by Jasmine Walt
“What had the boy done?” he thought darkly, pricking his finger and touching the Life Capture Sphere.
Augusta came back to herself with a gasp. Quickly pricking her finger, she touched the Life Capture Sphere on the table in front of her. The last thing she wanted was to expose her private thoughts to the person who would use this droplet next, as Ganir had just done. It was bad enough that there would still be a moment of her feelings captured for anyone to see—a moment of overwhelming horror and disgust.
Her fears had come true: the thing had unnatural powers.
“What of Davish?” she asked Ganir, trying to remain calm. “In the droplet, the creature was reaching for him.”
The Council Leader hesitated for a moment. “He’s not . . . exactly himself after meeting her, according to Vik.”
“What do you mean?” Augusta gave him a questioning look.
“How much do you know about Davish?”
She frowned. “Not much. I know he’s Kelvin’s overseer and supposedly not much better than our esteemed colleague.”
Kelvin was her least favorite member of the Sorcerer Council. His mistreatment of his people was legendary. Several years ago, Blaise had even petitioned for Kelvin to get kicked off the Council and have his holdings confiscated, but, of course, no one had dared to implement such a precedent against a fellow sorcerer. Instead, Kelvin ended up giving control of his lands to Davish—who turned out to be a mirror image of his master when it came to the treatment of peasants.
Ganir nodded, an expression of disgust appearing on his face. “That’s an understatement. Davish’s reputation has traveled far and wide. That atrocity they call the Coliseum was originally Davish’s idea—”
“What happened to him?” Augusta interrupted.
“Well, apparently after the encounter you just saw, Davish has already begun to change many policies in the territory. He has initiated an aid effort for the families most affected by the drought, and there are rumors that he may close or change the Coliseum games after the upcoming events.” Ganir’s eyes gleamed. “In short, Davish is a changed man. Literally.”
Augusta’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. “The creature changed him? Just like that? How do you even change someone?”
“Well, theoretically, there are ways—”
Augusta stared at him. “You can do this, too?”
“No.” Ganir shook his head. “I wish I could, but I can’t. At most, I could control a commoner’s mind for a short period of time. The mathematics and the complexity of deep fundamental change are beyond human capabilities.”
Beyond human capabilities? “Doesn’t this terrify you?” Augusta asked, sickened by the thought of this thing having such power.
“Probably not as much as it terrifies you,” Ganir said, watching her with his pale gaze, “but yes, the power to make someone lose their essence, their personhood, is a dangerous power indeed. Especially if it is abused.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“I am going to dispatch the Sorcerer Guard,” Ganir said. “They will bring her here. You saw how the defenses protected my observer from the full power of her spells. I will equip the Guard with even better defenses.”
“You are asking them to bring it here alive? You would risk their lives and ours just so that you could study this creature?” Augusta could hear her voice rising in angry disbelief. “Are you insane? It needs to be destroyed!”
“No,” Ganir said implacably. “Not yet. If nothing else, Blaise would never forgive us if we destroy her without just cause.”
“What does it matter? He hates us anyway,” Augusta said bitterly. And turning, she left Ganir’s chambers before she said something she would later regret.
35
Gala
“Did you hear? They said she was shooting fire out of her eyes, and her hair was as white as snow, streaming behind her for a solid five yards.” The pot-bellied man sitting at the corner table burped, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
“Really?” The man’s skinny friend leaned forward. “I heard men were blinded when they looked at her, and then she healed them by waving her hand.”
“Blinded? I didn’t hear that. But they say she brought back the dead. The thief got her head chopped off and then the whole thing regrew.”
The skinny man picked up a tankard of ale. “She wasn’t one of the Council either. Nobody knew where she came from. They say she wore rags, but her beauty was such that her skin glowed.”
Sweeping the floor around the table, Gala listened to the men’s conversation with amusement and disbelief. How had they made up all these stories about her? Nobody at the inn had even been at the market—a fact that helped protect her identity nearly as much as the rough shawl Esther insisted she wear when doing her chores at the inn.
Cleaning the inn turned out to be less fun than Gala had expected. She’d volunteered to help around the inn as a way to get out of the room and experience more of life. Although she had enjoyed knitting and sewing—two activities that Maya and Esther had occupied her with after the market fiasco—she had wanted to do something more active. Of course, Maya and Esther had been less than receptive to the idea of her leaving the room. Their biggest fear was that Gala would be recognized.
Gala had doubted that anyone would recognize her, particularly in the disguise she wore around the inn, and she was right. All day long, she had been cleaning, scrubbing pots in the kitchen, and washing windows, and nobody had paid the least bit of attention to a poorly dressed peasant girl with a thick woolen shawl wrapped around her head. To be extra safe, Maya had even smeared some soot on Gala’s face—a look that Gala didn’t particularly like, but accepted as a necessity in light of what had occurred at the market.
Now, after a full day of physical labor, her back was aching and her hands were beginning to blister from gripping the rough broom handle. Although her injuries healed quickly, she still disliked the feeling of pain. Cleaning was really not fun at all, Gala decided, determined to finish this particular task and then rest. She couldn’t imagine how most common women worked like this day in and day out.
A few times she had tried to do magic again, emboldened by her tremendous success at the market. However, to her unending frustration, it seemed like she still had no control over her abilities. She couldn’t even cast a simple spell to get a pot clean; instead, she’d nearly rubbed her palms raw scrubbing it with all her strength.
“Gala, are you still cleaning?” Esther’s voice interrupted Gala’s thoughts. The old woman had managed to approach Gala without her noticing.
“Almost done,” Gala said wearily. She was exhausted and all she wanted to do was collapse into her bed upstairs.
“Oh, good.” Esther gave her a wide smile. “Are you ready to help prepare dinner?”
Gala felt a trickle of excitement that battled with her exhaustion. She had never cooked before, and was dying to try it. “Of course,” she said, ignoring the way her muscles protested every movement.
“Then come, child, let me introduce you to the cook.”
By the time Gala got back to the room, she could barely walk. Pausing to wash some of the sweat and grime off her hands and face, she collapsed on her bed.
“So did you enjoy cooking dinner?” Maya was sitting on the cot in the corner, calmly knitting another shawl. “Did you find it as fun and educational as you hoped?”
Staring at the ceiling, Gala considered her question for a minute. “To be honest with you, no,” she admitted. “I was cutting up an onion, and my eyes began tearing up. Then they brought in the dead birds, and I couldn’t look at them. They were plucking out their feathers, and the whole thing was utterly horrible. And then carrying around all those heavy pots and pans . . . I really don’t know how those women in the kitchen do it every day. I don’t think I would be happy doing that my entire life.”
“Most peasants don’t have a choice,” Maya said. “If a woman is pretty, like you, then she has more option
s. She can find a wealthy man to take care of her. But if she doesn’t have the looks—or the aptitude for sorcery—then life is hard. Maybe not always as hard as cooking dinner at a public inn, but it’s not fun and pleasant. Childbirth alone is brutal. I’m glad I never had to go through that.”
“Do men have it easier?”
“In some ways,” Maya said as Esther entered the room. “In other ways, it’s more difficult. Most commoners have to work very hard to grow their crops, plow their fields, and take care of their livestock. If a job is too difficult for a woman to do, then she can ask her husband to help her. A man, however, can only rely on himself.”
Gala nodded, feeling her eyelids getting heavy. Maya’s words began to blend together, and she felt a familiar lassitude sweeping over her body. She knew it meant she was falling asleep, and she welcomed the relaxing darkness.
Gala’s mind awakened. Or, more precisely, she became self-aware for the first time.
‘I can think’ was her first fully coherent thought. ‘Where is this?’ was the second one.
She somehow knew that places were supposed to be different from where she found herself. She vaguely recalled visions of a place with colors, shapes, tastes, smells, and other fleeting sensations—sensations that were absent in here. There were other things here, however—things she didn’t have names for. The world around her didn’t seem to match her mind’s expectations. The closest she could describe it was as darkness permeated by bright flashes of light and color. Except it wasn’t light and color; it was something else, something she had no equivalent name for.
There were also thoughts out there. Some belonging to her, some to other things—things that were nothing like her. Only one stream of thought was vaguely similar to her own.
She wasn’t sure, but it seemed like that stream of thought was seeking her, trying to reach out to her.
Waking up with a gasp, Gala sat up in bed, looking around the dark room.
“What happened, child?” Esther asked, putting down the book she had been reading by candle light. “Did you have a bad dream?”
“I don’t think so,” Gala said slowly. “I think I was dreaming of a time right before my birth.”
Esther gave her a strange look and returned to her book.
Gala lay back down and tried to calm her racing heartbeat. This was the first time she had dreamed at all—and she wished Blaise was there, so she could talk to him about it. He would find this dream fascinating, since it had been about the Spell Realm.
Closing her eyes, she drifted off again, hoping her next dream would be about Blaise.
36
Blaise
The confrontation with Ganir left Blaise feeling strangely unsettled. Had the old man been genuine in offering his help? He’d seemed so shocked when Blaise had told him about the vote that Blaise had almost believed his lies.
The Council didn’t know about Gala—unless Ganir had lied about that too. But if he hadn’t, and if the Council was not involved, then who had been following Blaise that day? Thinking about it, Blaise decided that it could just as easily have been one of Ganir’s spies; the old sorcerer was famous for having his tentacles everywhere.
Ganir clearly had some plans for Gala—that much was obvious to Blaise. The Council Leader was far from a fool; he, more than most, would see the potential in an intelligent magical object that had assumed human shape. Of course, Blaise had no intention of letting Gala become Ganir’s tool. No matter what Blaise himself had intended for her originally, she was a person, and he needed to make sure she was treated as such.
Walking back to his study, he sat down at his desk, trying to figure out what to do next. If the Council didn’t know about Gala, then there was still some time. Somehow Blaise had to get to her without leading Ganir there. His experiments with the Spell Realm were clearly not the answer; it would take too long to perfect something so complicated.
Blaise needed some way to evade whoever was watching his house.
Pondering the problem, he wondered if it would be possible to increase the speed of his chaise. If he could go significantly faster than his pursuer, then he could outrun the spy and collect Gala before anyone caught up to them.
Suddenly, a crazy idea occurred to him. What if, instead of flying, he teleported himself part of the way? If the teleportation was over a sufficiently short distance, it would be significantly safer, reducing the odds of materializing someplace unexpected. In fact, he could always teleport to a spot that he could see with enhanced vision—and from there, he could do it again and again. This would make the trip significantly shorter in length, and make him impossible to track.
The only problem would be the complexity of the code he would need to write—but Blaise was up for the challenge.
37
Barson
Walking into Ganir’s chambers, Barson forced himself to keep his face expressionless.
“You summoned me?” He purposefully omitted any honorific due to the head of the Council—a subtle insult that he was sure Ganir would not miss.
“Barson.” Ganir inclined his head, foregoing Barson’s military title as well.
“How may I be of assistance?” Barson asked in an overly polite tone. “Should I put down another small rebellion for you?”
Ganir’s mouth tightened. “About that. I regret that I was misinformed about the situation in the north. The person responsible for this grievous error has been dealt with.”
“Of course. I would’ve expected no less from you.” Barson would’ve done the same thing in Ganir’s place. The old sorcerer clearly didn’t want any witnesses to his treachery.
“I have a small task for you,” the Council Leader said. “There is a sorceress who is causing some disturbances in Kelvin’s territory. I’d like you to take a few of your best men and bring her to me, so we could have a discussion.”
Barson did his best to conceal his surprise. “You wish me to bring in a sorceress?”
“Yes,” Ganir said calmly. “She’s young and shouldn’t present much of a challenge. You can just talk to her and convince her to come to Turingrad. That might be the best way. Of course, if she’s reluctant, then you have my leave to use whatever methods of persuasion you deem necessary.”
Barson inclined his head in agreement. “It shall be done as you wish.”
Leaving Ganir, Barson walked through the Tower halls, trying to make sense of the Council Leader’s request. The sorceress in Kelvin’s territory had to be the same one Larn had informed him about—the mystery woman who could supposedly perform miracles. Why did Ganir want her detained? And why would he send the Guard to do it? Sorcerers usually dealt with their own affairs, not wanting to seem vulnerable to outsiders—not even to the Guard. The precedent of non-sorcerers subduing one of the elite would be something most in the Tower would find frightening.
There were only two reasons Barson could think of for Ganir’s request: the old sorcerer was either trying to keep this matter hidden from others on the Council, or it was another ploy to send the Sorcerer Guard into a potentially deadly situation. Barson did not for a second believe Ganir’s claim of a ‘grievous error.’ It was obvious the old man had somehow caught wind of Barson’s plans and was doing his best to sabotage him.
Of course, it was also possible that Ganir had staged this whole thing in the hopes that Barson would refuse to follow his orders, thus giving him cause to take up action against Barson at the Council level. No doubt the Council Leader thought that if he eliminated the immediate threat of Barson and his closest lieutenants, the rest of the Guard would return to being the sorcerers’ loyal tool.
Approaching his chambers, Barson was surprised to find Augusta standing by his door, about to knock. She looked beautiful, but surprisingly anxious.
“I need to speak with you,” she said as he got closer.
“Of course.” Barson smiled, his heart beating faster at her nearness. “Come inside. We’ll talk.”
Opening the door,
he led her into his room. However, before he could so much as kiss her, she started to pace back and forth in the middle of the room.
Barson leaned against the wall, waiting to see what was on her mind.
She stopped in front of him. “Ganir will summon you,” she said, sounding worried. “He’ll want to send you on a mission to Kelvin’s territory.”
“Oh?” Barson did his best to look mildly interested. Augusta was clearly unaware that he had just seen Ganir, and he was curious to hear what she was about to say.
“It’s a different kind of a mission. He will tell you that you are to apprehend a dangerous sorceress.”
“A sorceress?” Barson continued pretending ignorance. This was a serious stroke of luck. Perhaps Augusta would give him the information he needed.
“Yes,” she said, looking up at him. “A powerful sorceress that Ganir wants to use for his own purposes.”
“And what purposes would those be?”
“He wants to replace me with her on the Council,” Augusta said, giving him a steady look. “As you probably know, Ganir and I don’t get along very well.”
That wasn’t what Barson had been expecting to hear. “Is that right?” he asked softly, lifting his hand to brush a stray lock of hair off her face. Was she lying to him right now? For someone who didn’t get along, she and Ganir had certainly been seeing a lot of each other.
Augusta nodded, reaching up to capture his hand with her own, squeezing it lightly. “It’s the truth. And that’s why I want to ask you for a favor.” She paused, holding his gaze. “I don’t want her brought in alive.”
Barson couldn’t conceal his shock. “You want me to go against the Council Leader and kill a sorceress?”
“She’s not what she seems,” Augusta said, her hand tightening around his palm. “You would be doing the entire world a favor by getting rid of her.” Her voice held a note of fear that startled Barson.