by Alex C Vick
"Three times now."
"Right," he said again.
"Are you OK?" I asked.
"Fine. I just…" He looked up at the sky. "All those years I spent in that tower. Scared of my future. I won't go back to that. I can't."
"That's a relief. I thought you were freaking out," I said.
"Maybe I am. But in a good way."
"How long before they search the tunnel?" I asked. "I left out the stability symbol, but the portal will stay open for a while even without it."
"I don't know. They'll have to wait until the Stasis Spell is completely gone. Maybe half an hour?"
"It will be a close-run thing," I said.
He walked to the other side of the portal, tilting his head. "You can't close it from this side?"
"No. I need access to the symbols. Portals aren't designed to be used as escape routes." I thought for a moment. "I suppose I could open another portal from here and go back."
"No," said Art. "Too risky. Remember that surge of energy we heard in the light fixture?"
"I remember. I suppose that was the Stasis Spell. Is it really so powerful?"
"Yes. It's made from A-grade compressed with a Gallium Dagger. Originally it was used only for healing, but later the Board approved it for law enforcement too."
At least the presence of the spell in the tunnel meant no one would find the portal immediately. We took the chance to drink a few mouthfuls of icy water from the stream before I projected Portal Remedies and Cleaning Spells for both of us.
"What now?" said Art.
"I don't know. The main thing is to make sure no one gets through."
"Well. They're not going to run at it," said Art. "We have the advantage of surprise."
I looked at the portal, wondering if we should have taken our chances with the two wardens. A dozen people could step through in a matter of seconds once they knew what it was. "Maybe, but I think we're at a disadvantage in terms of everything else."
"Then we'll make sure to win quickly," said Art.
I turned in surprise. His purple eyes met mine, glinting with magical energy and determination.
"I might not have your skill, but I am a magician," he said. "We're not helpless." He took my hands. The glow of his force field was intense. "I want to use my magic. I've been holding back all day."
You certainly have.
"OK," I said. "We need to keep them on the other side of the portal until it closes." I looked back at the stream and its small waterfall. "There are enough rocks and stones over there to wall it up. With a Bonding Spell it should hold."
"Or we could encourage them to hesitate," said Art.
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe we should prepare something unpleasant," he said. "An illusion. Like a face full of snakes. Or fire. Or something. To slow them down."
I grinned. "I like it."
"But if we have to," he added, "we'll fight them back. Agreed?"
"Yes. Combat Spells against anyone with an amulet. Fists and boots for everyone else."
Art gave me an admiring look, and I ducked my head.
"I'll do my best on the fighting," he said. "All the spells I know are defensive ones. It's a shame there's no time for you to teach me the hand-to-hand stuff."
Combining our ideas, we covered the portal with a wall of brown stones before practicing some illusions. Art quickly got the hang of the Movement and Bonding Spells I used to fetch the stones and create the wall. It made me wonder about his magic. I couldn't see any sign it was damaged in the way he'd described.
I watched his face as he concentrated on projecting a surge of imitation fire. No matter how hard he tried, there were always one or two purple flames amongst the red and orange. His teeth bit into his bottom lip, and I looked away in case he caught me staring.
Checking the wall, I wondered how much time had passed. The stones were lighter in colour, no longer wet from the stream. I leaned closer. We'd left a small gap at shoulder height and I couldn't see the tell-tale shimmer of the portal any longer.
"Art," I said.
"What? What is it?"
"I think the portal's closed. Can you come and make sure?"
He was at my shoulder before I'd finished speaking.
"It's gone," he confirmed.
I was so relieved I turned around and gave him a hug, completely forgetting why I shouldn't. He tensed, not lifting his arms to reciprocate, and I immediately started apologising and moving away. Before I'd finished my second, "I'm sorry," he was hugging me back, carefully at first, then with increased confidence, one hand around my waist and the other across my shoulders.
We leaned into each other. His breath was soft against my temple, and I closed my eyes. His hold on my waist tightened. Our force fields connected, and the sensation took my breath away. It was easily the best hug I'd ever had.
I lifted my head. Art stared back at me, and for a few seconds I couldn't read his expression. Then he smiled, and his whole face lit up.
"I wanted my first hug to be with you. That's what I was going to say. In the clinic. And now you can ask me," he added.
"What?"
"You said you'd ask me what I thought about hugs when I'd had my first one."
I remembered. It seemed like a long time ago.
"And? What did you think?" I said.
"I think you undersold it." He relaxed his arms and took a step backward. "Actually, I think I'd better stop before I get addicted to hugging you."
I let go of him.
I might already be addicted.
"I didn't undersell it," I said softly. "That hug was out of the ordinary."
"For you too?" he asked.
I nodded. There was a beat of silence, then we both started talking at the same time.
"What do you—"
"Should we—"
I waited, and Art tried again. "What do you want to do now?"
My stomach chose that moment to draw attention to its emptiness with a very unsubtle growling noise. Half a cake was the only thing I'd eaten all day.
Art bit his cheek, trying not to laugh.
"Something funny?" I said.
"No," he said. His eyes glinted with mischief. "I just think maybe we should look for shelter. I heard some thunder."
"You'll need shelter all right," I said, "but not from the weather."
I raised my hands and projected my force field.
"Uh-oh," he said, grinning. "Looks like the storm is closer than I realised. I apologise. Look, I'm hungry too. But what can we do about it? We're in the middle of nowhere."
I lowered my hands. "That's a good thing. Trust me. We don't want to have to deal with the Roman Army on top of everything else."
"There's an army? This world is at war?"
"Not exactly," I said. "But Roma is one of the largest territories, and it grew by right of conquest. Its armies are everywhere."
Art checked behind him as if a Roman legion might appear at any moment from the dense woodland on the other side of the valley.
"Come on, City Boy," I said. "We're magicians, remember? We always have options. Let's project some spells."
Art continued to be a fast learner. In less than an hour we were eating an eclectic but delicious meal of roasted fish, bread—I'd been showing off—and three different kinds of fruit. Art transformed his outer shirt into a blanket for us to sit on, and I shaped the earth and grass into a small incline we could lean against. Flat stones were stretched into plates. Round stones were hollowed out into cups. We ate with our fingers.
By mutual agreement, we avoided talking about Xytovia. In between bites I told Art where I came from, explaining the origin of the recent treaty between Androva and Terra and why I'd felt the need to search for a new home.
He asked a lot of questions, fascinated by my descriptions of living magic, the creativity of Androvan spells, and the resilience of the Terran people.
Art was particularly interested in the Sygnus symbol. I said it had originall
y been introduced to unite Androva's disconnected ruling families under one council. The promise to maintain the fifty ancient bloodlines had been upheld, with no one Sygnus allowed to become dominant even thousands of years later.
I drew a copy of mine in the air with magical energy-three overlapping circles and what I'd always thought to be just the right amount of embellishment. It was very different to the seven-pointed star Galen had adopted from our father's side of the family.
"The centre spins whenever I'm projecting an Advanced Spell," I said. "It strengthens my force field and helps me to focus. It can be locked too, by the Androvan Council. You know, as a punishment."
"And there's never been a war since these Sygnus rules?" asked Art.
"No," I said. "Angelus was a unique situation. He had no army and no need of one."
Art traced the outline of my Sygnus symbol, which was still shimmering in the air between us.
"I like Androva's methods better than my own world's," he said.
"Yes," I agreed. "Being bonded to a magical symbol is much less extreme than being bonded to another person. Anyway"—I placed a hand over my shoulder where my Sygnus was hidden—"it's cool. I like it. I miss it."
Art gave me a confused look. "The Sygnus is cold?"
"No." I laughed. "Cool like… you know… it's good. It has style. It's something worth having."
"Are you joking?" he said.
"Why would I be joking?"
"I don't know. Just… hot means attractive. And cool means good? Are you sure you're not kidding me?"
I grinned. "No. I'm really not. But I agree it sounds weird when you analyse it."
I talked a little longer about Androva, describing its system of education, the recognised magical professions, and the elected council of twenty. Art was quick to understand that, unlike on Xytovia, status wasn't inherited. It was earned.
The sun was sinking by the time I'd finished, orange and gold against the tops of the trees.
"Forgive me for asking," said Art, pushing his plate to one side, "but…" He stopped, his expression guarded. "Did your family…?"
"Killed," I said. "Along with everyone who lived anywhere near Landor, the capital. Galen and Claudia are the only ones I know from… from before."
"Serena," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."
I wanted to dismiss his sympathy and tell him it was fine. I couldn't. I would have been lying. But my sadness was mixed with something lighter. It had been good to share my memories.
Carefully, Art reached an arm around my shoulders, watching my expression to see if I was OK with it. I shuffled closer, resting my head against his collarbone. We watched the sunset for a little while, not speaking.
"I wish I could stay here forever," he said.
"You could," I said. "We both could."
Art shifted position so he could see my face. He smiled, but his eyes were sad.
"You don't believe that any more than I do," he said. "Neither of us could live with ourselves."
And what if you die? How will I live with myself then?
He carried on. "All those children who've had their magic destroyed, Serena. All the others who died from mage-sickness. We owe it to them to try and fix this."
I thought of Marty. Of course Art was right. No matter the risk, we couldn't walk away.
"Just promise me one thing," I said. "Whatever we do, we stay together."
"I promise," said Art.
21.1 Gentus, That Evening
Gentus Bavois. Journal Entry 23,880. Year 6015. Day 99.
An unsatisfactory day. I made an error of judgment. No, I made two errors of judgment. I insulted my grandson, and I underestimated the cotidian girl. The consequences are frustratingly apparent with hindsight.
There is a magician somewhere projecting unfiltered A-grade lumien. A magician capable of igniting other sparks indiscriminately. I knew this yesterday, and one day later I have failed to contain the risk. I cannot remember the last time I felt helpless. I hate it.
The girl knows where this magician is. I am sure of it. It seems possible—even probable—that Art knows too. That this magician is hiding them both. That Art has a spark of his own now. He is therefore under a death sentence.
It is a shame. A great shame.
22 A Discovery
We cleared away the remains of our meal and returned Art's shirt to its former size and shape.
"Can we walk over to the woods?" he said. "While we figure things out, I mean. I'd love to see this living magic."
"We can do that," I agreed. "I might just make a Contusion Remedy first though."
Art watched as I projected the spell and counted out the dosage. Twenty drops of glittering magical energy, tinted pale blue, fell from my fingertips into the makeshift stone cup. I swirled it a couple of times to mix the remedy with the water.
"I didn't watch closely when you made the Portal Remedy, but now I can see how amazing it is," he said.
"It's really not," I said. I drank the contents in two quick gulps.
"Not for you, maybe. But on my world, force fields can't do that."
"So you keep saying. How do you know which spells can be safely projected and which can't?"
"There's an approved list," he said. "They test it every few years."
"Well," I said, standing up, "your magic seems fine to me."
We made our way toward the stream. Lengthening shadows covered the grass as the sun dipped below the treetops.
"Can you describe the filtering process?" I asked.
"All you really need is the special clay. That's the filter. With a funnel, the clay, and a lumien bottle, you could make your own A-grade. Or so I was taught."
He considered. "A-grade requires pretty dense clay though. Projecting through it would take effort."
"I guess that's not how it's done in the city," I said. I stopped to watch a blue butterfly that was darting from flower to flower.
"It's the same colour as your eyes," said Art. He looked down at his shirt. "Blue is my favourite colour, you know."
I smiled. "Purple is mine."
"Really?"
"It is now," I said truthfully.
For a few seconds, we stared at each other. Then Art cleared his throat and looked away.
"Filtering in the city is carried out beneath the tower," he said. "There's a machine. It's a closed system—everything is lined with titanium."
"Titanium?" I made a guess. "The coating inside the spell bottles?"
"Exactly. It's inside the pipes too. Another cotidian discovery, believe it or not. Titanium is a metal that can be made impervious to magical energy."
"Seems like cotidians used to be way more influential than they are now," I said.
"There was no segregation," said Art. "I imagine life was very different."
We'd almost reached the edge of the stream, and I paused. I was intending to cross to the other side using Solo Transference, and I wondered if I could convince Art to try it.
"How do you tell the difference between filtered and unfiltered magic?" I asked.
"The Judix symbol can interpret anything," he said. "A-grade is silver, obviously. B-grade is pale purple."
"Sorry, I meant apart from the colour. How did they figure out my magic was different?"
"Oh. I've been thinking about that too. Filtered magic is completely uniform. Flawless. I imagine your magic is more…" He smiled. "More real. And I mean that as a compliment."
"Thanks," I said, ducking my head.
Art turned to the stream and stepped onto one of the larger stones.
"Wait," I said. "Why don't you try using your force field?"
"Because I don't want to fall in."
"You might not," I said.
He returned to the grass. "I would. If you were to closely examine some projected magic—unfiltered magic—you'd see the damage. It's perforated. It flickers. It would never support my whole body for long. Let me show you."
Art lifted his hands, one at the s
houlder and one extended in the same position his father and grandfather had used. He took a couple of slow breaths.
His eyes glittered, and two streams of purple-and-silver magic flooded from his hands, joining together to create a pool of energy. It was beautiful.
I walked from one side to the other, looking closely.
"There is no damage," I said. "There really isn't."
Art rotated his hands and the glow of his force field lit up his face. He stared and stared. Eventually, his expression faltered and he stopped projecting, lowering his hands.
"I don't understand," he said softly. "I've seen my parents' magic. And my teachers' magic. I've seen magic before and after filtering. This is impossible."
"Are you all right?" I said.
"I don't know. Yes. No. Yes." He looked down at his hands, then back at me. "How? Was it you?"
"Not intentionally."
"Do you have a theory?" he asked.
I bit my lip.
Art gave me a small smile. "OK. Not a theory. Tell me anyway."
"I think—I hope—the way you became a magician might have helped. I mean there was no creepy bonding thing for a start. No changing who you are. And no Gallium Dagger." I screwed up my face as I remembered. "After watching Mika, I dread to think how it works."
"It's not like Mika at all," said Art, slightly defensive. "The bonding ceremony is a celebration. The spellwork is incredible."
"But there is a knife?"
He nodded.
"And there's stabbing?"
"No. Not stabbing. More like… cutting."
I gave him an unimpressed look. "Isn't that the same as stabbing only the knife doesn't go in so deep?"
"It's a knife," he said, louder. "Not a ribbon. What did you expect?"
"I'm just saying."
"You're just saying what?" he asked, louder still.
"That carving up your force field with a magical dagger at the moment your spark ignites probably isn't very good for it!"
Art turned his back and kicked a nearby stone into the stream, hunching his shoulders.
"I didn't design the system," he said.
"I know. I'm sorry."
I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing we could start the whole conversation again.