Ashes Of Memory

by Aiden Bates

  Even if she was right about that, though, she might have been wrong about the possible presence of abyssal magic. It took a particular kind of skill to sense the presence of the abyss. The fact that Claudia couldn’t pick it up didn’t mean it was there; it could just as well mean that magic simply wasn’t involved.

  But if it was... Baz was out there, somewhere. Every second we spent figuring out what to do was another chance that he’d never be found. Or that if he was, it would be another devastating loss.

  “You’re right,” I admitted finally. “I’ll ask. But see if Locum Lux can find us someone else, just in case. No point in waiting. Because I’m pretty sure Vance wants nothing to do with me, or Blackstone Weyr.”

  That was, if he even remembered who I was. And after what happened... there was half a chance he didn’t know who he was anymore.

  2

  Vance

  “I don’t see the problem here,” Gordon complained at me, in that tone I had gotten so used to over the past couple of years. “You know who I am, I have an impeccable record. What am I going to do, run off with a book?”

  It took real effort to stifle an exasperated sigh and kept my hands firmly clasped on top of the counter that guarded the restricted library. “I do know who you are, Gordon—”

  “Magistrum Tertium Sanderson,” he corrected me, like an asshole.

  “Magistrum Tertium Sanderson,” I echoed through nearly gritted teeth, “but the bylaws are what they are, and I can’t hand you a fourth circle text without a proper requisition form, which has to be signed by your immediate supervisor. I don’t make the rules, Magister.”

  Gordon rolled his eyes at me, which was maybe the fifth or sixth time he’d done it since he first asked me to fetch him Herrman’s Apotheosis, which was restricted for a good damn reason. “Obviously you don’t make the rules,” he muttered. “I’m surprised you even have a job here. You’re barely one of us anymore. Let me speak with your supervisor. Where is Magister Bennet?”

  “She’s in private research,” I told him. “Sixth circle business. I can make you an appointment. How’s this June?”

  He sneered. “Don’t condescend to me. I’m going to report this, you know.”

  “Please do,” I said as he finally took a step back from the counter. “My performance review is coming up, I’d love Magister Bennet to know I’m following her rules to the letter.”

  Gordon scowled, turned on a heel, and stalked away.

  I kept it together until I heard the door at the far end of the library slam. Only then did I relax my hands, which began to shake, and let out the breath I’d been holding as a nervous groan. Anxiety bubbled up from where I’d been cramming it down the moment I had to tell that prick that I couldn’t just hand him whatever book he wanted without some kind of record. Which he damn well knew.

  Thing is, he never would have demanded that kind of favor if it was Maz or Finn behind the counter. He came when I was here because he thought I might cave under the pressure. That I was timid, and wouldn’t put up a fight.

  A year ago, he’d have been right.

  I breathed deeply, and slowly, probing my own psychic structures for signs of weakness, feeding the barest trickle of magic into the cracks and strained seams as I found them. Chaos is just a pattern I’m too close to comprehend, I reminded myself. I did it again and again as I tended the garden of my psyche until it was settled and pristine. Or at least, the delicate facade that covered up the mess beneath was.

  It wasn’t until someone cleared their throat gently that I realized I’d closed my eyes tight and dug my fingers into the edge of the counter. I startled a bit as my eyes snapped open, but relaxed when it was only Mikhail. “You doing okay?” he asked.

  Not warily, like most anyone else in the cabal probably would have, but with a bit of lightness that I desperately needed from him. I gave him a tired smile. “All good,” I said, and tapped my temple with a finger. “Sorted. Sorry, were you standing there long?”

  Mikhail’s lips parted slightly, maybe surprised that I would have to ask, but he closed them quickly enough and waved a hand. “No, no. Just got here. What time is your shift over?”

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. “I lock up in ten. Why? Plans? Or do you need a book?”

  “Hades, no,” he grunted, grimacing. “No more books, please. Ever. I’m making nagyi’s paprikash for dinner, and cracking open a much needed bottle of very old, very expensive merlot and... I thought I might like company. You in?”

  “The bottle you got from Cyril?” I raised an eyebrow as the ghost of a smug grin tried to manifest itself on Mikhail’s lips. “Did you...?”

  He leaned in, hushing me with a hand. “Don’t say anything,” he murmured, “but... yeah, I finished. And Master Laryn says it shows promise, and that he doesn’t see a reason why the council wouldn’t approve it and promote me.”

  A mix of envy and excitement went to war inside, waiting to see which army I would throw my support behind. Mikhail and I were both second circle. I always expected that we’d ascend to third at the same time. But then my life collapsed, and Mikhail was there for me through the long, long road that recovery turned out to be. A road that had probably trapped me forever in the second circle. I knew that we would get here eventually, that he’d have to move on without me.

  And that was good. I was happy for him. So I grabbed that excitement in a manic stranglehold and kicked the envy back across its border for the moment. “Mikhail, that’s... holy crap, that’s fantastic. Gods, it’s been such a long time coming. That’s good news. Yeah, of course I’ll come celebrate with you.”

  Mikhail wasn’t an esper like me—the kind of mage that usually did things like read minds, when we were actually engaging our magic to its potential—but he didn’t have to be to figure out what I might have been thinking. “It’s not that big a deal,” he said. “I mean, I’m later to it than most of the others, and anyway third circle isn’t like—”

  I reached halfway across the counter for his hand and rested mine on it. “Hey—don’t do that. It is a big deal, Mikhail. And I’m really excited and proud.”

  He bit the inside of his lip briefly. “You’re really... I mean I would understand, you know, if you felt... you know.”

  I did know, obviously. But I could feel more than one thing at a time, and decide which was more important. I squeezed his hand. “I wish we were coming up together,” I said. “Of course, I do. But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy for you. And no way am I missing your grandma’s paprikash.”

  “It’s nagyi,” he said.

  “I speak three dead languages,” I said, withdrawing my hand, “and I’m never going to be able to pronounce Hungarian in a way that does it any justice, and I need you to accept that.”

  Mikhail chuckled and gave a long sigh of what I thought was relief. He’d been nervous to tell me, and I didn’t need to read his thoughts or even sense his emotions to know that. “Thanks. I haven’t told anyone, so keep it to yourself. Tonight it’s just you and me that know.”

  That made my heart ache with happiness. Maybe the rest of the Custodes Lunae Cabal saw me as a broken ‘former’ mage good for little more than manning a library desk, but to Mikhail, I was at least still Vance. His best friend. “I won’t tell a soul,” I said.

  “If you do, I’ll hear about it,” he warned me with a grin.

  Necromancer humor. I’d say ‘kill me’ but it wouldn’t help.

  “Har har,” I grunted. “Hang here for a bit? I’ll walk with you. Not like I have anything else to do. Also, there’s half a chance Gordon is waiting for me in the hall.”

  “I passed him on the way here,” Mikhail said. “Didn’t look happy.”

  I snorted. “Yeah... I think that’s just his face.”

  Mikhail grinned wide, shaking his head as he left the counter and went to one of the long tables to find a seat and wait, his phone already out and in hand by the time he sat down.

  I didn’t really have
much to do in the way of closing down for the day. My job was literally just fetching books and putting them back, and filing requisition forms, and making sure unauthorized mages didn’t pull dangerous texts for no damn reason and with zero oversight—like Gordon Sanderson, for example. Other than that, it was mostly just standing behind the counter, reading.

  Today, I’d been reading And Then There Were None. Agatha Christie was one of my favorites in childhood. Now that I tended to avoid academic texts, and magic in general, I had returned to reading for pleasure. Revisiting old favorites helped keep me calm. It also helped trigger memories and form new memetic link-sequences.

  Useful, when you’ve had your ego-mind ripped apart.

  I checked that the requisitions were all marked and filed, although I was certain I hadn’t missed one, and then checked that the book basket was cleared, and the door to the restricted section was secured. Maz would be along in about an hour to take up the night shift, and she had her own key. Tapped mine against the lock twice, and felt the gentle shock of magic coursing through the metal to taste my signature. I didn’t disintegrate, so it recognized me and deactivated my key until my next shift.

  That done, I logged out of the ancient computer system and slipped the bookmark into my book, which I slipped into my messenger bag, and slung it over my shoulder. “All right, Mikhail, I’m—”

  A tingle hit my brain about two seconds before the doors at the front of the library opened. I didn’t use my abilities anymore—using my magic at this point was a bit like trying to change a lightbulb by balancing on a unicycle—but there were some passive aspects of my magic that I would never be able to shut down. Certain presences, like my old master, Magistrum Septum Nkendi Brown, would always register at the peripheral of my mind when they were close. Mikhail, sometimes, too.

  And this one.

  I went rigid as a tall, broad-shouldered man that I had seen in flashes of fragmented memory and dreams came through the doors, led by one of the clerks who pointed to me before giving him a polite smile and leaving him to approach. My heart pounded, and I felt the seams of my carefully reconstructed ego-mind strain as a swirl of intense emotions and memory fragments underneath churned and pressed against it.

  He had eyes that were used to being hard, but which softened as he settled them on me. His jaw was stubbled by at least a couple of days, and clenched. Not with anger. Even if I didn’t reach out to sense his emotions, I could tell it was something else. Shame, maybe.

  I searched my mind for his name, but it was just out of reach—on the tip of my tongue, but unwilling to form itself into cogent thought.

  Mikhail put a hand on my back. He’d moved to stand beside me. “What’s up? Who is this? You okay?”

  When the man finally reached us, and stood a few feet away, his name came to me. His name and a lot of other memories—hazy, and tangled, but enough to get the gist.

  “Vance,” the man said.

  I almost choked on my response. “Tam. Tammerlin Blackstone. Right?”

  There was the slightest hint of relief in his expression. He nodded. “Yeah. It’s good to see you. You look... good.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered. I glanced around us, as if expecting someone else to be with him. Or, no—not someone. Something. “Uh... why are you here? Oh, this is Mikhail. Baranov, he’s a friend. Have you two met?”

  “No,” Mikhail said, and was the sort that would normally have extended a hand but didn’t this time. “I’ve heard of you, though. I don’t think you should be here.”

  “I know,” Tam agreed. “And you’re right. I didn’t have a choice, though. I need to ask a favor. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

  “No, there—” Mikhail started.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “Mikhail, it’s okay,” I muttered, and tilted my head toward the back of the library. “There’s a free study room.”

  They followed me to it, and I could feel Mikhail’s eyes boring into the back of my shoulders. He clearly knew more about Tam than I did, but I was piecing together bits of memory. I knew that he had been important to me, at some point. The way he triggered my spidey-sense was the sort of thing that would only have happened with someone I knew intimately. I sensed Mikhail like that sometimes. And Master Nkendi Brown, the woman who had identified my potential as an esper when I was six and practically raised me since then.

  Tam’s presence sent a wave of emotions through me, unconnected to anything concrete. Some good, some... not so good. I couldn’t just send him away, even though part of me wanted to run.

  Once we were in the study, and the silence latch was flipped to trigger the privacy spells set into the bricks of the walls, I reassured Mikhail and looked Tam over. “So, what kind of favor? What’s this about?”

  He glanced almost warily at Mikhail, and for good reason—Mikhail hovered near me protectively. After a moment, he sighed. “There’s been an... incident, at Blackstone Weyr.”

  That was right—he was the leader of Blackstone Weyr. Or, no; not the leader. His brother was in charge. Right? I rubbed the bridge of my nose as a familiar headache slowly began to coalesce behind my eyes. “What kind of incident?”

  “An attack,” he said. “Two dead, one missing. There was magic involved, we know, but... we need someone with a particular sensitivity to confirm it for us.”

  My skin crawled, and my stomach lurched. I knew what he meant. Or at least, my body and my unconscious mind did. It took my ego-mind a moment to catch up, and that only made it worse. “You mean ab—aby... fuck. Abyssal magic.”

  His jaw clenched, and he gave a nod of confirmation.

  “No,” Mikhail said, shaking his head as he cut the air with a hand. “Denied. Absolutely not. You can leave now, Mr. Blackstone.”

  Whatever Tam had been to me before I had my mind thrown in a blender, it couldn’t justify going anywhere near that stuff again. “He’s right,” I croaked. “I’m sorry, Tam. I know we must have had some kind of connection before but... I don’t do that anymore. Not just with that kind of thing. I’m only a mage in name these days. I just... I can’t. It’s not safe. Not for me and not for the people around me if I were to go off again. I’m sorry you came here.”

  Mikhail moved to the door to open it and show Tam out.

  Tam held a hand up. “Hang on,” he said quickly, “please, just hear me out. I only need confirmation and you’re the only esper with the right ability in the southeast, and I don’t have time to call in aid from another cabal—they’ve got my nephew. Baz. You remember Baz, right?”

  The name stirred something, but I couldn’t pin it down. I shook my head, eyes closed tight as I felt the seams of my psyche straining. “You can make arrangements with the council,” I said. “There’s a gate mage in Tampa, she can ‘port someone in from the west coast. I just can’t help you, I’m sorry—”

  “Here,” Tam said urgently, and held his phone out toward me when I opened my eyes. “Here. Just look. That’s all. If you don’t... if you can’t remember, I understand and I’ll go. It’s just a picture. That’s all. Can you look at it for me?”

  Mikhail took the phone from him and looked down at it, then shot Tam a dirty look. “Fuck you,” he muttered, and thrust the phone back at him. “How dare you? You son of a bitch.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” Mikhail said. “Take it. Take it and go.”

  Tam’s eyes flashed a burnished red-gold. “Let him see it.”

  “I won’t,” Mikhail said, and held a hand out toward me as I moved to look. “This isn’t fair and you know it. You don’t know what he’s been through. You would have, if you’d stayed with him.”

  Stayed with me? I shook my head slowly as Tam’s voice grew louder. “You think I didn’t want to stay?” he demanded. “Who the fuck are you? I didn’t have a choice, I—”

  “Stop,” I barked. My head was splitting. Maybe literally. I put shaky fingers to the bridge of my nose and tried to rub away the familiar pain of
a migraine coalescing behind my brow. At least they both shut up. I held my hand out. “Mikhail, just give me the damn phone, I can take care of myself.”

  That hurt him. I could see it right away. But I had to see what was so important.

  Mikhail only reluctantly handed it over, muttering curses on Tam’s entire bloodline and species as he did.

  It wasn’t anything dangerous. Not in the way I expected. Just a picture.

  It was a picture of Tam, that was all. Tam, and a little boy of maybe four or five.

  And me.

  My heart stopped. The boy’s face came alive, rising up out of my broken memories the same way Tam’s had, filling in more gaps. They were fleeting, and disconnected, and impossible to grasp and hold onto. But I heard his voice, high-pitched and full of laughter. “Uncle Vance!”

  My mouth was dry, and my throat hurt.

  “I understand that you can’t get involved,” Tam said quietly. “And if you won’t help me, I’ll understand that, too. I just need confirmation. Just some direction, is all. We can handle the rest, but just can’t wait. Baz is gone. We have to assume he’s alive, and every second that we wait... after what happened before... you have to know I would never ask if it wasn’t this, Vance.”

  I wanted to crawl out of my skin, divest myself of bones and hide myself in a box at the bottom of the sea. I know, it’s weird. That’s what happens when an abyssal mage rips open the skin of reality and jams your face up against the gash to show you what’s on the other side.

  “How long?” I asked.

  “Eight hours,” he said. “Do you remember?”

  Tearing my eyes away from the picture, I held his phone out to him. When he took it, his fingers brushed mine, and sent tingles along my arm. I hugged myself, trying to make them go away.

  Eight hours was a long time to get far away. For anyone, much less a mage. Much less one who could potentially take a shortcut through the abyss to get where they were going. Eight hours was enough time to get anywhere in the world, if you had the right skillset.