Cease put down the mirror, looking a little offended, now. “My throat, Scarlet?”
“Yes, sir,” I insisted.
“I yell that loud, huh?” He smirked.
“You do have quite a set of lungs on you, sir,” I laughed.
Throat mages could do a whole lot more than just shout loudly. They were masters of tone. They could manipulate their voices to compel, pierce, destroy, inspire—you name it. Cease was the first Nordic I’d met whose voice could practically capture and drug his listeners. I supposed it was one of the reasons he was such an effective leader.
“Well,” Cease said, “when I was about to crash-land the manta ray and saw you still onboard, who could blame me for screaming at you to get the hell out. Kamikazes don’t need co-pilots. Especially when that co-pilot is the best possible replacement a commander could ask for.”
My heart hammered against my ribcage. I was floored by the magnitude of Cease’s compliment. Did he really believe that? Me, the best soldier he ever had? No way. But, Cease wasn’t a flatterer or a liar. He was always very direct and blunt. Brutally honest. He meant what he said. I hungered for his respect and approval since I got here. I lived in fear of letting him down. I guessed, I didn’t disappoint, after all.
“If you didn’t literally throw me out, I wouldn’t have left,” I said, refraining from telling him how badly it hurt to leave him behind, or how much I agonized over his presumed death, afterward. I knew, I could never reveal to anyone how attached to him I’d become. I had a hard time just admitting to myself: I’d broken my life code to pieces, despite my best efforts. “I guess you saved my life too, then, sir. We’re even.”
* * *
Just in time for today’s infiltration, the Trilateral Committee was sure to provide us with a fresh-from-the-factory, mini, convertible vitreous silica, complete with diffusion shields. Cease, Nurtic, Arrhyth and I boarded it at exactly seven-thirty. The hours passed slowly as we traveled across the Septentrion Sea and the Briny Ocean, stopping to refuel at the Fervor Gulf.
Before our ship could come within eyeshot of the Conflagrian shore, I committed all my spectrum into hiding it from view. I cloaked it long enough for Cease and I to exit, and for the manta ray to turn around and clear the coast. The task was a real spectral drain.
“You okay?” Cease whispered as I squatted in the sand. We were in the deserted Northern Dunes. No one lived out here except for the occasional, passing gypsy tribe.
“Yes, sir,” I breathed, peering up at the brilliant, orange sky. “Just give me a moment.”
Cease waited with remarkable patience as I lay on my back for a several minutes, eyes and hair soaking in the wonderful, one-hundred-twenty degree sunlight. I stared directly at the sun. The bitter, Nordic frigidity that seemed to have seeped into my bones over the past six ages finally melted away. For the first time since the eighty-seventh age, I was warm enough to breathe freely. I got to my feet.
“Better?” Cease asked.
“Yes, sir,” I answered, sheepishly. “Sorry for taking so long.”
“That’s fine.”
“Stand still for a moment, sir. I need to give you your aura.”
Cease’s physical form couldn’t just be black to the human eye. To really look like a mage, he needed an intangible, innate, ach-erontic air about him. He needed the appearance of a black electromagnetic field.
“Alright,” Cease said, blinking repeatedly.
And, there it was again—fear, in his eyes. Fear of the magical. The same man who wasn’t afraid to kamikaze into an enemy base was scared of letting a little spectrum flow into him. Incredible.
I inhaled and took a step toward him, gearing up to do it. Now, only inches from his face, I realized it wasn’t just fear I was seeing in his silver stare. It was revulsion. He was disgusted. Disturbed. Just this morning, he called me, a Conflagrian mage, the best soldier he’d ever had. He had no trouble relying on me, working closely with me, trusting me with his weaknesses, and making use of my spectral gifts for the service of his country. He even thanked me a couple nights ago for using our spectral twining to save his life. I thought he was comfortable by now with me and my magic. And, yet, here he was, repulsed by the thought of having my aura affect his infrared frequency. I was surprised by how deeply that cut me. Even after all we’d been through together, he was still listening to his… his programming. His programming that taught him to hate all things magical. The Childhood Program sure did a number on him.
Well, for the sake of our cover, Cease was going to have to glow like a blacklight today, whether he liked it or not. I sent two locks of hair snaking down my arms, into my palms. Then, I placed my hands on Cease’s shoulders and concentrated on sending a surge of spectrum into him. Slowly, a black mist began to form all around him, as though he really were Nox Acherontic.
I released him and took a couple steps back. He peered down at his glowing body in awe.
“Nice work,” he said, though through tight lips.
I only nodded. Then, I scrunched my eyes shut, turned my vision inward and pictured my own red wavelength. Concentrating hard, I began to loosen the hard shell I built around it, six ages ago. Slowly, my scarlet aura began to seep from my sources, sweeping over my entire frame.
I opened my eyes to the sight of Cease gaping openly at me. He’d never seen me in my natural state before.
“You look…” he breathed, then bit his lip.
I looked what? I stared at him, in suspense. Why didn’t he want to finish his sentence?
“You look… really, really red,” he finally said.
Really, really red? I suppressed a laugh. Was it just me, or was that not what he was going to say, before he caught himself?
“Well, that’s why they call me Scarlet.”
Cease surprised me then by stepping forward and taking my hand firmly in his. I couldn’t breathe. Our plan involved posing as a married couple, so this wasn’t exactly outrageous. But, we were still in the Northern Dunes. Miles upon miles from civilization. We didn’t need to start getting too in-character, yet. But, of course, I didn’t dare withdraw. I just stood there stupidly, holding his hand, enjoying it, hoping he couldn’t feel my pulse quicken.
His hand was very hot and sweaty.
That’s when I noticed the perspiration dripping down the edges of his shiny, shellacked hair. His cheeks, usually so pale, had a rosy tint to them. Of course, while the heat was energizing me, it was killing him. I snaked a lock of hair back down my right arm and pumped a steady stream of spectrum into Cease’s grasp, gradually reducing his fever.
Cease exhaled, relieved. “Thank you,” he breathed, wiping his forehead with his floppy, black sleeve.
For the next couple hours, we walked silently, hand-in-hand. Mountains of sand rippled majestically, like water in the light wind. I hungrily drank in the beautiful sight of yellows, oranges, reds and beiges—colors never seen on the monochromatic, snow-covered nation of Ichthyosis. Cease probably found the vibrancy of his surroundings unsettling, but said nothing.
At last, we reached the outskirts of civilization—a small village called Cerulean, where, in exchange for a couple taro roots from our pockets and a “thank you,” murmured by Cease in Conflagrian, we hopped aboard a crowded, wooden wagon with a tattered, burlap canopy, towed by a scabrous dragon. Conflagrian public transit. And, after a couple more hours and several more stops along the bumpy path, we arrived at Ardor Village—the capital of Conflagria, the city of my birth.
Things were exactly the same as during my childhood. Ichthyosis underwent more change and development in the last two months than Conflagria did in six ages. The System did indeed maintain a perfect, uninterrupted status quo.
It was our job to turn their world upside-down.
After pretending to be Nordic for half a dozen ages, it was tough to walk through my hometown again and see all the rickety, wooden cabins lining the dusty paths; scabrouses romping around in backyards, roped to wooden posts; taro fiel
ds filled with the bent backs of Uselesses; and colorful children running around with kites and fiddling with their untrained magic. Seeing all this proved my past wasn’t just a nightmare I could escape by fleeing across the Briny Ocean and Septentrion Sea. Conflagria wasn’t just an image on a classroom wall, a map in a textbook, or a memory in the back of my mind. It was as real as the sights and sounds before me, now.
We joined the winding line around the Fire Pit, where mages from across the island awaited their rations. After ninety minutes, our turn came. We stood before two mages I actually recognized from my Circle Trial, a decade ago. One was a dark-robed man with a goatee and a permanent smirk on his face, and the other was an aged woman with a low, raspy, mystical voice.
It was time for Cease to recite his big, memorized speech. I held my breath.
“I am hair-mage Nox Acherontic, and this is my wife, Ruby Ringlet,” he said, sounding a little too slow and mechanical for comfort. “We come from the Seventh Dunes to pick up the ration for our community. The elders have chosen us to serve as Town Messengers, this week.”
The gypsies of the Dunes didn’t make daily treks to the Fire Pit like those who lived more inland. Because they were usually far from Ardor, they only came about once every week or two to collect vast amounts of fire for their entire tribe. According to the Ribald Briny Fire Safety Laws, these ‘Dune Messengers’ had to get special permission to enter the depths of the Pit, where they handled jumbo scoops.
“We need to verify your eye-hand coordination before authorizing you to use the flame-catchers,” the goateed one said.
Cease stared at him, without comprehension. The man, murmuring under his breath about ignorant, teenage first-timers, groped for Cease’s left hand. Squeezing Cease’s palm, he closed his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows.
“Here you are,” he said gruffly, releasing his hold and holding out a glimmering net, woven from dragon mane-hair. Apparently, Cease passed the dexterity test. No surprise there. He took the net and we stepped forward.
“No, no, little lady.” He caught my shoulder. “You have to wait out here until your husband returns.”
“Seventh Dunes won’t be able to send anyone for two weeks,” I said, quickly. “He may need my help gathering an extra scoop.”
The man laughed richly, at that. “He may need your help?” He gave my body elevator-eyes, and, unlike when Cease did that this morning, I found it extremely creepy. “The Fire Pit is no place for a woman.”
I felt a surge of anger stream through my hair as I held out my hand.
“Test me,” I growled.
His bushy eyebrows rose. “I can’t while you’re upset; it’ll alter the results.” He stroked his chin. “Maybe you should wait a few minutes, you know… to cool off.”
I understood what he didn’t say: He wanted to brush me aside for seven minutes—just long enough for my rebellious thoughts to get suppressed by the System’s magical thought-control.
“Sit down for a while.” He gestured to a wicker rocking-chair beside him. He turned to Cease and waved him on. “You can go in, now; she’ll wait for you out here.”
Cease probably didn’t understand a word, but could figure out the situation well enough from his intonation and body language.
“Um, no… I, uh, would like to…” Cease looked at me, eyes pleading for help.
“Wait here with me,” I quickly finished for him.
Cease nodded, vigorously. “Yes, I would like to wait here with me.”
The mage blinked.
“Her!” Cease burst. “I would like to wait here with her!”
The man looked annoyed. “As you wish, kid.”
He turned to the next people in line. And, as I expected, he returned to us exactly seven minutes later. I gave him what I hoped was a sweet smile.
“Would you like to test me, now?” I asked pleasantly, holding out my hand.
He was taken aback by my persistence, but no longer had an excuse to deny me the test. There was no actual law forbidding women from entering the Pit, it was just unconventional. The System discouraged it, and, due to the mind-control, that was all they really needed to do to get the masses to cooperate, for the most part.
He grasped my red palm and concentrated deeply. When he opened his eyes, he seemed all the more irritated.
“You passed, lady,” he said. “Go on.”
“Oh, thank you,” I breathed, following Cease to the stone door.
My stomach knotted as we began descending the narrow, winding stairs. Cease left the flame-catcher on the ground, somewhere along the way. Soon, it was completely dark in all directions. As I felt my aura dissipate, I could no longer see Cease, just a couple paces ahead of me.
“Scarlet, why don’t you use your eye-fire to give us some light?” Cease asked.
“I can’t, sir. It’s like a diffusion cell in here.”
The temperature rose with every step we took. After half an hour, the path apparently came to an abrupt end—I heard the slam of Cease running into something solid, and the next thing I knew, we were thrown onto our backs, Cease on top of me. A sharp, stony clatter sounded near my head.
“Scarlet, are you okay?” Cease breathed in Nurian, quickly getting up.
His bony butt had landed right in my gut. I was glad I didn’t have an appetite this morning, because my breakfast would’ve surely come up, right now. Bitter stomach acid burned my mouth.
“Yes, sir,” I said, swallowing. “You?”
“You broke my fall; I’m fine.”
“What was that sharp noise?” I asked. “It sounded like something small and hard bounced by my head.”
“Is this it?” Cease asked, voice issuing from behind me. He somehow found his way back to me, felt for my hands and placed a rough object in them. My fingers traced the jagged, familiar edges.
“The crystal!” I whispered.
“What’re you talking about? The Core Crystal is larger than a vitreous silica!”
“No, no, sir, I’m talking about my crystal.” I touched my neck and found a jumble of wire there. The rock must’ve slipped from the coils. “A guard gave it to me the day I was deported.”
“Yeah, okay,” Cease said.
Sheepishly, I pocketed the fragment. Extending my arms out in the darkness, I touched what felt like a warm, stone wall. What Cease ran into.
“How are we supposed to get past this?” I wondered aloud.
WHAM!
I tasted blood in my mouth, and pain seared down my neck.
“What the—?”
THUD!
Cease groaned.
“Ichthyothian spies!” I recognized the voice of the goateed mage.
I fingered my utility belt, hidden beneath my swathe. But, I couldn’t shoot a weapon in here, in such a tight space, when I couldn’t see. What if I hit Cease?
A fist punched me in the stomach. Then again, and again, at evenly spaced intervals. Right when I expected his next strike, I jumped up into a backflip, kicking the man in the face. I heard his body hit the ground. Then, to the sound of Cease grunting, I heard a rip and a series of thumps, and it was all over.
“I took care of him,” Cease said, shortly.
A chill ran down my spine. I was glad I couldn’t see how.
I returned to the wall, now dripping with what must’ve been our attacker’s bodily fluids. I slid my fingers across the stone, feeling several bumps and grooves. I slowly began to piece together a message, as the protrusions formed a string of archaic Conflagrian words.
“It’s a riddle,” I said, “requesting a password for us to get by. It says, the question changes according to who sees it, and it never asks the same one twice.”
“Great. What’s ours?”
“It wants us to speak the name, or the meaning of the name, of the ‘Son of Nations.’” I folded my arms, feeling helpless already. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Son of Nations,” Cease echoed. “Is that a royal Conflagrian title?”
/>
“No. We just call the executive leader, ‘Principal,’ and his cabinet, ‘Throne Advisors.’ That’s it.”
“What about mage mythology?”
I wrinkled my nose. “No, I know all those tales, but ‘Son of Nations’ isn’t in any of them. Maybe it has nothing to do with Conflagria. I mean, it doesn’t say ‘Son of the Nation of Conflagria,’ but specifically, ‘Son of Nations.’ Plural. It must be asking for someone born of more than one country.”
Cease snorted. “Like that ever happens.”
Well, it already did, but only a couple times on record. Arrhyth Link and his little sister, Linkeree, were Nurro-Orion. But, somehow, I didn’t think the wall was asking for their names.
Cease was already growing impatient. “Now what?”
I wrung my hands. We didn’t come this far to get stumped by a stupid guessing game!
“I don’t even know where to begin, Lechatelierite,” I sighed.
With a thunderous rumble, the wall began to move, and my spectrum returned to my eyes and hair with a sizzle. That’s when I realized the barrier wasn’t a wall at all, but a boulder. It rolled right over the mangled body of our attacker.
“What did I say?” I gaped. “Why’s it opening?”
The stone stopped abruptly, and our sights were filled with bright, billowing flames. We were miles beneath the crust of the Earth, facing a fire that lashed all the way to the orange, Conflagrian sky. The crackle of the inferno roared in our ears. Enormous rock fragments intermittently dislodged from the cavern walls and came crashing down into the massive pool of bubbling, steaming lava. Straining my eye magic, I peered into the blinding base of the conflagration and looked directly at it—the sparkling, scintillating, colossal Core Crystal, framed by coursing magma. The two of us stood, staring in awe, for just a moment. Cease pulled his visual band over his eyes and the light danced across its silver surface.
Then, Cease nodded at the long, narrow, winding cliff before us and said in a firm, unafraid voice: “Who cares why it opened. Let’s go.”
Spectrum Page 21