by CM Raymond
Ezekiel raised his glass and clinked hers. The scent of the strong elixir hit his nose before the wetness covered his tongue. He sipped slowly and took in as little as possible without providing offense.
In the absence of his old friend, the magician’s defenses were heightened. Among the mystics, one had to be cautious. They were good people, but they never minded burrowing into the headspace of those around them.
None of them saw it as trespassing. Everyone, in their experience, was a book open for browsing.
When it came to telepathy, nothing primed a subject more than a pint or two of strong drink. He would need to stay sharp until he could trust her—or determine that she, too, had been turned like Adrien toward manipulation and service to herself.
She licked her full lips, and color rushed to her cheeks. Tilting her head, Julianne said, “Your defenses are strong, magician.”
“Yes. Forgive me. I am not prone to allowing strangers to walk the halls of my mind.”
“Understandable. Where you’re from it is common for people to use magic for nefarious ends. We are not like the lowlanders, though. Entering one another’s thoughts is a way to increase intimacy and speed familiarity.”
“Yes. Well, we will take this slow. Forgive me. The world has shaped this old man into a creature of caution. Now about you…”
She nodded. “As you wish, Master Magician. As for me, I am too young to have known you when last you walked these halls. But your name is legend around here. Almost as much as the Matriarch and the Patriarch. I was born in a small village north of Arcadia, but Master Selah heard of my gifts on one of his pilgrimages and brought me here. My parents were more than happy to be rid of their freakish daughter.”
“I took to the temple quickly and was chosen as one of three to study under Master Selah personally. Succession was always on his mind, something he learned from you, no doubt. We were taught the mindfulness and the arts from the earliest of ages. Much younger than when most of the students began. I wasn’t meant to be in this room this early, but Selah’s transition came years sooner than any of us expected.
“On his way beyond, he chose me as the one to take his place. As you can imagine, it was to my surprise, and to those around me. The calling has been a most challenging one. But with enough time alone and drink to soothe my mind, it has been utterly tolerable and appropriate.”
Ezekiel grinned and sipped from the goblet again. He didn’t want to be rude, not to mention that the finest drink in all Irth called out to him. The second swallow he felt warm in his belly and move up to his face. “Indeed, there is a time to drink for all of us.”
Julianne bust out in laughter. “We mystics agree, but the time is always now. Granted, we have become experts at judging the extents of our little potion here. Always mindful not to allow it to take us too far. We have not forgotten the lessons of control that you taught Selah, and that he passed down to us.”
She paused to stare at the fire. Ezekiel put his defenses on high alert, concerned that she might be trying to burrow in. Then Julianne continued, “There will be time to become more acquainted, but for now, may I inquire as to what brought you back to our humble home here in the Heights?”
“Of course. I wish that I had come only by personal preference, but I have been driven here by events that have occurred below.” Ezekiel’s speech was already bending to match the woman’s, a habit formed over years of moving amongst the different people groups spread out over Irth.
Ezekiel went to lengths to tell the story—as far as he knew it—of Adrien and his cruelty over Arcadia.
She listened intently while sipping her goblet.
As Ezekiel’s tale ended, Julianne stepped in. “Yes, Selah had long been suspicious of your former student, a position I, too, share. Word comes back from the mystics that travel to Arcadia and into the further reaches of Irth. And, from time to time, I jump to places to take in the scene myself.
“Adrien’s thirst for power has been well documented. It is, as far as we can tell, insatiable. But do not think that his obsession extends only to within the walls of Arcadia. His desires go further, and these might be more troubling.”
“Magitech?”
“Yes. Our own approximations are that the tools he can imbue with magical power are being created as test pieces. He is concerned for things greater than magic powered carts and automatic doors. Something more global. Adrien desires to spread his philosophy of magic to each of the corners of Irth, and with it his power and influence.”
The old man nodded. “Your people, they still go on pilgrimage, even with the threat of Adrien’s power.”
Julianne drew from her goblet. “Some do. But less and less. It is a difficult thing. Our magic is best when we make the pilgrimage, but there are risks involved, from the lowlanders. Adrien has soiled their minds—he uses a man named Jedidiah, they call him the Prophet, to spread disinformation about the use of magic. It is a most clever deceit, as he does it in your name.”
Ezekiel remembered the old man in Capitol Park and how odd it was that the man was preaching about the Founder’s return, only to pervert Ezekiel’s own position on the use of magic. Now, it was all making sense.
The man was a plant—part of the narrative about magic and power that Adrien was trying to spread. The student was brilliant years ago and now seemed to be something of a mastermind.
“The bigger problem for us,” Julianne continued, “is that the pilgrimage was also a time for our people to look for others with the gift of the mystics—those with a propensity for the art of mental magic. In areas where Adrien’s influence has spread more rapidly, we are distrusted at best and attacked at worse. No one wants to join us in the Heights. Our number is dwindling and soon the art could cease to exist.”
“Magical extinction.”
“Of the most severe kind,” she agreed.
Knowing that their time was nearly over for the evening, Ezekiel drank deeper of the liquor. He needed the alcohol to ease his heavy heart. “Julianne, this is why I have returned. Adrien is a threat to all of magic—to all of Irth, and he must be stopped. But I cannot do this alone, and the Matriarch knows I would muster little magical support from Arcadia. I need the aid of allies beyond its walls.”
“I understand your proposition. But you need to remember that mystics are not accustomed to the martial affairs of our world. We are a people of peace. We traffic in the merciful side of justice.”
The alcohol and conversation welled up in the old man. He had heard the argument before, Selah was a man committed to the peaceful life. It’s one of the reasons the mystics holed themselves up in the Heights, which made sense in a time of civil rest.
“Julianne, mercy has its time and place. And it is the appropriate companion to the sword of wrath. But grace without wrath is impotent. It is time for you to help me stop this threat to Irth. Cutting off the monster’s head is an act of mercy for the oppressed beneath his heel.”
She nodded again, and he trusted she was taking in his arguments. But he needed more than such passive assent. He decided to play his final card.
“There’s more,” he said. “I have a new student, someone special, who has a unique gift that may be able to help us reclaim this land.”
“What is his name?”
“Not his. Hers. Hannah—and she has fed on the root of oppression and it has left a despicable taste in her mouth. She is ready to do whatever it takes to overthrow Adrien’s growing empire and to restore Arcadia to what we first meant it to be. And if we cut off the root, we keep the tree from extending to the rest of the world. We can keep it out of the Heights.”
He finished his wine and placed the goblet on a side table. “But if you continue to ignore the threat, if you hole yourselves up in the mountain fortress, they will come. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but they will one day come—and it will be your end.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Stellan had about as much as he could take of the bitching from Dirk an
d Dietrich—the two young guards assigned to him. They were not much more than kids, as annoying as they were inexperienced. He had been commissioned by Doyle, the Chancellor’s lapdog, to journey out to the Heights for the sake of information gathering.
Apparently, the leaders of Arcadia had some suspicion that the mystics might be involved in subversive activities, and his task was to ask some questions. It would be an easy in and out. The mystics had their heads in the clouds and were an odd bunch. But at the end of the day, they made the best drink in all of Irth, so he certainly didn’t mind spending a night in the mountain monastery.
At this point, he’d need some strong elixir to get him through the journey with the numb-nuts that had been sent along with him.
Dirk, the younger of the two guards accompanying Stellan, bitched, “How much farther is it? My feet are bloody killing me.”
“If you keep complaining, it won’t be your feet killing you,” Stellan replied without looking back.
He’d climbed the mountain enough to know that they were close, but the elevation only got steeper from there. Looking out over the cliff that fell away just feet off to their right, he considered for a moment how easy it would be for the younger guards to have an “accident.”
“Stellan,” Dietrich said, “what exactly are we doing with these mind freaks?”
“We aren’t doing anything. You’re along for the ride. Keep your damned mouths shut. Chancellor Adrien only wants some information about whether or not the people of the heights are working with anyone that might be a threat to Arcadia.”
Dirk spoke up again. “Who would be a threat to Arcadia? I mean, we’re pretty much the most powerful city in all of Irth. Right?”
“Yeah,” the leader said. “And we want to keep it that way. One city couldn’t breach our walls, that is for sure. But I think that the Chancellor and Governor are worried about something a little more insidious. An attack from within. Not to mention, these people you guys call the ‘mind freaks’ are powerful. Their discipline is strong. They’re not to be underestimated.”
Stellan shook his head and realized just how big of a mistake it was having the two men along with him. His time in the Governor’s Guard had given him enough experience to know that the mystics could pick apart a man’s mind faster than a drunk can drink a pint.
And they could, if they wanted to, do some serious damage once in there. He’d shared too much with the men, and now the mystics could extract it all if they wanted. But he’d assumed the two men at the top were just being overly cautious, maybe even paranoid.
The mystics were pacifists and more interested in the life of the mind that than foreign affairs. It would be an easy job. Go in, ask some questions, get out… after having plenty to drink.
Rounding the last bend, Stellan finally saw their destination—the temple of the mystics. He stopped and turned to the men, looking at both. “Listen, keep your damn mouths shut. Remember what you learned about mental magic?” The two nodded in unison. “Good. Someone will try to get in your heads. It isn’t an attack, but just what they do. For them stepping into another person’s mind is just like shaking hands. Keep your mental defenses up, just like they taught you in the Academy.”
They nodded their heads again, like a pair of idiots. Stellan knew that his advice would mean next to nothing. Even if they did learn to defend themselves, it was likely the two had forgotten anything about it. The Academy was strict on who they let into their fold, but they became much more lax with students once inside. And unfortunately, the bottom of the graduating class was often assigned to the Guard.
The force was mostly for show in Arcadia. Standing at the city gate was the most grueling assignment for many of them—and it didn’t take a master magician to let loads of potatoes in through the walls. Stellan’s group was different.
They were the Guard that no one knew about—the ones who actually kicked ass and took out true threats to Arcadia. But Doyle was adamant about things going quietly, so instead of a fully armed force, he was stuck with the imbecile twins. Luckily, Stellan himself was more than capable of handling whatever threat was waiting for him beyond those walls.
****
With a full belly and his head sitting on the edge of intoxication, Ezekiel sat back with a feeling of deep contentment. The mystics were good at many things, but hospitality was the greatest of these.
Julianne had ended their meeting and decided to introduce Ezekiel to the rest of their little community. He was a legend after all. Now that dinner was finished, conversation swirled around him, people talking in pairs. His journey back to Arcadia had been a bitter homecoming, and a night like this in the Heights was precisely what he needed. It was a balm for his wearied heart and a reminder that there was goodness in the world of magic.
His eyes cut to Julianne, whose gaze was directed back at him. She gave a subtle nod, an indication that his words of warning were still on her mind. Ezekiel could only hope that their conversation would not be lost on her.
Amidst such a happy community, it could be hard to think of war. But Ezekiel could tell that Julianne would do what it took to protect a group like this. They were her family.
He only hoped that this desire for peace would lead them into the fight and not away from it.
After the plates were cleared, a mystic, a young woman with the face of an angel, stood at the head of the table. The room quieted and awaited the evening story. Ezekiel knew the tradition well. Narratives were a key part of their community, and the storied people made sure that they would not lose the oral tradition by ritually including a story told by a different member each night after a meal.
The girl smiled and closed her eyes to gather her thoughts. When she opened them again, all color had drained from her pupils. Her eyes stared out at the crowd like two white marbles.
Ezekiel knew the sign of magic.
While a physical magic user’s eyes turned black as night, the mystic’s eyes shined like stars. As she began her tale, cloudy images of what she was saying appeared on the table in front of her, acting out her words like a play.
“A long time ago, before the Age of Madness and before the WWDE, there was a time of peace—at least relative peace. But a young freckle-faced boy, named Clark, wouldn’t have agreed.”
As her words and magic painted the story of Clark and his exploits at school, the young mystic had the community leaning in and hanging on every detail. The audience was drawn in by Clark’s survival of what she called Middle School, a time that sounded worse than the Age of Madness itself.
Dodging bullies and mean teachers, the kid had to learn to survive. The story must have gone on for an hour, but to the enraptured crowd, it felt more like minutes. She had them eating out of her hand. Then she got to the part about the gift.
“In those days, the days before Madness, and before our esteemed guest walked Irth–” she smiled and nodded to Ezekiel “–magicians were few and far between. But there were creatures called genies—at least some believed they existed. Clark, the boy discovered one, when he dug an old glass bottle out of the ground on a beach on what was called Lake Ee-Ree. The boy placed the glass bottle between his legs and rubbed and rubbed and rubbed and rubbed.”
“Sounds like Mathias on a cold and lonely night,” a drunken mystic said from the back of the room.
The room burst into laughter.
The girl flushed but continued her story. “Finally, in a puff of smoke,”—at this point a puff of smoke appeared in front of the listeners, and several jumped back in shock—”the genie floated into the room. ‘You have one wish, Clark,’ the being from beyond said in a deep and majestic voice. Now, like any of us, the boy had the hardest decision to make.
“Clark walked the beach, trying to come up with the thing that might serve him for the rest of his days. Money was fleeting. And he was too young to understand true love. So finally, after pacing a hundred miles on the beach, the boy knew what to ask for.”
The image of
Clark walking on the table stopped, and the young mystic held a pregnant pause.
The girl was good. Everyone in the room held their breath.
“Come on, then. What was it?” the same voice called out.
“There was only one thing Clark could ask for. He looked the genie in the eye and asked that he might know how to do magic. With a nod of his head, the genie granted the gift, and left the boy alone with the power to shape the entire world.”
Ezekiel scanned the room. All the eyes were still on her, waiting for more. It was as if she had slid a delicious dessert across the table, only to then take it away.
“Well, what the hell did he do?” the man in the back of the room yelled out again.
“He did what any boy who knew the world wasn’t quite right would do. At first, he righted the wrongs of his school—and then his city.” As she told this part of the story, her imagework began to darken. “But after he had conquered all evil, when all the wrongs were righted, Clark used his power to take over the world. The same thing that any of us would do if we were left alone with power unchecked.”