by Alex C Vick
"Do you have any questions?" said Petro. "I'm afraid time is becoming rather pressing. Madame Bavois is needed in session this afternoon."
"I have a couple of questions," I said.
Petro sighed. "Go on."
"How much is this going to cost?"
"Nothing," said Petro. "The Board of Mages is pleased to offer you the hospitality of Vayl City."
"In exchange for what?" There was a pause. Art glanced at his mother as if he were also interested to know the answer. "I'm not stupid," I went on. "I might not know how mage-sickness works but I only made it into your city because I had enough lumien. And I watched the market today. Everything has a price."
"I really don't think—"
"It's all right, Petro," said Adelle. "It's a fair question." She looked at me. "You're young. Articulate. Confident. Apparently capable of earning A-grade lumien to support yourself. You will be an asset to Vayl when you reach your majority. Is it so hard to believe that we would like you to stay?"
Her expression was sincere. She'd maintained eye contact apart from the moment right before she said, "A-grade lumien."
This is about my magic. Except she didn't know the magic inside that bottle belonged to me, and I wasn't in a hurry to tell her.
"Fair enough," I said.
"Well. Very good," said Petro. "What was your second question?"
"It's… um… it's about Ammartus."
I didn't want to make Art feel uncomfortable, but I thought it would damage my credibility as an ordinary, albeit outspoken, cotidian if I didn't raise the obvious problem. Adelle and Petro weren't aware Art had already told me he wasn't a magician.
"What do you want to know?" said Art.
"Well… you're a magician, aren't you? Is it OK for me to be around you? Is it safe? I mean… well… it's not that I don't want to be around you. It's just…"
I trailed off as he looked at me. That shy smile was really distracting.
"When Art comes of age he will be a cotidian. Like you," said Adelle. "In the meantime, the magical energy he is producing is harmless without a spark to direct it. And there will be no spark. Not for him."
I made an effort to keep my expression neutral, tucking my hair slowly behind my ears. Adelle's words made no sense. No sense at all. Suddenly, the doors opened and a small group of people appeared, talking amongst themselves. Their voices came to an abrupt halt when they saw the four of us standing there.
"Petro," said a woman. "What's going on? Oh, excuse me, Madame Bavois. I didn't see you there."
"Hello, Cavilla," said Adelle. "Can you give us a few moments please?"
The woman shepherded the others back through the doors. Petro turned to me. "Serena? What do you want to do?"
Before I could tell them I wanted to stay, Art took a few steps forward until he was close enough to whisper to me.
"It's your choice, but I'd really like it if you said yes. I promise to answer all of your questions."
His breath was warm against my ear. My stomach flipped over.
"OK," I whispered back.
Art stepped away and looked at his mother. "I'll take Serena up."
Adelle studied us for a few seconds before nodding. I wished I knew what she was thinking. "Yes, Art. Thank you. Petro, let's prepare the room for today's applicants, shall we?"
"Of course," he replied. "Serena, for what it's worth, I think you've made the right choice. This could be an amazing opportunity for you."
"I hope so," I said.
I followed Art through the doors into the hallway where Petro and I had first arrived, past curious stares from the group who'd interrupted us. There were many doorways leading off the central space, but Art ignored them, walking further into the tower. We arrived at a row of arches that apparently separated the public area from the magicians-only part.
There were hardly any people in this section, and the spaces between the wall lights were bigger. When we walked through one of the archways, it was like stepping through a portal. The space on the other side was dimly lit and quiet. Art's eyes when he turned to me were so dark they looked almost black.
"We're going to the tenth floor, and I'm afraid we have to use the stairs," he said. "There's too much magic in the mage-tunnel."
"The what?"
He indicated a series of compartments behind him, apparently designed to travel up and down the tower along a pathway of magical energy. Fascinated, I moved to take a closer look but he caught my wrist in his hand and pulled me to a stop.
"Sorry," he said, immediately removing his hand. "It's too dangerous to go any closer. See the segregation line?"
I looked down. I could still feel his fingers on my skin. "The segregation line," I repeated. Art pointed at the floor. Sure enough, there was a line of magical energy, purple and glowing softly in the dim light.
"There's a line wherever the concentration of magic is too great for someone underage," he said.
"But you could cross it, right?" I said. "It's only cotidians who get mage-sickness." As I spoke, I realised I didn't know for sure. I'd just assumed.
"No," he said.
"Magicians get it too?" I asked, surprised.
"No. I mean I can't cross it."
"Why on And—" Biting off the phrase "Why on Androva not?" I tried again. "Why… er… why not?" I didn't know if "Why on Xytovia not?" was even a thing, and Art was looking at me strangely enough already.
"My match is dead," he said.
I blinked at the apparent change of subject. "Er… yes. I remember. I'm really sorry about that," I said.
"The laws of magic," he added.
"Um," I said, starting to feel more and more like our conversation was getting away from me. "I don't exactly know how the laws of magic work in Vayl," I said.
"In Xytovia," he said. "They are all the same since the war."
"Oh," I said. "They are? I mean, yes. I suppose they are."
"Serena," he said, "didn't you go to school? Didn't you learn the Five Tenets? Cotidians study the same history."
I am so out of my depth. I avoided his gaze.
Art exhaled. The sound was sharp with frustration. I felt his magic as he waited for me to answer. The cool tingle against my skin was faint, but definitely there. Responding to his emotions even though he had no spark. It would have been so easy to allow my own magic to expand and connect with his. I couldn't understand why he was going to give up his chance to be a magician.
"We need to talk," he said. "Properly. Shall I take your bag? Can you manage the stairs?"
"Why wouldn't I…?"
I trailed off as he looked at my feet. "You were limping yesterday."
"You're observant," I said.
"Yes." His tone was light, but the implication was obvious. It wasn't only my ankle he'd noticed. He was right. We did need to talk. It's time to be a little more honest.
7.1 Adelle, The Night Before
Adelle Bavois. Journal Entry 14,576. Year 6015. Day 97.
Today's events remained within expected parameters until mid-afternoon when a cotidian presented herself at the city's doors. She was in possession of some A-grade lumien unlike any I have seen before. The glow from the bottle's Judix symbol was noticeably brighter than usual. However, later analysis proved the magic inside was raw. Unfiltered. Impossible.
The girl is no fool although she pretends to know little of Vayl and our customs. She was unaffected by her close proximity to the doors. She wears no amulet. No protection. Her eyes are blue. She is, therefore, a cotidian. But she knows the owner of the lumien. Thinking she was of age, I used magic to coerce her into telling me.
She has applied for sponsorship and I will see that she receives it.
8 Telling The Truth
"I think I'll be fine," I said to Art. "Lead the way."
There was a staircase at either side of the mage-tunnel pods. He went to the one on the left, telling me it was usually less busy. "This side of the tower has fewer children."
Ten flights was tou
gher than I expected, and by the time we stopped climbing my ankle ached quite badly. I hadn't dared to use Solo Transference just in case my force field was a danger to Art.
"You're not fine," he said, catching me on a wince when he turned to check how I was doing.
"It's OK," I said. I attempted a grin even though I had tears in my eyes from the pain.
"We're nearly there," he said. "See that door at the end of this corridor? Can I…?" He offered me his hand.
"Yes," I said gratefully, taking hold of his lower arm. When I took another step my boot scuffed the floor and I stumbled, falling forward and leaning into him. All of his muscles from waist to shoulder immediately tensed up.
"Oh," he said, his voice quiet.
"I'm so sorry," I said hastily. "I didn't mean to—"
I tried to move away but put my weight on my left foot by mistake. Gasping with pain, I had no choice but to stay where I was. "I'm sorry," I repeated.
"It's all right," he said. "I just… I was never this close to a… to anyone before."
Distracted from my embarrassment, I gave him a disbelieving look. "Anyone? Are you kidding?"
He shook his head, staring over my shoulder at the opposite wall. "I don't mean to overreact. I know cotidians don't limit their physical contact the way magicians do. They hug their children all the time."
What is he talking about?
"Are you telling me you've never even hugged your parents? Like, ever?"
I leaned back from him, balancing carefully on my right foot.
"No," he said. "They are magicians. The First Tenet forbids it until I come of age. But I held their hands when I was younger. And my match's hands. Once."
"I can hardly believe it," I said. "That's the saddest thing I've ever heard."
He shrank away, scowling. "I don't want your pity. I had enough of that from my family when my match died."
One of my hands was still holding his lower arm. I removed it, placing it against the cold stone wall. "I don't pity you," I said. "I admire you."
"What?" he said, still angry.
"I admire you," I repeated. "Growing up is hard enough without that kind of isolation."
His expression wavered. "I don't… I don't know what you mean. What's so great about a hug?"
I smiled. "A hug is awesome. It makes the bad stuff more bearable, and it makes the good times even better."
Art looked unconvinced.
"I'll ask you once you've had one," I said. "Do you mind helping me again? I need to sit down, and the sooner we get there…"
"Oh, of course," he said, extending his hand. This time I watched my step, and we made it all the way to the door without a problem.
Art produced a small gold key from his back pocket and turned it in the lock. The door swung open immediately, revealing a bright and spacious living area with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the mountain. We were on the other side of the tower, facing away from the square.
"Beautiful view," I said, hopping to one of the dark blue armchairs by the window. I sank into it with a sigh of relief. It was really comfortable.
"I've always liked it," he agreed.
"Do you live near this part of the tower then?" I asked. I started to unlace my left boot, wanting to take a closer look at my ankle under its bandage. My hair fell in front of my face. It never stayed behind my ears for long.
"I… well… I live here. This is my apartment."
I stopped and lifted my head. "What? We're sharing?"
"There are two bedrooms," he said hastily. "The other was supposed to be for Maxia. My match. We would have lived together in the three months prior to the bonding ceremony."
"I'm sorry," I said. "You must hate me staying here in her place."
"No," he said quickly, walking forward. He knelt in front of me and gently unlaced my boot the rest of the way, being careful not to touch my ankle. He looked up at me through his eyelashes. "I wish she hadn't died. Of course. But if you knew the tenets, you'd know it wasn't a love match. I…" He paused and bit his lip. "I'm glad you're here."
I realised I was looking at his mouth and hastily lifted my eyes. "Me too," I said.
He smiled, standing up. "Can I get you something for your foot? Like an ice pack maybe?"
I opened my mouth to say I could easily project an Ice Spell before remembering just in time. "An ice pack would be great. And maybe some water to drink?"
"We have a kitchen, a bathroom, and a library," he called over his shoulder. The kitchen was easy to see, separated as it was from the living area by a polished stone countertop. "Although the books are mostly irrelevant since neither of us is going to be a magician."
"Yeah, about that," I said. "Have you got a book on the Five Tenets?"
Art paused from where he was opening a cabinet door. "Yes. There are quite a few books about the pact between magicians. But I can list the tenets for you now if you want."
He placed a bowl from the cabinet on the countertop before looking left and right.
"I need something to wrap the ice in," he said. Without warning, he tore a strip of blue fabric from the hem of his hooded top, revealing the lighter blue shirt underneath.
"Hey, don't rip your clothes off on my account," I said. My eyes widened. "No. Up. I mean don't rip your clothes up."
Art hesitated, one hand on his top and the other on the counter. He pressed his lips together. Help. Is he offended? A few seconds later he giggled.
"Sorry," he said, covering his mouth. "It's just…"
"I know," I said, sighing. "I promise I'm not making an idiot out of myself deliberately."
"Don't worry about the top," he added. "It's old. It was going to be recycled."
Once the fabric was spread out on the counter, he covered it with ice cubes from the bowl. All the while he recited the tenets to me in a monotone that indicated he'd used the same words a hundred times before.
"First Tenet: Exposure to direct magical energy prior to the age of seventeen years is forbidden. Exposure to indirect magical energy is restricted.
"Second Tenet: Amulets are to be worn by magicians at all times. Vayl is to provide the necessary supply of crystal.
"Third Tenet: All underage magicians will be matched"—at this his jaw tightened—"according to potential compatibility."
"Fourth Ten—"
"Wait," I said, interrupting him. "You said it wasn't a love match. But you just said you had to be compatible. How does that work?"
Art rearranged a couple of ice cubes, avoiding my gaze.
"If it's too personal, don't tell me," I said.
"No. I mean, it is personal, but I want to tell you." He tied a knot in the fabric, trapping the ice inside, and brought it over to me.
I held it to my ankle. The coldness was bliss. "Thank you. This is perfect."
He went back to the kitchen and returned with a drink for each of us, placing them on a low table between the two armchairs.
"How did you injure yourself?" he asked, taking a seat in the opposite chair.
I grinned. "I'm afraid it wasn't from anything exciting. I fell out of bed. On top of regularly saying the wrong thing, I can also be kind of clumsy. As you found out in the corridor when I fell on top of you."
Art blushed. His magic expanded again. I could sense it from several feet away. He wasn't a real magician without a spark, but he had the raw materials in abundance.
"Your eyes," I said. There was fine ring of silver surrounding the purple.
"Not again," he said, standing up and walking to the window. He folded his arms.
"Not again what?" I asked.
"It's my stupid emotions," he said. "I should have been bonded by now."
"Tell me how it works," I said.
He turned around. With the window behind him, his face was in shadow, and the silver in his eyes was all the more noticeable for it. Determined not to stare, I picked up my water and took a long sip.
"You know about the war and how magicians were respon
sible for most of the killing," he said. "You have to, unless you've been living in a different world your whole life."
What did he say? I coughed as a mouthful of water went down the wrong way. Dragging in a lungful of air, I coughed again.
"Serena, are you all right?"
I held up a hand to reassure him. "Yes, I'm fine. Carry on."
I did know there'd been a war. Galen had said as much. It sounded like magic had been at the heart of it.
Art unfolded his arms and put his hands in his pockets, leaning his shoulders against the glass. "The pact between the surviving magical families took many months to agree upon. The outer territories refused to sign it. We knew they wouldn't adhere to the terms, but there weren't enough of them to start another war."
"Which terms in particular?" I asked.
"Segregation from cotidians mainly," he said, "and compatibility thresholds for matching."
"Segregation?" I said, surprised. "But you all live in the same city. Not to mention the sponsorship thing."
"I'm talking about no intermarriage. And… er… other physical stuff," he said, lowering his gaze.
"Oh. That." I lifted my glass to hide my embarrassment and misjudged the distance to my mouth, tipping some water over my chin. Fortunately Art didn't see. I wondered if I should point out I'd never done any of that.
Art cleared his throat. "So… matching is a careful process. Per the Fourth Tenet, there are eight criteria."
"Only eight? That's not many," I said, surprised.
"Maybe not," said Art. "But it can still take years to identify a suitable partner. Depending on your scores, of course."
His eyes darkened. Abruptly, he crossed the room and rearranged a pile of papers on the kitchen counter, stacking and restacking them with unnecessary force. I wondered why he was upset and searched my mind for a safe question.
"How many magical families are there?" I asked.
Art put down the papers, smoothing a folded corner with his thumb.
"A little over two hundred in the three principal territories: Vayl, Helex, and Midian. The number is reducing though. Not everyone can be matched, and the birth rate isn't quite high enough."
"OK," I said slowly. "So what's the aim of the pact if it's effectively a path to extinction?"