“Now they are choosing my next Tiro?
“They will give you a powerful warrior so as to not waste your potential,” Desmond said. “They will find you the most powerful candidate. I can feel it.”
“And I'm just supposed to wait a few years, when that's the person I want now?”
“Nathaniel, do not let your magic be tainted by anger,” Desmond said. “You know what happens to magic when it's tainted by the things we cannot control.”
“I'm allowed to be angry,” Nathaniel answered. “You did this to me without giving me a choice. I'm going to be angry about it.”
Desmond sighed. “Fine, you are within your right. But I want you to remember, Nathaniel, that it is I who made this choice for you, not the girl.”
“I wouldn't do that,” Nathaniel replied. “But I do not feel a connection with her.”
“You will,” Desmond tried to assure him. “A bond between a Maestro and a Tiro does not happen overnight.”
“But apparently, it did between you and her already,” Nathaniel answered.
“I have always been fast to perform bonds with my Tiros,” Desmond replied. “As was Mariah. She picked Sybil out of a lineup on the first day. But sometimes, it can be slow. This is normal.”
“How are we going to do this?” Nathaniel answered, sarcastically. “Are we going to split duties? Split responsibilities? You take her from sunup to sundown, and I'll take the night shift?”
“That could work,” Desmond replied.
Nathaniel stared at him. “I wasn't serious,” he protested. “Besides, Eliza has nights free this week while she's travelling and–”
“I think it works perfectly,” Desmond cut him off with a smile. “Shall we tell our new Tiro the news?”
“I can leave that to you,” Nathaniel answered, knowing that he was not going to get away with such an excuse. This was supposed to be a life changing day as he accepted a new Tiro. And yet, he was anything but thrilled.
He knew that, one day, he would have had to do this. But it was obviously not as he pictured it anyway.
“You'll have to tell Eliza,” Desmond answered, and Nathaniel paused at that.
She had no idea what was going on, of course. But once, and only once, they had talked about having a family. Was this the closest they were ever going to come, by way of a broken Tiro?
“I'll just come with you,” Nathaniel sighed, deciding it was the easiest route. “Do you know where she might be right now?”
“She's likely in the guest suite,” Desmond said, glancing at the clock. “I know they are due to depart in a few hours, so we must make haste.”
“Does she even know?” Nathaniel asked. “That you were doing this?”
“No,” Desmond admitted. “Not in so many words. But to be trained was clearly her greatest wish. And you know as well as I do that a rocky start could linger for years, so be happy.”
“Ugh,” Nathaniel grunted as they walked. “At least our names will go down in history for something.”
“They certainly will,” Desmond replied, knowing they had very different ideas.
Chapter 6
Sienna almost fell off the chair she was sitting on when they told her. It took about three tries, but when she finally understood, her mouth fell open.
“Me?” she said. “Are you positive?”
“We are positive,” Desmond said, and she launched into his arms. It was not proper behavior for a witch, she knew, but she couldn't contain herself.
“Thank you!” she said to him, and then turned to Nathaniel to give an equal response. However, he stood stoic beside the door.
“You're welcome,” he replied, nodding as he leaned on the door frame. She was so fragile and small; all he could think about was how one gust of wind would likely snap her in half.
She stopped moving, her shoulders drooping as she saw his mood. She took a step backward and Desmond glared at him.
“Control your thoughts, Tiro,” he said out of habit. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.
“But I'm not yours anymore,” he answered. “Remember? I'll see you later. I have a meeting.”
He vanished, leaving them alone. He could feel Desmond's eyes boring into him, but he didn't really care.
If he could slam the door to his quarters, he would have. It was incredibly dissatisfying to watch them slowly close behind him as he booted up the monitor. The new quests weren't listed, but he logged into the program anyway, scanning them more carefully. He needed to think about something else, otherwise he was likely to punch a hole in the wall.
He was surprised when a new quest popped up in his inbox. Clicking on it, he wondered what was so urgent that the Jurors would assign him something.
And then he grinned.
‘Jeffro,’ it said in the location listing. Eliza had requested him.
He flipped over to the messenger icon, hoping to find her online. Her status was set to away, and he reached for his com-link, calling her private line. It was still early on Jeffro, but he knew she would be up. Eliza hardly slept, her energy constant.
She picked it up on the first ring. “Nathaniel,” she said. “You got my message.”
“Loud and clear,” he replied. “I was just assigned. Is everything all right?”
“Our rebel planets have decided to rise up again,” she said. “I am entering peace talks with the leaders on Monday, but I thought it would be helpful to have a witch present. You aren't known for your diplomacy, but you are known for your strength, should it come to that.”
“Of course,” he said, and then the gravity of the day hit him. “But there's something I have to tell you.”
“You can't come?” her voice came through.
“I can,” he said. “But I can't come alone.”
“Huh?” Eliza sounded distracted and confused. “Why? Are you in trouble and under supervision?”
“I'm supervising,” he answered, and she squeaked.
“Did you take a Tiro?”
“Sort of,” he managed before getting the whole story out. Eliza was so quiet on the other end that he thought that he might have lost her. “Hello?”
“Oh, this is going to be good,” she said, a cackle in her voice. “Don't sound so distraught.”
“Are you kidding me?” he snapped. “She's–”
“Your opposite, it sounds,” Eliza replied. “Which is exactly what you need. Desmond is a genius.”
“I cannot believe that you are taking his side,” Nathaniel answered.
“I'm not taking anyone's side,” Eliza replied. “Except Desmond's. I think this is going to be great. I can't wait to meet her.”
“I hate you, you know that?” Nathaniel answered with the confidence of the love between them. “We'll be there, I guess. Creator – that sounds weird.”
“You being here at all is worth any tagalongs you have,” Eliza answered. “I'll be grateful for the extra assistance.”
“There is one more thing you should know about her, Eliza…” he tried to put it delicately. “It's not just that she's not built to be a warrior, or that her Basic is weak. She's entirely unsuited for me, or training, or life, most likely. Part of the reason the Jurors agreed to this is because she was born sick, and her magic will consume her at some point before the tests.”
Eliza went quiet on the other end of the line.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “Our healing facilities here–”
“Are advanced, like ours,” Nathaniel answered. “You should just know that so you aren't shocked.”
“Of course,” Eliza replied. “I will see you soon, my love.”
“And I you,” he said, ending the call. It left him with an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach to say that. How many times would he have to tell people that, to warn them about his new, fragile Tiro? How many excuses would he have to make for her in the coming months or years?
What exactly was this life he was living?
At five-thirty, Desmond buzzed him through the com
-link. Nathaniel had been sitting on his bed, engrossed in lesson plans. He had taught his afternoon class and then lost his head to the diagrams of an old plane. He had planned more activities with the pictures than time permitted, but he was happy. He was annoyed that Desmond was interrupting it, and he answered gruffly.
“What?” he said.
“Sienna and I are going to dinner in the cafeteria,” Desmond said. “After that, I have some research to do in the library.”
“Okay?” Nathaniel asked, confused. “Why are you telling me?”
“Because after dinner will be six p.m.,” Desmond said calmly and Nathaniel coughed.
“You can't be serious about this.”
“I think it will be good for you,” Desmond answered, and Nathaniel rolled his eyes.
“You sound like Eliza,” he said. “By the way, did you see that quest?”
“What a coincidence that we got a quest to Jeffro,” Desmond answered, gruffly “Is she all right?”
“Should just be peace talks,” Nathaniel replied as he stood up. “Do you really want me to come with you?”
“It's not about what I want, Nathaniel,” Desmond said. “It's your duty.”
“Awesome.” Nathaniel grunted, but agreed. “I'll be there shortly.”
As much as he did not want to spend his favorite meal of the day with Sienna, he did need to eat. All the units had kitchens, but hardly anyone ate there for dinner. When the witches were together, they were expected to socialize and to share their ideas and challenges.
He made it to the cafeteria within ten minutes. He saw the two of them sitting at a table in the center and took a tray, deciding to load it up first. When he could avoid it no longer, he slid in beside Desmond, leaving Sienna on one side alone.
“Are you eating for four?” Desmond inquired, looking at Nathaniel's plate.
“Tough day,” Nathaniel replied, tearing apart a bun. Across the table, Sienna poked at her plate, shifting the food around without making much progress. Desmond watched her calmly, assessing the situation, and then spoke when he deemed it necessary.
“Today is special,” he said. “But in the future, we would expect you to eat and keep your strength up.”
Her eyes shot up, and she reached out, as if touch would communicate the issue. Magic shot from her hand accidentally. Nathaniel was fast enough to block it, throwing up his own stream and preventing any damage from being done.
“Woah,” he replied. “What's that about?”
Sienna looked guilty, drawing back. She took a deep breath, clenching her palm tightly.
“Relax,” Desmond said, half to each of them. “It was an accident.”
“That could have broken my glass,” Nathaniel said, going back to shoveling food in his mouth. Sienna said nothing, looking at the floor. “Jeffro has so many fragile things. Eliza's walls are full of artifacts. She can't be doing that.”
“I agree,” Desmond replied. “It requires training, don't you think?”
And with that, he got up, taking his tray.
“Where are you going?” Nathaniel asked anxiously.
“I told you, I have to go to the library,” he said. “Which is where I'll be if there is a real problem. A real problem, is that clear?”
“Yes.” Nathaniel knew exactly what that meant, and slumped back down. Sienna clearly didn't want Desmond to go either, but she had little choice in the matter.
She went back to playing with her food, shifting it around the plate and taking a bite now and again. Her magic was playing on her fingers, which wasn't acceptable table manners. Nathaniel was inclined to not care whether she went to bed hungry so long as she didn't break anything. But as he watched her out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something odd.
Every time her hand passed over the apple slices on her plate, her magic jumped a little more. It was as if it was drawn to the apple, fighting to leave her body and attack it.
He had never seen anything like that. A witch's magic was not partial to anything. It operated within them, and they were in control.
Except, of course, when the acridid gene attacked the body's own natural systems.
He furrowed his brow and reached across the table, pulling her plate away from her. She looked up at him in surprise, but didn't move.
The magic stopped pushing against her fingertips, and they returned to a normal color.
“Huh,” he said, in surprise. He pointed to the apples. “Have you had these before?”
She cocked her head, and he growled in frustration. There were translation devices, but they didn't operate on com-links. He needed a large room in order to let her speak freely. So instead, he held up the apple slice, extending his arm toward her.
The magic jumped again.
“What the hell?” he asked. She didn't look like she wanted to eat it, but she recognized what he was doing. “Has that happened before?”
Her hand reached for her plate which was full of pasta. The magic did not appear as she pulled her plate closer and picked up the fork. Now that the apple slices were removed, she seemed to be in more control.
He knew that the off-site facilities did not have proper catering, and he also knew that the planet she came from could not grow anything. Most things there were made instead of grown. It was possible that she had never come in contact with an apple before.
But why was her magic pushing like that? It baffled him, and he didn't like things that baffled him.
They didn't have any way to communicate, and so he waited until she was done eating before he stood with her.
“I can give you a tour,” he said. “Show you where class is going to be. You will be going to class.” ‘Since you can't go on any quests worth their salt,’ he thought.
“Quests?” she asked, as if she was reading his mind.
“Sometimes,” he replied. “Jeffro, on Monday.”
“Jeffro,” she recognized the name, and reached for her com-link. To his surprise, he found that it was Jeffro issue.
“Where did you get that?”
She paused. “I…Jeffro.”
“You...” he shook his head in confusion. “Are you from Jeffro?” he asked. He saw it now, of course. The accent should have given it away, but Eliza was so fluent that he hardly heard it. “Oh, my creator.”
She waited to see whether that was good or bad, and he took a risk.
“Eliza?” he asked, and she nodded.
“Queen Eliza,” she said, mocking a curtsey.
“That's right,” he said, grinning despite himself. He put a hand to his chest. “Eliza and I are good friends.”
Her eyes lit up at that, and she nodded. It was the first moment that he felt something, but he dismissed it.
So, she was from Jeffro, and Eliza could tell them what was going on in her head. It didn't mean he should get attached, because she was likely not going to survive long enough to do so.
Chapter 7
“I might not be here when you get back,” Mariah said early on Monday morning to Desmond as he packed his bag. It was five a.m., and they had to be on the airstrip at six. Desmond was barely awake himself, trying to think about what he needed. Twenty minutes ago, when the alarm had gone off, he had sat upright in bed, and right away sent out an unobtrusive ping of magic. It was what he did every day by instinct.
‘Christa,’ he said at first before his mind had pulled through sleep. ‘Safe.’ She wasn't on planet, but the faint bond that they still had told him she was fine.
‘Reynolds,’ he always tried, his heart aching. Nothing came back in response, as usual.
‘Nathaniel,’ he pinged, feeling his former Tiro still sleeping soundly somewhere.
‘Mariah,’ he reached out, and was surprised to find her presence approaching. She must want to see him before he left.
‘Sienna,’ it was new to his routine, but he knew he would be doing it for the rest of her life. She was next door, still curled up in bed. He briefly considered waking her, but decided it w
asn't necessary yet. She would learn to be ready for quests on her own, or she would make a mistake once, and never do it again. It was how they all learned, and he smiled, remembering the first time he had left Nathaniel on the platform, stunned that Desmond would follow through on his threats.
***
“Where are you going?” he asked as he grabbed another shirt.
“The facility on Rogers Base has had four Tiros blinded during a training exercise,” she replied. “They have asked me to work with them for a few weeks and see if they can continue.”
“Oh my,” he replied. “I am sorry to hear that. But if anyone can assist, it is you.”
“I'm glad to be asked,” she said. “Their life does not have to be over. I wish there had been someone there to show me the way.”
He paused. “Mariah…”
“No, Desmond. You were a wonderful support, of course. But you sympathized. You didn't understand.”
“Of course.” He accepted this as he zipped his bag. “You really didn't have to get up this early, you know.”
“I wanted to,” she smiled at him, her sightless eyes somehow sparkling. “We always used to do this for each other before we got old.”
“Or lazy.” He shrugged. “I remember, though. We'd always see the other one off.”
She stood up, hearing him zip up the bag. “And it was wonderful, wasn't it? The quietness of the morning…” She reached her arms out, and he let her put them around his neck, leaning into her. This was something that was recent, this level of touch. It was as if the older they got, the more they needed to feel each other and to know the other was still breathing.
They said nothing for a long moment, holding each other in the semi-darkness. He would have let it last another moment longer when Mariah gave a startled gasp.
“What is it?” he asked in shock.
“It's nothing,” she shook her head. “It's nothing. I think Sybil just took a tumble on a cliff somewhere. She's all right, but I felt the impact.”
“The bond never quite fades, does it?” he asked. “Even with Christa, I still feel when she's overexerting herself, running for miles, or dodging a meteor shower.”
“How odd to think that she's had two Tiros and is on her third,” Mariah shook her head. “Christa is efficient.”
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