Matched in Magic

by Alex C Vick

  How would I feel if someone spoke that way about Androva?

  "The bonding ceremony was all I ever wanted," said Art. "It was supposed to make everything better."

  I didn't speak, and he turned to face me. "You probably think I'm so weak."

  "Of course I don't. Why would you say that?"

  "Because I never challenged any of this. Until Maxia died I never even doubted it."

  "How could you?" I asked.

  "I'm sure you would have found a way," he said.

  I shook my head. "No. Not if I'd been in your shoes. And don't compare yourself unfavourably with me. Or with anyone, for that matter."

  He looked unconvinced.

  "What about Xavic?" I said.

  "What about him?"

  "He seems miserable every time Brianne's name comes up," I said.

  "Does he?"

  "You know he does. Yet he's going to spend the rest of his life with her, and I don't see him challenging anything." I gave him a pointed look. "Well?"

  "All right," he conceded. "I suppose that makes me feel a little better. Except it is rare to build a friendship with your match prior to bonding."

  "Really? I thought you'd at least have your scores in common."

  "What?" said Art, surprised. "No. It's the opposite. Right now, they're unalike in both magic and personality. The bonding ceremony helps them meet in the middle. Any extremes are cancelled out. Like I told you, it's about removing risk."

  He had told me. But I hadn't understood how it worked. "You mean you change by combining bits of yourself with the other magician."

  I shivered, hunching my shoulders. Creepy was understating it.

  "Yes," said Art. "Bits of your magic, anyway. And the Bonding Spell does the rest. It's very intuitive."

  He took my hand and opened it so my palm was facing up.

  "The officiating Board member takes the dagger and carves a symbol into your skin here. And into your match's skin. Only you don't bleed red, you bleed magic."

  He looked down, tracing a shape on my palm with the tip of his finger. I shivered again for a very different reason, trying to stop my breath from coming faster. His mouth moved. Whatever he told me, I didn't hear a word of it.

  "What?" I said, realising he was waiting for me to speak.

  Art lifted his gaze. Androva only knew what I looked like. All I could think about was kissing him.

  He swallowed. "I… The… You p-put your palms together and they project the Bonding Spell."

  "Do they?" I took a step. And another.

  "Yes."

  His eyes moved to my mouth and back up again. Encouraged, I looked at his mouth too, closing my fingers over his wrist and pulling him even closer. I lifted my other hand to his shoulder. His chest rose and fell, his breathing faster than mine.

  We spoke at the same time.

  "Can I kiss you?" I said.

  "Please kiss me," he said.

  So I did. Trembling with the effort of keeping my enthusiasm in check, I pressed my lips softly against his—once, twice. It was our first kiss and his first kiss ever.

  It might be my last first kiss.

  I wanted to remember every second. My hand moved from his shoulder to his neck, my fingers sliding into his hair, and he jumped. His lips parted. He closed his eyes and kissed me back. It was the single most exciting moment of my life.

  "Oh," he whispered.

  "What?" I said nervously.

  His eyes opened. He was looking at me the way Galen looked at Claudia sometimes. I'd never thought anyone would ever look at me like that.

  "So that's what it's like," he said.

  "That's what it's like with you," I said. A second later, we were kissing again.

  It's not only spells that he learns fast.

  When Art lifted his head, his eyes were full of magic, and our force fields were brightening the early evening gloom. He smiled. "Definitely more addictive than hugging, though."

  "Yeah," I said, huffing a slightly breathless laugh. "Definitely."

  "I suppose we should…" He sighed.

  "I suppose we should," I agreed. "It's kind of difficult to kiss and make a plan at the same time."

  He looked at the stream. "I'm going to cross it. Before I have time to change my mind."

  "What?"

  "You know a Drying Spell, right?" he said.

  "Yes, but—"

  Before I could finish, he moved. Upward. Slow and steady. The external glow of his magic had retreated a little, and his brow was furrowed with concentration.

  "It's… Wow," he said. "It's no different to moving normally, is it?"

  "No," I said. "Your magic follows your instructions the same as the rest of your body does. It's more of a confidence thing than a skill thing."

  "What do you mean?"

  Better to get it out of the way before he goes too much higher.

  "Look down," I said.

  He looked. And fell. As everyone did the first time. However, Art recovered quickly, reinstating his force field to prevent an undignified landing.

  "Hey," he protested, dropping to his knees with one hand on the grass. "That wasn't very nice."

  "It's the fastest way to learn," I said. "And if it's any consolation, I was much worse than you on my first try. Only Professor Corin's intervention saved me from landing face first."

  Art stood up. "Intervention? How?"

  "Well, you can project beyond yourself and move other people too. It's a challenge, but that's the point of Solo Transference. It makes you stronger."

  "And it's fun," he said.

  I grinned. "That too."

  Art soon proved his magic was as free from damage as it appeared. He mastered the basics of airborne movement and regretted that we had no time for him to try anything more complicated.

  "It's extraordinary," he said. "We could cross any one of Xytovia's rivers as easily as if there were a bridge in the middle of it."

  When we entered the forest his expression turned blank with disbelief. Although the trees were ordinary Terran trees, not the purple Xytovian trees whose energy was especially concentrated, their living magic was impressive enough. It reacted to our force fields straight away, our sparks acting like magnets to draw the energy from the branches and leaves.

  Art walked from tree to tree, resting his hand against sections of bark as he passed, leaving behind glowing fingerprints.

  "You know what this means," he said.

  "Could you be more specific?"

  He turned to face me. "The damage. The inherited damage. The bonding ceremony preserves it. Because that's the only thing I've done differently."

  "Yes. It looks that way."

  "It seems a heavy price to pay. Despite the improved scores," he said.

  "Improved isn't the word I would use," I said.

  "Maybe not," said Art, turning to examine a leafy branch next to his shoulder. It glowed brighter as he touched it.

  "How long has it been since a spark ignited like yours?" I said. "Was the Crillion family the last time it happened?"

  "Like mine?"

  "You know… without the dagger." I rubbed my palm.

  "Never," he said. "I mean… not since before the war."

  I couldn't believe it. "No accidents? Not once? The First Tenet surely isn't foolproof."

  "No, that's not it," said Art. "The First Tenet is more about the poison. Restricting exposure. Just in case."

  "Then…?"

  "Sparks cannot ignite without a Gallium Dagger," said Art. "Lara Crillion's parents stole one because she had no match, and they didn't want her to be a cotidian."

  Realisation dawned. It's a vicious circle. The dagger maintains the damage, but they can't ignite sparks without it.

  "I'm so stupid," I said. "That's what they're worried about."

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "Your mother said it. Impossible magic. I don't need a dagger to ignite another spark. Neither do you. We could save cotidians from mage-si
ckness by allowing them to become magicians. Undamaged magicians."

  I paused. "It would break their conspiracy into pieces. And they know it."

  23 Making A Choice

  Art looked like he might be about to throw up his dinner. His face was ashen, pale beneath the tan of his skin.

  "How could they?" he whispered. "My own family would see me dead to preserve their dirty secret."

  I was unable to reassure him. I didn't doubt Gentus would sacrifice his grandson.

  "They would let me believe it was the pact they cared about," said Art. He gritted his teeth. "When really they want to protect the deal with Helex and Midian and replicate their toxic sponsorship model."

  He exhaled loudly and took a few steps backward. "I just… I mean, this is a lot to take in."

  I remained silent. Art didn't need me to reinforce what he already knew. If ever there was a time for me to learn to think before I spoke, this had to be it.

  "They don't see your magic as the opportunity of a lifetime," he said. "It's a threat. They want things to stay as they are. Better that magic remains with the elite few, even if it remains damaged."

  Art shook his head. "The war—all that stuff about lowering risk with the bonding-is a convenient excuse. And not a good one. If the cotidian population ever found out what's been happening, we'd be at war just like that," he added, snapping his fingers.

  "It's bad enough that mage-sickness has been allowed to thrive all this time. But to present sponsorship as a benevolent solution… Using the dagger to systematically eliminate their magic instead of igniting it… Charging for the right to even apply!" His voice shook.

  Then, to my surprise and relief, he reached for my hand and pulled me into a hug. We held each other close, and gradually the tension in his arms and shoulders reduced.

  "Thank you," he said quietly.

  "What for?" I asked.

  "Letting me talk," he replied. "I feel a bit better now."

  I hugged him tighter for a second.

  "We have to stop them," he said.

  "I know."

  "A few minutes ago, I was angry enough to confront Grandfather there and then," said Art. "But I've already changed my mind."

  "You have?"

  I leaned back. Art's expression was calm.

  "Anger is no use against someone like him," he said. "And he's not an opponent to face without preparation."

  I smiled. "Is that your head or your heart talking?"

  "I don't know. Both?"

  My smile widened. "And what score would that get you?"

  "An impossible one."

  "Exactly," I said. "People aren't supposed to fit within the limits of a scorecard."

  "You certainly don't," he said.

  I raised my eyebrows.

  "In the best possible way," he added hastily.

  "Good save," I said.

  We sat down next to each other at the base of a large tree. The air was cooler as evening advanced, and the canopy of leaves made it dark enough that I decided to project a small purple-and-silver Illumination Spell onto the branch above our heads.

  Art lifted a hand to brush the edge of the spell. "Is that…? That looks just like the crystal from my amulet. How did you do that?"

  "Do you like it?"

  "I think it's incredible," he said. "How long will it last?"

  "Maybe eight hours. Unless I remove it first."

  "A-grade at your fingertips," he said. "The possibilities are endless."

  "At your fingertips too."

  He smiled as if he'd forgotten. "I suppose so."

  "The plan, then," I said. "Do you have any ideas?"

  "Sort of. Well, I know what I don't want to do, if that counts."

  "It totally counts," I said. "Tell me."

  "I don't want to face Grandfather. He's too powerful. And he won't be persuaded to change his mind."

  "Agreed," I said. "Please don't be offended, but I'm not sure about Vidian either."

  "He challenged Grandfather in the apartment," said Art.

  "It looked that way. But he only stopped the Truth Spell once Gentus had what he needed."

  "He welcomed you," said Art.

  "Yes. He wanted me to feel at home," I said.

  "He's always supportive."

  "I'm sure he is," I said. "He's the perfect foil for Gentus, in fact."

  Art hesitated. Then he swore softly under his breath. "What about my mother?" he said warily.

  "I think if anyone can be persuaded, it's Adelle," I said.

  "I think so too," he said, relaxing.

  "The problem is we won't be able to speak to her alone," I said.

  "Not easily," Art agreed. "I wondered if we should go to Helex or Midian first? Darix is in Midian. I trust him."

  "That might work. You'd have to draw me a map, and the coordinates would be approximate, but as long as we're careful…"

  "Yes," said Art, leaning forward. "Grandfather hinted the other territories would never go the sponsorship route if they knew about your magic. All we have to do is tell them."

  "And hope they believe us," I said. "Do they have Gallium Daggers and Stasis Spells too?"

  "They do."

  It was a scary thought. A lot would depend on our audience being open to a different way of life. We knew Helex and Midian used to be against the sponsorship model. Art said the exacting standards of admission were deemed too harsh. Many cotidians would never qualify. And Vayl refused to share the details of their procedure in advance. But did that mean Helex and Midian would support the rights of cotidians to become magicians? A future outside the terms of the pact would be no small change.

  "So Helex and Midian don't know that mage-sickness only affects magicians who never get a spark," I said.

  "I guess not," said Art.

  "I'm surprised no one ever put two and two together though," I said.

  "Someone did. In Vayl," he pointed out.

  It was getting darker. The surrounding forest rustled and whispered as if settling in for the night. I projected a few more Illumination Spells onto the nearby trees until we were sitting in a wide pool of magical light.

  "Yeah, but… the purple in their eyes?" I said. "And occasionally magicians produce visible energy before they get a spark. Like you did."

  "It's easy with hindsight," said Art, "but you have to understand the background. Those things can be explained away as mage-sickness symptoms, or as leftover inherited traits."

  "Inherited how?"

  Art looked at me. "I'm not explaining how babies get made, Serena."

  I picked up a piece of moss and threw it at him. "Ha, ha. I meant because of the segregation."

  "Segregation only came with the pact," he said. "Before the war, there was maybe one magician for every four cotidians. They lived together, they married each other, they had children."

  "Really?" I said, shocked. "That's so different to how things are now."

  "I know. I find it hard to imagine, but there were apparently no restrictions. The use of magic advanced as much by cotidian skill as magical skill. Remember what I told you about the discovery of gallium and titanium?"

  "I remember," I said.

  "Inherited magical traits were common," he added. "But all the surviving magicians—full magicians—were segregated after the war."

  "Except in places like Phidiom," I said.

  "Yes. Phidiom, where there is no pact, no bonding ceremony, and no Gallium Dagger." Art paused. "Therefore, per Grandfather's research, no more magicians."

  I pushed my fingers into the moss beneath my hand and let out a sigh. "Yet the inherited traits have obviously increased with each generation, to the point where those cotidians could be magicians. And the poison damage has never been fixed."

  "I think having a spark fixes it," said Art.

  "Yes," I agreed. "Let's hope Helex and Midian agree to give it a try."

  We'd be taking a lot of chances, starting with Art's brother. But keeping quiet wasn't an op
tion.

  Art looked up, and I followed his gaze. The forest was silhouetted against the moonlit sky, treetops shifting back and forth in the night breeze.

  "I didn't realise. It's so dark," he said.

  "It's different from nighttime in a city," I said. His fingers were curled over, digging into his palm. "Why, does it bother you?"

  "Not exactly," he said.

  "What does that mean?"

  "Um. It looks a lot like one of my nightmares," he admitted.

  "Why didn't you say so? We can go back. It will be less dark out in the open."

  I extinguished my Illumination Spells and we retraced our steps out of the forest, my left hand holding his right, our free hands projecting enough magic to light the way.

  "How does time work here on Terra?" said Art, his voice low. "I mean, relative to Xytovia."

  "Well," I said, "although we're in a different dimension, the passing of time is identical. But day or night could vary. The sun will rise on Galen's island a few hours before it rises here."

  "Er… dimension?"

  "Yes. Alternate realities occupying the same space." Art took a breath, and I squeezed his hand before he could speak. "I don't know how it works. I'm quoting my brother."

  We emerged from the trees onto the grass, which was wet with dew and shining in the moonlight. All the colour in the valley had faded to silver.

  Art grinned. "I wasn't going to ask how. I was going to say it sounded cool."

  I smiled back.

  "If the time is the same, that means we can't go to Midian yet," he added. "It will be the middle of the night there too. We'll lose credibility. Darix and his wife will probably be asleep."

  "Or worse," I said.

  Art covered his face. "Ugh. He's my brother. Did you have to go there?"

  I laughed. "Sorry."

  He lowered his hand. "I wish we could go now, so there wasn't time to second-guess everything. Are you sure you want to do this? I could—"

  "You could what?" I said, interrupting him. "Go alone?"

  "I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you."

  "Then you know how I feel," I said.

  We crossed the stream in silence before returning to the spot where we'd eaten. Projecting a series of Drying, Softening, and Protection Spells, I created a space for us to lie down. Side by side, we looked up at the stars, with nothing but the sound of the rushing stream to break the silence.