by CJ Brightley
“Well . . . at least the Ruler’s nice,” Yaika said, sounding lost. “I mean, she isn’t going to execute you, you don’t have to go to the detention center . . .” Her voice trailed off like she wasn’t even sure what she was saying.
I answered this comment with stony silence. Frankly, I might have preferred to have gone to the detention center. There might have been people to talk to there. The Ruler and her husband had discussed the possibility a few weeks ago, with him suggesting that it might be more convenient. But the Ruler had not been in favor of it.
Perhaps she’d been afraid I’d talk to the people who worked there and get them on my side or something. Most criminals weren’t there long-term, after all; they were either confirmed for execution or sent home in disgrace within a week. Perhaps she’d thought I’d find a way to escape. Regardless, she had won the conversation, and I’d stayed here.
Since I didn’t want to agree with what Yaika’d said, or disagree in front of the Ruler, I kept silent. My sister seemed to think that meant she had to keep babbling.
“I mean, it’s really pretty up here, isn’t it?” she asked, waving her hands around. She seemed desperate to break the growing tension. “Have you seen the Ruler’s entryway? The details on the arvas paintings are amazing! And that skylight in the middle that’s bright even though it’s raining — I didn’t know magic could do that. When we walked through it, I felt all tingly. Or the banister of the stairs on the way up! Did you see the carvings? They —”
“That’s enough,” the Ruler broke in. “It’s time to go.”
Yaika’s mouth snapped shut. “But . . .”
“That’s enough,” the Ruler said, more gently but still but sternly. “I may let you come back another day. But I told you my time was limited. Come.”
Her eyes watering, Yaika bowed her head. “I — I love you, Raneh,” she said, her voice quavering. “I hope I get to see you again.”
“Me, too,” I said, hugging her. “I love you.”
And I bet I want to get together again even more than you do, I thought, aching, watching them leave. What else do I have to look forward to?
An hour later, I was folding and refolding scraps of paper aimlessly, most of them webbed with lopsided creases and holes worn through where the creases met. One of my badly-folded shapes, a limp bowl, slipped from my hands and rolled onto the floor.
I sighed and reached over to pick it up. A spark of magic jumped from my hand, and the paper brightened to a blinding white.
I winced and shielded my eyes with my other hand as I groped to pick it up. This was all the Ruler’s fault for forgetting to bring my groverweed! Who needed a light on the floor, anyway? Maybe if I could get it dangling from the ceiling . . .
I stood up on my bed, still shielding my eyes, and plopped the bright paper into the pot with the flowers above my head. Then I sat down, squinting upwards. No apparent difference. Oh, well. At least it’d get taken away when the Ruler’s husband came for breakfast and changed the flowers for me.
I kicked the legs of my bed with my heels, the toe of my right foot also smacking into the side of the desk. It’s really pretty up here, isn’t it? Yaika’d said.
Well, yes, Yaika, I thought, thumping my toe against the desk in regular rhythm. I’m sure it’s pretty up here. But unfortunately, I don’t get to see it. I don’t get to stop and admire the carvings, I don’t get to walk through the bright skylight in the middle . . . in fact, the Ruler ushered me past it super quickly . . .
I suddenly sat up straight. My foot jerked back.
Bright even though it’s raining.
Of course magic could do that, but it’d take a lot of energy for no real purpose. It’d be far more efficient to swap in lots of those glowing flowers instead. And that hall wasn’t a showpiece; it was in a place where almost nobody would see it.
We know where she’ll emerge from.
It was invented by the first Keeper of sunstream.
Light . . .
Am I imagining things? I thought, my heart pounding. Could it really be that simple?
That skylight was at the very center of the building, which was at the very center of the city, which was at the very center of the Rulership itself. And the Ruler had let Yaika walk through it, while she’d given it a wide berth when I was with her.
Of course, that didn’t mean I knew what to do. There might be some kind of words or sequence I had to trigger to use it. Or it might just be a skylight. Or it might do something else totally different. How could I know?
Blood surged through my veins as I thought about it. I had to test it. But how? I had to get out of here. But again, how?
I looked down at the paper scraps. I looked around the tiny room. A tiny, niggling idea occurred to me. I brushed the lopsided shapes of paper onto the floor, stood up, and stretched my arms out to either side of me, spinning slowly.
The walls bulged away from me. The door stretched further away, but it didn’t get any taller. I frowned, thinking for a minute. Then I moved one hand up over my head and held the other down near my feet, and pushed upwards.
The ceiling flew up above me. The bed and desk legs grew like trees. The door stretched upwards like an impassable stone wall. And the tiny gap between the door and the floor . . . was now big enough to squeeze through.
I smiled.
I got down on the ground and peered through the gap to see if anyone was coming. Nobody was. Swallowing my fear, I got down flat on my stomach and wriggled my way into the gap.
There was a weird flip-flopping sensation as I fell through to the other side, and I glanced back at the door to see the crack was the same size as usual. Good. Nobody would be able to tell what I’d done unless they opened the door. And once I got back inside, I could just shrink the space back down, and . . .
Once I got back inside . . .
I stared down at the tiny crack from this end.
Uh oh.
I could, of course, enlarge space in the hallway. Then I’d be able to fit through to get back in. But once I was in another room, I wouldn’t be able to undo anything I’d done to the hallway, and it would take hours to wear off on its own.
There were several mathematicians who lived up here, and the Ruler’s husband would be bringing my breakfast soon. Nobody could fail to notice if the hallway was a lot bigger than usual.
I was in trouble.
My heart lurched, but I told myself that I could at least do what I had come out here for. If I didn’t do that, at least, it would be a total waste. I shoved the worry out of my mind and got to my feet.
I crept carefully along the straight hall, reaching the wide circular space in the middle without running into anybody. Then, my heart pounding in my throat, I reached out and poked the tip of my forefinger into the light.
It burned like crazy. I gasped and wrenched it out. The burning spread across my arm and down the rest of my body, dissipating as it did so into a strong sense of itching. I took a ragged breath and rubbed my hand on my skirt, leaving a trail of tough blue fabric in the middle of gauzy green.
I jerked to a halt, yanking my hand away. Trembling, I touched my other hand to the tip of the lace at the end of my sleeve. It unraveled and came away.
Oh, great, I thought, breathing shallowly. In one second, I absorbed more magic than I would have in several days.
I could feel blood humming through my body. My skin was prickling and desperately itchy. I backed away, my heart in my throat, terrified now like I had never been. In theory, the thought of getting it over with had been motivating. Now, the thought of boredom and frustration seemed much better. There was power there, and I didn’t understand any of it. And it hurt like crazy.
I backed all the way to my door, and got down on my hands and knees. Then I found myself up against the tiny crack I couldn’t possibly fit through. I stared at it for a moment, numbly.
I can’t go back. I don’t want to go forward. What does that leave?
I was physically weak from the weeks
trapped in a small room, and emotionally worn out. I slumped down against the wall. I sat there, despairing, staring at the tiny crack, trying to think of some way out of this. But nothing. There was nothing. I was stuck here.
Eventually, I heard a quiet click down the hallway. I looked up listlessly, straight down the hallway, and saw the Ruler’s husband shutting the door to their quarters on the other end of the circular space. He was carrying a breakfast plate with a pile of green, bubbly moss dangling from the side. The kind that tasted vile. The kind I’d told him to stop bringing me.
For a moment, we stared at each other, frozen.
Then I leapt to my feet and broke into a race for the skylight.
I was further away, but he was less desperate than me. I was barely a step away when he seized my wrist, still holding the plate in his other hand.
I flailed wildly as he held me with iron poise.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he barked. “Are you an idiot?”
“This is it, isn’t it?” I gasped, trying to wrench away. “The way I get it over with? The way I save magic?”
“Yes,” he growled, “but it’ll also put status into decline. That’s why we want you to wait!”
“So explain things to me!” I shouted. “Don’t treat me like some kind of criminal! Give me respect, and I’ll happily do the same!”
The Ruler’s husband loosened his grip slightly. “I’m not sure that’s within my power to ensure,” he said slowly. “But your point is well made.”
I relaxed slightly. If they’d just treat me decently, perhaps it would be okay. I’d stay in Yaika’s room — I wouldn’t complain (too much) about her decorating. I’d use my magic to actually do things, rather than just getting rid of it every day. Maybe they’d even let me go back to my family . . .
“I’ll see to it that Anced gives you something different to do,” the Ruler’s husband said.
I froze. That’s it? That’s IT?
He began to pull me back towards the windowless room. His arm with the plate drifted in my direction.
I swung out and jabbed it with my elbow. Hot! Hot! I thought.
The Ruler’s husband yelped, dropped the plate, and it shattered to the ground in ice. I spun out of his startled grasp and dove for the light.
As magic flooded into me, I screamed in agony. The whole world filled with white, and I was blinded.
Then, mercifully, I fell unconscious.
I woke up in an unfamiliar place. I was surrounded by — not quite light, more like an absence of any color or shape. I sat up slowly, feeling dizzy, and looked around. There were indefinite edges to the formlessness, like a gradual fading from existence.
“Oh, you made it,” a voice said from behind me.
I spun around, my heart pounding.
Someone was sitting casually in what looked like a slung hammock. It hung incongruously in midair. The man looked a few years older than me, with thin wisps on his chin that looked like he had tried to grow a beard unsuccessfully.
“Wh-who are you?” I stammered. “Where am I?”
“My name . . .” He paused dramatically. “. . . is Xillon.”
I stared at him in bafflement. Is that supposed to mean something to me?
25
Xillon watched me expectantly.
“Uh,” I said. “Nice to meet you, Xillon.”
He looked deflated. “That’s it? You do know who I am, right?”
With some misgivings, I shook my head.
“I’m the first Keeper of status!” he cried. “I was a Ruler for decades! You must know my name!”
I shook my head.
Xillon muttered something under his breath, rubbing the wisps on his chin with the back of his hand. He looked surly.
“Um . . . why are you here?” I asked carefully. “And what is here?”
“The last original Keeper always waits for the next one,” he said sulkily. “I was met by the first Keeper of enhancement. He was met by the first Keeper of agri. She was met by the first Keeper of geo. He was met by the first Keeper of blood. But look, you really don’t know my name?” he burst out.
He seemed awfully hung up about that.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “So, what do I do to save magic and get out of here?”
Xillon glowered. “It’s not called magic. It’s called ‘the enhancement system.’ Magic is a stupid word that just means ‘declining system.’ They used to call agri that, too. Okay?”
Taken aback, I nodded.
“Besides,” Xillon said, flopping back into his hammock, which swung bizarrely from nothing, “you can’t save a dead system. It’s dead. Let it go. You’re here to build a new one.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” I said indignantly. “I promised to recreate magic, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Well, too bad,” Xillon said. “’Cause it’s not gonna work. Unless, of course, you’re absolutely obsessed with enhancement?”
Startled, I shook my head.
“Well, there you go,” Xillon said. “You can’t create a system you aren’t absolutely convinced is amazing. And you can’t create one you know nothing about.”
He sounded so sure of himself, I felt a flutter of desperation.
“But people need ma— the enhancement system,” I protested. “We can’t grow enough food without it!”
“People said the same thing about agri,” Xillon said, shrugging. “I still killed the system. People survived.”
I gaped at him. How could he be so casual about that?
“You could, of course, create a brand new system that’s all about growing stuff,” Xillon said. “That would work better than enhancement. You know anything about botany?”
Slowly, I shook my head. I wasn’t an incompetent gardener, but I’d never studied anything. Mother had always given me advice when I came across something tricky.
“Okay, what are your hobbies?” Xillon asked, putting his hands under his head and crossing his ankles. He leaned back comfortably in his hammock. “That might give you a good starting point.”
I swallowed. “I . . . I guess I’m competent at most things. I don’t have any hobbies I’m particularly interested in, though.”
Xillon squinted at me. “Really? How boring. I started designing my system almost as soon as I found out I was going to be the next Keeper. By the time I finished absorbing agri, I had all but the last few details worked out.” He sat up, looking highly self-satisfied. “I built an incorruptible, intrinsically fair, inherently stable currency. Isn’t status magnificent?”
Really? I thought. You’re praising yourself?
“It’s all right, I guess,” I said.
“What’s it like now?” Xillon asked eagerly, leaning forward. He looked like he was about to tumble out of his hammock, but he didn’t. “I haven’t seen anything of the world outside since I died and came here. Has it changed much since I made it?”
“Uh . . .” I said. How was I supposed to know what status had been like when he made it?
“Never mind,” he said, waving his hand and sitting back. “I know what it’s like now. I designed it with all of the long-term effects in mind. I’ll tell you what society is like now, and you tell me if I’m right. Okay?”
“Okay . . .” I said, thinking, What does this have to do with me designing a new system? Or saving magic, for that matter?
Xillon rubbed his hands together. “All right. First of all, is there social equality?”
“The Ruler is in charge of everybody,” I said.
Xillon waved his hand back and forth. “No, no, no. I mean everyone else. Do you still have classes?”
“We have landowners and vassals,” I said.
For a moment, he looked disappointed. Then he brightened. “But do landowners respect vassals as people?”
“Well, yeah,” I said. Duh?
“Can vassals become landowners?”
“Sure. Father did.”
Xillon clapped his hands
. “Excellent! Status did that!”
Are you really taking credit for things other people have done for generations? I thought dubiously.
Xillon leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. “That’s just what I was hoping for. I always thought that — hey, do you want someplace to sit down?”
I looked around. There was nothing here except the hammock. “On the floor?” I asked skeptically.
Xillon laughed. “No, no. On a chair.”
He flicked his hand, making a funny little twirl with his finger, and a large, cozy room faded in around us.
The hammock was now attached on either end to tall bookcases, and a table filled with writing materials sat beside me. Off to the side was a tall vase full of dried brushgrass that gave off a fresh, earthy scent. Next to me was a large, squishy chair.
To the right was was a smokeless fire crackling in the hearth, and a stack of books was piled up in a corner. Conspicuously lacking were a window or door, but otherwise, the place reminded me of Grandfather and Grandmother’s room. I immediately felt much more at ease.
“This is my default space,“ Xillon said. “You can change stuff if you like, though. I don’t mind.”
“Change . . . stuff . . .?” I repeated, waving my hand foolishly.
“Sure,” Xillon said. “Nothing here’s substantial. The place can take whatever form you want it to be. Sight, sound, touch, smell, taste . . .”
“Taste!” I said. “Is that how you get food to eat?”
Xillon started laughing. “You really don’t know anything about this, do you? I told everybody who would listen. I can’t believe nobody recorded it. Look, we don’t need to eat. Or breathe. Or bathe. Or anything else like that. You can if you really want to, but there’s no necessity. We’re not exactly here corporeally.”
“What?” I asked, dumbfounded. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m dead,” Xillon said cheerfully. “You’re alive, but your body’s in some sort of stasis someplace. It’ll keep on aging, but that’s pretty much it. Really convenient when you’re trying to concentrate on building stuff, believe me.”
I sat down heavily in the squishy chair. “So when I die, I’ll . . .?”