by A. L. Knorr
“I have,” Basil admitted, though not too morosely. “And until we are able to educate young mages on their true origins, I will continue to consider our history course a failure. It’s one of my greatest wishes, to rectify it. Alas, greater mages than I have failed to uncover our genesis, or the reason for our bonds.”
My jaw went slack as his words pressed against that tender question I’d been working up the courage to ask. “You can’t explain the mage-bond?”
He shook his head and peered down at me through his mist-speckled glasses. “It is the mystery of our species. No one can explain why some mages are bonded while others are not. As I’m sure you have discovered for yourself by now, you have bonds with people you don’t like, and no bonds with people you do, while the inverse is also true.”
“Damn. I was hoping you would be able to explain it.” My mind staggered under the realization that Basil didn’t know.
He smiled. “Alas. The Agency has been studying it for quite some time. They’ve found the bond shares no correlation to blood type, genetics, ethnographic profiles, personality profiles, social stratification, endogamy, morphological groupings or any other categorization they can think to examine.”
I followed him through the prickly undergrowth in stunned silence. It was as though a curtain in my mind had been drawn back only to reveal a vast, dark cavern filled with shadows of interesting objects…and I had no flashlight. I knew my origin as a mage, and could recount even now in infinite detail, the moment the fire passed between Isaia and me, and the knowledge of fire that had filled my mind shortly after. But, instead of getting answers, I now had more and bigger questions.
Eight
Unexpected Apology
On a Wednesday evening in mid-February, with sleet slashing at the windows of the first-year lounge, I sat in a window-seat with a pillow cushioning my back and my philosophy text open on my lap. Gage had pulled one of the wingbacks over to face me and had his own reading splayed over the arm of the overstuffed chair. My bare foot rested on his knee and he absently stroked the arch with his fingertips, trailing lazy heat through the sole of my foot and up my leg. It wasn’t easy keeping my focus on the reading—I had a mid-term paper due in a week—but I was loath to pull my foot away.
Students came and went as stealthily as ghosts, as the fire crackled and dwindled. April sat on one of the large sofas with the L’s, while Kendall, Zack and Dar worked through their homework at one of the tables. A couple of new first-years sat at a corner table reviewing their skills manual. At some point, I became aware that our lounge was playing host to a couple of second-year students, which was weird because they had their own lounge to hang out in which was larger and nicer than ours. Whispers were exchanged and I glanced up in time to see eyes that had been on me suddenly dart away. Thinking nothing of it, I returned most of my mind to my reading and a little bit to the languid touch of Gage’s fingers.
Several pages of reading later, more bodies had materialized. Among them were third-years Cecily and Tagan. Third-years definitely had no reason to be in the first-years’ lounge. There was no denying now that I was the object of some attention and private discussion.
I looked at Gage, who was completely zoned out and oblivious. I directed my attention back to my reading until I heard April whisper, “Ask her yourself. She’s not going to bite you.”
I gave up trying to ignore the growing crowd and hushed exchanges when out of the corner of my eye I caught the repositioning of furniture. Tables were being dragged covertly across the carpet, all to come nearer to where Gage and I were sitting.
A little piqued, I raised my head and looked baldly from face to face. Some looked away embarrassed, others stared back with hopeful expectation. April gave me an apologetic smile, like she could have stopped what was coming if she’d tried harder.
“Can I help you?” I asked the crowd in general. There were now a dozen magi positioned in a semi-circle around the window-seat I occupied, like a group of kids around a campfire eager for a ghost story.
At my voice breaking the hush of the room, Gage looked around. He gave a start and lifted a knee up to cover his crotch in a comedic parody of protecting himself. “Whoa.”
Sheepish looks were exchanged and one of the second-year students poked Cecily. She brushed the finger away and crossed her arms awkwardly.
“Um. We were just wondering if we could ask you a few questions,” she said in a hushed tone, as if there were others in the room who were still trying to study, which there weren’t.
Gage and I shared a look and pushed ourselves up to straighter postures.
“Go ahead,” I replied, warily.
“Why aren’t you training at the Agency?” Tagan asked, an elbow draped over Cecily’s shoulder like she was a fencepost. “You’re an automatic fourth-degree mage.”
“Oh.” I tucked a wayward curl behind my ear thinking he hadn’t paid much attention during Basil’s announcement. “Because I’m too young. Basil made an exception to have me here at Arcturus, but I guess it was a step too far to have me at the agency. Plus, I’d miss all of you.” I gestured to the circle.
They laughed and some of the tension in the room broke.
“Does your fire still pain you?” Kendall asked, his blue hair-dye replaced by a deep plum color.
I hesitated, not wanting to make them envious. I elected for an unenthusiastically expressed but truthful answer. “No.”
There were muted moans of longing from a couple of them.
“What was it like?” Lexi asked.
Lora hit her across the back of her head. “We’re not supposed to ask.”
Lexi cringed as she rubbed her head, sending me an apologetic look.
“That’s okay,” I replied, eager to answer this one. “It was an agony too excruciating for words. If I hadn’t been locked in a cell, I would have thrown myself out a window just to end it.”
At this, Gage wrapped his hand around my foot and squeezed. Reactions around the room varied from horror to nervous laughter.
“How strong is your punch?” Zack’s eyes were like pinwheels. Dar thwacked him across the shoulder. He looked at his dreadlocked friend reproachfully. “What? You can’t tell me you don’t want to know.”
I was spared from embarrassing myself when a huge bouquet of white roses with legs entered the lounge. Everyone turned to look as the man shifted the bouquet away from his face. Flowers next to Ryan’s face was such an odd combination that I couldn’t not stare.
“Hi.” Ryan addressed the group with a crooked smile that was far too sweet to be appropriate on his face. “Um.” He sidestepped to stand in front of the fireplace—an utterly charming action with the bobbing white blossoms in his arms—and set the bouquet down on the nearest ottoman.
“I’m glad so many of you are here.” He straightened the front of his hoody. “There’s something I want to say.”
I suspected I wasn’t alone in thinking I had slipped into an alternate reality, one where Ryan carried roses around and addressed people like they had actual feelings. Suspicion swarmed in my gut like a cluster of hornets.
Ryan ran a hand through his hair, looking nervous. “It’s been brought to my attention that I owe all of the first-years an apology. My behavior last semester was unacceptable. I don’t deserve to be forgiven, I know that. Some of you are freezing me out and I totally get it. I earned it.”
A species of dull shock settled over the room.
My gaze dropped to April where she sat on the sofa directly in front of Ryan. I couldn’t see her face and wondered what she was thinking. Personally, my brain felt like it was securely packaged in bubble-wrap and would not be available for any thinking activity for a few hours, thank you very much.
“I wanted you all to know that I’m aware I did a bad thing, and I’m sorry.” Ryan seemed to be looking everywhere but at me, his blue eyes wide and sincere. “I hope that one day you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.”
Gage looked ov
er at me with a gushy look and lay a hand over his heart as if to say, ‘Aw’. I wrinkled my nose and crossed my arms. Whatever Ryan was selling, I wasn’t buying.
Ryan lunged forward and picked up the bouquet of roses, the perfume of which now wafted sweetly through the room. “April, these are for you.”
He lay the bouquet in her arms like it was a newborn.
Several girls then did say awwww.
“Dude, that’s decent of you,” said Dar.
Ryan shot Dar a smile that dazzled the way Gage’s did. A spike of ire shot through my heart. Ryan didn’t have a right to use that smile. I wanted to wipe it off his face.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, April.” Ryan bent over and kissed her on the cheek.
There was another round of ghastly oohs and aahs from the ladies in the room. A few of the guys snorted, but the older guys looked impressed.
Ryan stepped back, his attention on April. His voice went soft and a little broken. “I know I hurt you, April. I hope you’ll let me make it up to you.”
In a move that made my throat clench, Ryan kissed his own fingertips and brought them to April’s lips, then he left the room. I was surprised he didn’t do a pirouette and a jeté on the way out.
April stared down at the flowers before lifting her head to scan the room, slowly, with her mouth open in an expression of amazement, and joy. It was like she’d been proposed to.
I wanted to scream at her not to fall for it.
“Wow.” Tagan, who was standing nearest Gage, smacked Gage on the chest repeatedly with the flat of his hand like he was patting the hindquarters of a racehorse. Tagan jerked his chin in my direction. “Where’s her flowers, eh, lover-boy?”
Gage turned wide, mortified eyes on me and bit his bottom lip in overdone horror and shame. “It’s Valentine’s Day?” he squeaked.
Tagan and the nearby magi who weren’t presently gushing over April’s flowers started laughing.
I put a finger up at Gage and said, “No.”
The last thing I wanted was for him to feel bad that he’d forgotten about Valentine’s Day. It had briefly flitted into my mind at the beginning of the month and then I’d forgotten about it too.
Gage continued his exaggerated cringe. Then, moving in slow-motion with that theatrical shamefacedness, he set aside his reading and began to crawl toward me.
“No,” I repeated, but cracked up because he looked so ridiculous.
He crawled up my legs, head down and with a posture of abject supplication, then—painfully slowly and with obvious histrionics—lowered himself onto my lap, his face in my bosom.
Full-on laughing now, along with everyone else in the room, I wrapped my arms around Gage’s head as he slipped his arms around my waist and let out a melodramatic wail of utter failure. I was howling with laughter, tears leaking from my eyes, but when Gage’s nose and forehead pressed against the skin of my sternum, our bond sent ribbons of fire racing through my torso and my heart into spasms of desire. Heat flushed my face at my body’s reaction but his acting still had me in paroxysms.
While we wiped at tears of laughter, no one said anything more about what Ryan had done. The magi began to break up and head for bed. I looked for April but she’d already left the lounge with her oversized bouquet.
Gage walked me to my room and kissed me goodnight as we stood at my door. With his face close to mine he whispered, “I’m sorry I didn’t get you flowers, I do feel like an idiot. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
I shook my head and stopped him from talking with another kiss. After we said good night, I closed myself in my room and took a long drink from the glass on my desk. Peeling out of my clothing and pulling on my pajamas with slow, meditative movements, I turned Ryan’s latest behavior over and over in my mind. I didn’t know what he was up to but I didn’t like it. Not one bit. And the fact that I appeared to be the only one who hadn’t bought it root and branch left an ugly, unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Part Two
First Time for Everything
Nine
Body Count
I strode into the fire-gym at 8:55 the next morning, ready for my skills class in fireproof shorts and a tank top, water bottle swinging at my side. I came to a sudden halt. The gym was empty. Totally vacant. No modular equipment had been set up, the climbing walls were folded away, even the ventilation system was off. Every seam along the floor, walls and ceiling was perfectly aligned, hiding the expensive technology and assets Basil had invested in over the years.
The place looked enormous when it wasn’t cluttered up with students and gadgets, and the climbing wall was out of view. I wandered on to the empty neoprene floor, scanning the gym, realizing for the first time just how cavernous, how huge it was.
“Basil?” I called, feeling stupid. There was nowhere for him to hide but I was in the right place at the right time—there was no asterisk on my schedule—so...
There was a crackle of feedback followed by the headmaster’s voice coming through the overhead speakers. “Good morning, Saxony. Look up.”
I looked up and saw that some curious little black boxes had been installed throughout the ceiling between the light fixtures. Still no visible Basil.
“Over here.” This time he sounded amused.
“Where?” I turned, scanning the expanse of the ceiling.
“Stop teasing her, Basil,” came Alfred’s voice. “We are in the second observation pod.”
My gaze flicked to the second pod where I caught sight of their heads through the windows. They each raised a hand in greeting.
Jogging across the floor to the stairwell in the far corner, I ran the metal stairs two at a time. Letting myself into the pod, I took the outer aisle down to the first row and joined my professors.
Alfred sat in front of a fancy computer with a dashboard that looked like it belonged in a recording studio. The broad landscape of the screen sported animated, faceless silhouettes of bodies engaged in combat. It looked like a screen-saver advertising a computer game. A space-age looking visor with clean lines and a silver-gray shine sat hooked on a peg to the right of the computer.
I plopped into the seat next to Basil. “What’s going on?”
Alfred picked up the visor and handed it to me.
“On your feet, Saxony.” Basil steepled his fingers, looking almost gleeful. “It’s time to test run our newest equipment.”
“What’s this?” I held up the visor.
“A virtual reality helmet.” Alfred cracked his knuckles. “Go down to the main floor and put it on. We’ll tell you what to do from there.”
I took the fancy piece of equipment, which was heavier than it looked, and left the pod. The metal steps reverberated under my feet as I descended to the floor, inspecting the visor. It was a slender pair of aerodynamic sunglasses, basically, with an additional thickness to the arms and a multi-dimensional appearance to the pearlescent glass. A little flick with a fingernail against a stem produced a high-pitched ring, like it was made of crystal, but that couldn’t be right. I walked into the expansive space, settling the visor over my face and head. The edges fit snugly against my cheeks and forehead. All visibility, including my extreme periphery, could only be seen through the glass. It was like someone had dimmed the lights to a cool blue. A small green blinking plus-sign had appeared in the top right corner of my vision. Low-level vertigo made me pause and step more carefully as my eyes focused on the cross hanging out in space like a hologram. It didn’t move when I moved my head.
“You’ll find an X on the floor in the south-west corner, Saxony,” came Basil’s voice, funneling into my ear like he was bug sitting in my ear canal. “Stand on it.”
Orienting to my new sight—the plus-sign disappeared from view—while getting used to the feeling of the extra weight on my face and head, I headed for the corner, scanning the floor for the X. When I found it, I turned and faced the gym. The blinking plus-sign reappeared.
“How is it fitting?” Al
fred’s bug-voice asked.
I could no longer see the profs as I was too close to the wall and beneath the pods. “Okay, I think.”
“You’ll feel a small button at the hinge near your right eye. Hit it.”
Fingertips fumbling over the arm of the visor, I found the circular button and pressed it. Something moved in front of my ears, skimming over my skin. The blinking plus-sign slid to the right, leaving a trail of capital letters behind it.
READY, CAGNEY
“Wow.” I turned my head this way and that, the visor stayed with me, an extension of my own head. The words remained in the air where the plus-sign used to be, like a beacon near the ceiling.
“Have you ever played capture the flag?” Basil’s bug-voice buzzed.
“Sure. We played it a lot as kids.”
“Excellent. This game is similar, but with a few minor tweaks,” Alfred explained. “I’ll set the stage. Don’t be shocked when the lights go out for a moment.”
My vision went velvet black. The gym ceiling, the words, the horizon of the neoprene floor, all swallowed by an impenetrable curtain of darkness. My breath caught in my throat and I swayed on my feet. My knees bent automatically for balance.
A version of the gym returned to view. The seams of the walls and floors faded against the background. Distant shadows of human forms, as varied in shape as real people, moved back and forth like dark ghosts at a ball. A single point, bright green in color, appeared at the opposite corner of the gym, close to the floor. It waved like a little triangular flag in the wind. My eyes and brain adjusted to the strange computer-generated environment.
“Your objective is to take the flag, dealing with all resistance as you go. You’ll have thirty seconds.”
Thirty seconds to sprint across the gym was plenty of time, even without fire-power. That seemed too easy.
“What’s the catch?”