.
"Before we talk about the difference between heroes and villains," Taylor said, "we need to talk about a common misconception—the Protectorate, and the Wards, are all heroes, and everyone that's labeled a villain is a villain. Neither of those statements is true. The only thing that determines labels is PR. You were labeled an independent hero because you got decent PR for targeting villains, before you joined the Wards, but you were a villain."
"Fuck you. No I wasn't."
"You were," Taylor said gently, "and you still are, Sophia. This is your last and only chance to change that—listening to me here and now. Because I can tell you what makes someone like, I don't know, Panacea a hero, and what makes someone like Jack Slash a villain, regardless of the labels people give them. I'm your only chance at this before you get thrown into juvie. If you listen, you can stay out of there, and get one last chance to be better. If you don't, well, that's one more villain off the streets. It's your choice."
When Taylor put it like that, it wasn't much of a choice at all. "Fine, talk."
"A villain," Taylor said quietly, "is anyone—anyone at all, cape or otherwise—who thinks that the strong should prey on the weak, and that they are among the strong."
"Fuck you." That's me.
"A hero," Taylor steamrolled over her, "is someone among the strong who protects the weak. Being a hero isn't about beating up bad guys, Sophia. It's about making the world better. Not for you, not for the strong, not for the 'predators,' but for the weak. A hero is the voice of the voiceless, the song of the mute, the sword of the disarmed, the shield of the defenseless. That, Sophia, is what a hero is. That's why you're a villain—to you, it's all about conflict, about hurting people, about making the world worse, even if it is worse specifically for people you think are bad."
"That's bull." The words sounded somehow hollow even as they came out of her mouth.
"Do you have any better definitions?"
Sophia would have liked to say that the words stuck in her throat, but it would be a lie—there were no words at all. Somehow, under Taylor's eyes, pinned by the fire behind them, she couldn't lie; not to Taylor, and not to herself.
"That, Sophia, is my gift," Taylor said quietly. "I offer you that understanding, and this chance. You'll probably get out of juvie well before you're eighteen, if you want to. Then you'll be out on the street, a fugitive with powers. A villain. Or you can stay here. Deal with me. And try to be a hero. And I do mean try," she added with a twisted smile. "No one's expecting you to break years of habit in a day. But you do have to at least try to do better."
"So that's it?" Sophia asked. "Hero or villain? That's it? Just like that?"
"It's the same choice every parahuman makes," Taylor said. "Regardless of all the PR, and the mislabeling, and the speculation on PHO, each of us has to decide whether we want to take advantage of the people weaker than us, or protect them. We decide that right at the beginning. Sometimes, we change our minds. You made the wrong choice once, Sophia. Will you do it again?"
"Fuck you."
"You don't have to like me," Taylor chuckled. "I know I'll probably never like you. But you do have to choose."
And Sophia did.