by Joshua Roots
The Mage sneered. “You’re just a secretary with watered-down Skill. What gives you the authority to boss us around?”
The Witch offered a plastic, practiced smile. “My employer, Elder Devon. If you wish to take it up with him or any of the other Elders, they have a meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning. I can add your issue to the discussion items if you like.”
The Councilmember fumed, but shut up.
I wanted to punch the Mage for being so prejudiced. The weaker Skilled folks didn’t deserve to be looked down upon just because they were born a certain way. More important, the powerful didn’t need to flaunt their Skill.
But being a tool wasn’t the Mage’s only fault. She’d also chosen the exact wrong time to behave like an ass.
If this meeting truly was designed to be the opening dialogue with the various faiths, then the last thing anyone needed was someone on our side of the coin proving just how closed-minded idiots still held positions of power.
Maybe we weren’t ready for this meeting after all.
I caught Dad’s gaze.
“We’re considered Authorized Personnel, aren’t we?” I asked.
Dad grinned widely. “Yes.”
“Crap,” I muttered, and reluctantly followed my old man through the crowd, ignoring the rumblings of jealousy from the rest of the Councilmembers. The doors closed behind us with a boom. I felt the surge of power as a defensive spell activated.
I swallowed. The meeting room was the same one from the attack on Ambassador Jones. I could still see the image of her dead aide in my mind, the pool of blood gathering around his lifeless corpse. The far side was the antechamber where I’d beaten a Mimic to death. And enjoyed it.
Dad touched my shoulder, his face filled with concern, but I shook my head.
“I’m okay,” I whispered.
“You’re pale.”
“It’s just a little stuffy in here.”
Dad clenched his jaw, but released me.
The religious group spread out around the long table while the handpicked Councilmembers, which included Jethrow, sat in the chairs against the wall. The five Elders sat opposite the religious leaders. In addition to Devon and Bristol, there was Rancin, Queen and Marquette.
Ironically, the one who appeared the least concerned or annoyed was Devon.
Once the leaders were settled, Devon addressed the room. “Thank you all for coming. I think it goes without saying that no matter what, this meeting is already a major success. For the first time in almost a thousand years, organized religion and the Skilled are literally sitting at the same table.”
“Historic, indeed,” Rancin replied. She smiled, but only with her lips. Her gray eyes displayed nothing but ice.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” a tall, regal man in all black said. “We are truly honored to finally begin the road to formal peace.”
“I thought we were already at peace,” the Councilmember next to me mumbled sarcastically. He was younger than most, closer to my age than Dad’s, and wore the robes of a Wizard. I didn’t recognize him, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. The Council had grown so huge over the years that it was almost impossible to keep tabs on all the newbies.
Dad gave the Wizard a withering glare. The young man looked away quickly.
“Before we begin,” Devon said, “I’d like to apologize on behalf of Ambassador Jones. She wanted to be here, but is still dealing with the aftermath of the attack at her home last night. But she did send a message wishing us the best of luck with this endeavor.”
Ah, no wonder she wasn’t there.
“Father Pierce,” Devon continued. “As the leader of our guests, would you mind beginning the introductions of your people?”
“Of course not.” He faced the room. “I am Father Pierce. I represent the Catholic Church and am currently serving as the chairman of the board of directors for the Mosaic Group.”
“Rabbi Shorewater, Treasurer.”
“Shaykh Abbas, Member at Large.”
And so on. The introductions lasted a good ten minutes and was a top contender for the Most Boring Usage of Time award.
My mind drifted to Quinn. Where was she? What was she up to? Was she still mad that I’d exposed her to the media?
Man, I missed her.
I needed to do some varsity-level groveling, starting with a fancy dinner. And flowers. She loved daylilies. Maybe I should pick some up on the way home...
Someone nudged me, rousing me from my thoughts. I blinked several times before realizing that all eyes were on me.
“What?” I asked.
“Your turn,” Dad said.
“Oh.” I offered the crowd my Andrew-Approved Smile. “Hi, my name is Marcus Shifter. I’m an Aries and love Huey Lewis and the News. My favorite color is tangelo because it’s fun to say.”
Several Councilmembers and a few of the religious representatives snickered. The Elders simply scowled. Dad closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
Father Pierce seemed to perk up. “You’re the one who set this up?”
“No, that’d be my old man,” I replied, chucking a thumb at my father. “I just gave him Pastor Rado’s card. Speaking of which,” I added, glancing around the room, “where is he?”
“This meeting is only for the higher echelon, Warlock,” Rancin said.
“Did I get promoted?”
More snickers, but the Elders apparently didn’t think it was funny.
Devon gave me a predatory gaze. “You are here because you were invited. And while we appreciate his efforts in this matter, Pastor Rado was not. We can debate the merits of each person here, but that will just be a waste of time.” He turned to Father Pierce. “Speaking of which, I think we should move this meeting along, don’t you?”
The priest nodded. “Agreed. Apologies to the Councilmembers who did not yet have a chance to introduce themselves. If you able to remain behind after this meeting, my colleagues and I would love to talk with you. Now then, I believe we’re all wondering why Mosaic Group has been pushing for this meeting.”
Murmurs floated across the room.
“First, I’d like to give you a little background to our organization,” Pierce said. “In a nutshell, the Mosaic Group represents some, but not all, of the major religions of the world. We’ve been in existence for only a few years with a mission to help further the education and encouragement of religion around the globe. Currently we’re based out of the National Cathedral, but we make it a point to conduct meetings at the various temples, synagogues, churches, et cetera, to ensure we honor each religion that is part of our group.”
Councilmembers shifted with boredom. It was one of the few times I agreed with them.
Apparently Pierce was experienced at reading a crowd, because he quickly shifted gears. “As for the purpose of this meeting, the Mosaic Group believes the time has come to formally apologize for our collective actions over the past millennia. We are no strangers to your plight, having suffered countless persecution over the years because of our individual faiths.”
The Wizard next to me laughed, covering it immediately with a cough.
“We realize this is not a quick fix,” Pierce continued, ignoring the rather obvious skepticism in the room. “And we are not expecting that forgiveness will be granted overnight. All we want is the chance to publically and formally offer our apologies and to open the doors of our religions to those who wish to enter.”
“That’s it?” Rancin asked.
“Yes.”
The room was silent. Bristol was the one to raise the question lingering on every Skilled mind.
“Why now?”
“Because now is the best time,” Father Pierce, said, tapping his index finger hard on the table. “We believe we can help those suffering in the wake of the attack here the other night. We want to help if you’ll let us.”
“We have counselors,” a Councilmember interjected.
“And you should en
courage your people to talk with them,” Pierce said. “Our faiths, however, can offer a different kind of healing.”
Several of the Skilled muttered under their breath.
Devon jumped in before the murmurs grew too loud. “It is a generous offer, but personally, I know for a fact that your group has grown more desperate to contact us of late. I have a hard time believing that benevolence is the sole reason.”
“Not the only reason,” Pierce said, “though certainly an important one to us. But yes, there is another. To be blunt, we can’t survive otherwise. It is no secret that religion has slowly been slipping out of the lives of the average person. People turn to technology or money as their new gods. Churches, temples, synagogues all struggle to fill their walls and their tithing plates. Many have had to close their doors. Oftentimes those are in poorer neighborhoods where people need both our spiritual and physical help the most.”
“And formally apologizing for a thousand years of murder will solve this problem?” Rancin asked.
Pierce shook his head. “No, but it will prove that we are not the heartless, inflexible monsters that many make us out to be. Every year we lose more and more patrons, many of whom look to other forms of worship. In the last twenty years, magic has shot to the top of the list.”
“We are not a religion,” Elder Queen replied with an edge to his voice.
The Father held up a hand. “I apologize if it sounds like we’re accusing you of being one. The reality is that people these days place their faith in technology and magic more than they do in actual religions. Requesting, and more importantly, receiving your collective forgiveness for our past indiscretions will go a long way to moving us back to the forefront of humanity’s minds. It may even help to heal the lingering prejudices on both sides.”
I cleared my throat. “There are a lot of your ‘people’ outside my house who seem to believe otherwise.”
The entire room turned to me.
“I mean, it’s not like they’re burning us at the stake,” I added. “But protesters screaming about how evil we are isn’t something that can be cured by simply saying we’re all friends again.”
“There are extremists on every side of every coin,” a regal gentleman from the Mosaic Group said.
“Shaykh Hussein is correct,” Father Pierce added. “Listen, we’re not asking for perfection here, just the chance to regain some of the influence we lost along the way. And, perhaps, regain some of the faith we lost in both the public eye and among our Skilled brothers and sisters.”
The room fell silent once more. Then Devon rose. “The Council will need to discuss your request in greater detail.”
“Of course,” Pierce said. “I just wanted to get the offer on the table.”
Devon nodded. “We understand. In the interim, if you all would care to join us this Saturday, we’re hosting our annual Reformation Ball with our Normal counterparts to celebrate the twentieth anniversary of the peace accord. It would, at the least, be a show that we are also not as rigid and unforgiving as people think.”
Most everyone in the room laughed, including Rancin. I stared at her, completely unable to process the sight. This same woman had never cracked a smile in all the months that I’d been at HQ. It was uncomfortable and awkward.
“I’ll leave it to the individual members on whether or not they can attend,” Pierce said.
Devon addressed the room. “Well, I think this was a very productive first meeting. I’ll open the floor up for questions.”
That was my cue to leave. The last thing I wanted was to listen to a bunch of Councilmembers embarrass the Skilled with their ignorant or blatantly offensive questions. I caught Dad’s eye and he titled his head toward the exit. Together, we slipped silently through the small group and out the doors.
“Well that was fun,” I said once we were in the hall.
“Indeed,” Dad said, in a neutral voice.
I glanced around. “Where are the strap-hangers?”
“Probably went home once they realized they were not as important as they thought they were.”
I chuckled. “Poor saps.”
Dad fixed me with a knowing gaze. “You’ll have to learn to deal with these ‘saps’ someday, Marcus.”
“Not if I have any control over my life.”
Dad patted me on the shoulder. “You’d be surprised how quickly you can rise through the ranks when you know how to handle those above and below you.”
I was having a hard enough time learning to be the bottom rung of the Council ladder. The last thing I wanted to think about was leading people someday.
As we passed Devon’s office, I noticed the Admin Witch. The smile was gone and her shoulders were slumped. “Hey, I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, okay?”
Dad nodded and continued down the hall.
“Everything okay?” I asked, entering the office. The Admin Witch sat up, quickly covering the emotion on her face with a mask of professionalism.
“Absolutely fine.”
I leaned against the desk. “You’re as good a liar as I am.”
She smirked.
“This about that Mage’s comments?”
The Admin Witch grew serious. “Yes,” she admitted.
My heart went out to her. “Yeah, kinda’ figured. I’m Marcus, by the way.”
She accepted my outstretched hand. “Robin.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
I took a breath, trying to pick the right words to make her feel better. “Listen, I know how you feel. People take shots at my Skill all the time and it sucks. But you can’t let it get you down.”
“No offense,” Robin said, “but I know your family. Weak Skill is not an issue for you all.”
She was right. But she was also wrong. “Yes, my family is powerful, but believe me when I say I’ve been in your shoes. I walked away from our world for a few years and suffered complete magical atrophy. Couldn’t do a basic spell, not even the ones they teach us in our Intro classes.”
“Whatever barrier you put up against me the other day was pretty powerful.”
The spell had been a throw-away and not nearly as strong as it should have been. Not that I could admit that to her. “Well, yeah, but I’ve also been busting my hump to get back in shape. Hasn’t been an easy road.”
“What’s your ranking?” she asked.
“Exalted, but only within my gaming guild.” I was hoping humor would help dissuade this line of questioning.
She didn’t laugh.
“You know what I mean. The Shifters are one of the most powerful families, so I’m betting you’re somewhere in the top five percent of our generation.”
“Somewhere around there.” I was considered in the top one percent of my generation during my early days of training. It was anyone’s guess where I fell among my peers now.
“I’m more in the middle,” the Witch said. “Barely passed my basics, then was deemed too ineffective to train in anything except Wizarding. So while you have a world of options before you, mine are limited to the handful of positions that don’t require a lot of Skill. All thanks to my grandmother marrying a Normal.”
“Before the peace accord?” I asked, completely surprised. “That’s rare.”
“It’s a sweet story, but doesn’t change the fact that our family bloodline is watered down. My mother wound up with mediocre Skill which I inherited despite her marrying my father who was in the top ten percent of his class.”
There was no official name, but a lot of people called it the Generation Curse. Whatever gene, molecule, or DNA sequence that powered our Skill was recessive which meant the child of two Skilled parents would almost always inherit an equivalent level of power. The child of a Skilled and Normal, however, had a one-in-ten thousand chance of it.
Back before the Delwinn Council, families inter-married to ensure powerful bloodlines. It was easier back then, but as the world shrunk, more and more of my people cross-pollinated. The R
eformation increased the issue exponentially, making people like Robin more common.
And yet, for all our bravado about equality across the board for both Skilled and Normals, we were just as guilty of prejudice. More so against our own than anyone else. Some folks eked out a decent living doing what they could for the Council, but many of our weaker practitioners fell by the wayside, drifting to the Underground where crime or drink were the most common occupations.
“I’m sorry,” was all I could muster.
Her face softened. “I’m sorry as well. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s just, people like that Mage make you wonder how we’ll ever achieve peace with the Normals when we seem to be unable to get over our own issues.”
“You don’t have to have a lot of Skill to know that lady is just a bitch.”
For the first time since I’d met her, Robin offered me a real grin. It was small and sad, but there nonetheless.
“There we go.”
“I should get back to work,” Robin said, the smile fading.
“Hey, I’m just trying to help.”
“I know. It’s just...you can’t change what you can’t change. But thank you for the chat. And for trying to make me feel better.”
I departed, glad to have at least attempted to do my good deed for the day. But I couldn’t help feeling bad for Robin. She was a victim of prejudice from her own people. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t at fault, a lot of the Skilled still looked down on her because her powers were so limited. Having made the slow, painful climb to overcome my own atrophy, I could sympathize. Difference was, someday I’d be at full strength once again. Robin would forever be stuck in a pigeon-hole. It was unfair, but she didn’t need to wallow in self-pity because of it.
I stopped in my tracks. The hypocrisy was raw and bitter in my mouth. I, too, was so focused on my own issues that I was slowly blocking out the people I cared about, even when they reached out to me.
I’d also been ignoring the ones that I’d let down.
Steve was right. I was acting like a child.
Well enough of that, I thought, jogging to my car.
It was time to behave like an adult.
Chapter Sixteen