Fractures (Facets of Reality Book 2)

by Jeremy Bullard

  "Well, you're trying to learn something that, as far as you know, should be impossible. After all, if it weren't impossible, somebody at the Academy would've dreamed it up years ago!" Menkal signed contemplatively. "The Academy does so much to better us as mages that we often forget how much it holds us back."

  "I don't follow."

  The old mage smiled and cast a sidelong glance at her. "Let me try another approach. Think back to your days in the Academy. What is the one thing that hindered your exploration of magic more than anything else?"

  "Boys."

  "Distraction."

  "Same thing."

  "Not really. After all, frustration is just as distracting as tanned and muscled flesh, if not more so."

  Delana harrumphed. "It's a little hard not to be frustrated. I mean, with all due respect and humility, I'm the Head of the Amethyst Order in Caravan. I've spent years mastering my soulgem, and I've rarely found my peer. If anybody can figure out this new null field, it should be me."

  "...and not an unschooled mage who isn't even truly an amethyst?" added the sapphire suggestively.

  "Yes. I mean, no! I mean..." Her argument crumbled to frustrated silence.

  She just could not understand Sal. He was so disciplined, and yet so chaotic, so educated in the things of his own world, and yet so easily mastering the things of hers. His warrior spirit showed through in every task he performed. He defeated every obstacle with the same efficiency, the same confidence.

  The same impunity.

  It really was infuriating, to see him turn the millennia-tested rules of magic on its ear, only to find magic so eager to comply with his desires!

  He reminded her of a horse trainer she knew from her childhood in Eastwind Delta, a Southern Plains boy who defied the conventions of his profession time and again, only to achieve near magical results. She remembered one horse in particular, a large, spirited beast that the best trainers in the Delta couldn't tame. Their approach was perfectly ordered, their techniques time-worn, their skill unmatched, and yet the horse just would not break. She could still see that boy walking up to the beast, without the slightest flicker of fear or doubt in his eyes. In disbelief, she watched him put hand to the horse's muzzle, then neck, then shoulder. In a single fluid motion, the boy was on the horse's back, the beast parading him around the paddock proudly, as if the boy -- not the horse -- were broken.

  Sal had that same fearlessness, that same simplicity in the face of mind-boggling complexity.

  "He does seem to do the impossible with irritating regularity," Menkal commiserated.

  "Well... yes," Delana conceded. "I know he has a knack for improvising, but when I try to improvise..."

  The old mage cut her off, pointing at her excitedly. "Ah! And that's just it, isn't it? You 'try' to improvise. It's quite like planning to be spontaneous, or learning to have faith -- the one precludes the other."

  Delana pinched the bridge of her nose to stave off the headache she felt forming there. "You're not making any sense. I'm supposed to improvise without trying to improvise?"

  "Absolutely. It's the only way you truly can improvise."

  He paused for a moment, considering his words. He held his cupped hands before him, as if grasping the emptiness between them. "You're a Deltan, so think of magic like a fish. When you go to pick a fish up, it fusses and twists, trying to get free. You can tighten your grip, maybe shift your fingers around on its slimy body, and maybe you'll get a better grip on it, but if you don't do it exactly right---" He clapped his hands together, squirting the imaginary fish from his grasp.

  "This is how we learn magic at the Academy -- by trying to control something that doesn't want to be controlled. We start with simple, immutable concepts that the magic can easily fit into. Then we build on those concepts, hemming the magic in with greater and greater complexity until, finally, we have a strong spell that requires us to be incredibly specific. Vary that complexity in the slightest..." Again, Menkal squirted his hands together.

  Delana found herself nodding in spite of herself. She'd long recognized that Menkal's true talent wasn't his mastery of Sapphire -- although that was considerable -- but rather, his mastery of logic. He had a knack for illustration, for creating parables that perfectly put abstracts into perspective. His description of magic as a fish was brilliant, and it resonated perfectly with how Delana viewed magic.

  The old man continued. "Sal sees magic differently than we do. Rather than trying to grab a fish by the body..."

  "...he grabs it by the lip," she finished, catching on. "The fish can flop and twist however it wants to, but it can't get away. And when he wants to toss the fish in the basket, he uses the fish's own momentum to do it."

  "Exactly. So rather than asking how you ought to build your concepts to form the null field, you might be better off considering how Sal did it. You know -- you know -- that what he did is impossible. And yet, he did it. So why is it impossible for you and not for him?"

  * * *

  After his debrief -- and his obligatory chewing out -- Sal had stopped by the Unmarked Armoury. With tonight being Long Harvest, and the added danger of granite-driven bozos looking for a piece of him, he didn't want to take any chances with Bastion's security. He might be a member of the Cause, but he still had a job to do, and the innocents of Bastion were depending upon him to do it.

  As it happened, the Armoury was a wealth of misappropriated and long-forgotten items, things that the deep pockets in Schel Veylin would never miss. He hefted his booty, a coarsely woven burlap sack, and felt the weight shift as the contents pushed against the linen sides.

  Yeah, his Unmarked were gonna love him.

  Hey, Patrys, how we doin'? he asked as he strode through the south gate.

  What? Since ye went galavantin' off with yer lady fair, and near 'bout got slit from tip to toe?

  Yeah, thanks for the assist there.

  Aye. May as well've. I certainly can't command this lot, and Frasyr's barely a wheat shaft better.

  As Patrys reported off to Sal, he used the strength of her Whisper to guide him through the crowded streets, which was only growing more congested as afternoon rolled into evening. Patrys' voice led him past shops and hawkers and craftsmen, gangs of kids and cuddling couples, finally reaching the courtyard where the Mainway crossed the Learned Concourse. Frasyr and Patrys stood in the center of the Quad, backed by the Stone of Ysra, a massive marble obelisk that stood as tribute to some past leader or another. The pair had a small crowd of Unmarked around them -- three fists, by the look of them, maybe a full squadron, in constant flux, coming and going as assignments were handed out.

  "Superior on the field," Frasyr announced as he caught Sal's approach. As one, the Unmarked fell in line and saluted him, fist over heart, then sweeping to the hip.

  Every one of them, to a man, winked. Sal groaned under his breath.

  "At ease," he said, and the squad relaxed. "Now, as you know, tonight isn't going to be your typical Harvest night. A lot of ordinarily smart people are gonna drink stuff that they wouldn't ordinarily drink, and it's gonna make them extraordinarily stupid."

  This brought some knowing chuckles from the crowd. Apparently, there were a few amongst them that knew well the kind of stupidity he spoke of. Sal didn't bother to hide a sideways grin. It wasn't so long ago that a sixteen year old Jimmy Salvatori had stolen his Dad's pickup for a trip to the river with a six-pack of wine coolers and a one-pack of Rebecca Lynn Collier. Ahhh youth...

  "Now, I know how hard y'all have worked over the past few days. Me being absent didn't help matters any. I'm sure you've already heard stories about how I spent my day, walking around with my girlfriend..." This drew a low rumble of muted conversation. "...getting jumped by a shol'tuk and a couple thugs..." The buzz grew a little louder, and took on a note of awe. "...taking a walk down to the Granite Spire, that kind of thing. I don't want you to think that I've been ducking my responsibility to y'all"

  If any of the assembled did
feel that way, the crowd didn't show it. They bore the same eager faces they always had -- perhaps a bit irreverent of their commanding officer, a bit more familiar than protocol allowed, but more than forgiving for any wrongs they might've suffered.

  "I also don't want you to think that your sacrifices have gone unappreciated. Believe me, I've seen your devotion to duty, and to the people of Bastion. I couldn't be prouder to call you mine. So, as a reward..."

  He held the linen bag out in front of him and undid the straps, revealing the sparkly blue contents within. He withdrew one, and scanned the crowd for a worthy candidate. He found two. Perfect.

  "Jelleck! Hon'as! Step forward," he said, channeling all the command that Aten'rih had on the training grounds with the three of them, so many weeks ago. The two emeralds appeared before him and saluted smartly, though not without a note of trepidation. They remembered, as well as he did, the butt whooping they tried to give him. They also remembered that it didn't go all that well for them. With as severe a face as he could muster, he handed the gem to Jelleck, and dug out another one for Hon'as.

  "As you should remember from your studies in Mana Theory, sapphire mages can use their magic to communicate over great distances -- they call it Whispering, or 'speaking to the wind'. Using this ability, they need only think of the person they want to talk to, then think what they want to say, and the other person 'hears' it through the magic.

  "These earrings mimic that ability for everybody else." He held his aloft. It was little more than a silver circlet, an open hoop the size of a thumbnail, with a minuscule sapphire chip attached. "Emerald, ruby, amethyst, mundane, everybody can use these. Obviously, they don't work precisely the same way -- you actually have to talk with these -- but it's pretty close. They go on like so." He slipped the open end of the hoop around the helix of his ear and pinched it closed. He felt the magic take effect, locking the hoop so that it wouldn't come undone until the wearer intended to take it off. He motioned Jelleck and Hon'as to do the same, then handed them the bag to pass out.

  "I'm sure we all appreciate the gesture, Sal," said a pretty Onatae ruby -- Lyta, Sal thought her name was. "I mean, any gear is good gear, and I'm sure we'll put them to good use. But why give these to us now?"

  "What? Didn't I tell you already?" Sal affected a confused look. "My bad. You guys are gonna pair up, at least one sapphire mage or earring amongst you..." He paused for effect. "...and then you're gonna go participate in the holiday that you've been policing."

  The cheer was deafening.

  "Arright, arright!" he shouted finally, vainly calling the crowd to order. "You guys still have to do your job. I'm just letting you have fun doing it. Now quiet down so I can show you how they work..."

  * * *

  The dispersal of the earrings went about as well as Sal could've expected. His Unmarked were soldiers, but they were still, by and large, kids. And like generations of kid-soldiers before them, both on this world and Sal's own, they couldn't help but play with the newest and shiniest toy in the box. The Unmarked spent more time goofing off with the sapphire earrings than they did listening to Sal discuss their applications and limitations.

  So much the better. Familiarity bred affinity.

  But they could become familiar with their new toys on their own time.

  "Assembly! To order!" Sal barked, and the frivolity came to a screeching halt as scores of Unmarked leapt to attention. Even the Harvest celebrants and random passersby dropped what they were doing. In an instant, the Quad around the Stone of Ysra was absolutely silent, save for the sounds of merrymaking coming from the city around them.

  "Amethysts and your partners, stand fast for a moment. Everybody else, get to work."

  The Quad bustled once more with activity as Unmarked headed to their assignments and onlookers returned to their onlooking. As the area cleared, Sal waved the amethysts in. There were about fifty or so by Sal's reckoning, minus the amethysts that were already on post or headed to their beds. That'd do nicely.

  "Okay. I'm about to show you something -- something that I want you to practice, and then pass along to every amethyst Unmarked that isn't here to see it for themselves." His lips quirked in a wry grin. "And before you tell me it's impossible, I need to explain why it's not. Cedric, can I have your water skin?"

  The older mage gave Sal a confused look, but handed over the leather bottle. "Am I going to get it back?"

  "Yeah, sure. You betcha," Sal said awkwardly, then raised his voice to address the gathered Unmarked. "Okay, can somebody tell me why this is able to hold water?"

  "The inner lining has been waterproofed," said a mage that Sal wasn't familiar with.

  "Right. But why the inner lining? Why not the outer?"

  "Because the inside is what touches the water. Treating the outside would waterproof it too, but then everything would taste like leather."

  "And how do you tell that the inside has been treated?"

  "The outside is dry. What's the p---?" the mage started.

  "Exactly," Sal said, cutting him off. "The outside would stay dry. So if I did this..." He shot Cedric an apologetic look, and then popped the seams of the bottle, spilling its contents on the ground as Sal flipped the leather inside out. "Would you say that the outside is now waterproofed, and the inside would remain dry?"

  As one, the assembly nodded. Sal had their full attention, but they still didn't see the relevance of his illustration.

  Perfect.

  "Null fields work in the exact same way. When you generate the field, magic within is disrupted, but magic outside the field operates like it should -- that is, until it crosses over into the field, at which point it fails as well. This is why any amethyst casting the spell must do so from outside the field. Follow?

  "Now, this isn't always the case. You can have one-sided fields, such as the witness box in the chambers of the Patriarchal Council. If you've never had the privilege, the witness box is basically a square of flooring, bordered by amethysts, generating the field upward."

  "But it's still a bubble," Cedric argued. "The amethyst gemstones are still casting their spell from outside the area of effect."

  "So it would seem," Sal said, his excitement picking up speed as he barreled on toward revelation. They were hooked now. This was going to work.

  He held the ruined waterskin flat out in front of him, treated side up. "The amethysts do generate the field as a bubble, radiating outward from them. But what were to happen if, like the waterskin..."

  Again, Sal flipped the leather inside out. But this time, he touched Amethyst and wielded as he did so. One by one, the assembled mages engaged their secondary sight... and shouted in stunned amazement.

  * * *

  The sun was just beginning to sink into the water when Delana and Menkal reached the isolated stretch of beach south of Caravan. They could see Bastion's harbor in the distance to the north, but they were too far to pick out any watchers on the walls. Delana hoped that they were too far for any watchers to spy them out as well. "So, how do we---?"

  A savage shriek ripped through the air to the west, interrupting her question. Delana whipped her head around, but could see nothing save for the blinding sunlight. It was as if the shrill cry came from the sun itself, and it was getting louder with every passing second. Delana shielded her eyes as best she could, but the source of the scream was upon them before her sight adjusted.

  A dragon!

  She and Menkal both ducked as the beast swooped low over their heads. Delana caught a gamey scent as it passed -- not unpleasant, but wild nonetheless. The dragon hooked a steep climb, its green scales glittering brilliantly in the dying daylight. Completing the loop, it angled back toward the beach, pulling up at the last possible moment and coming to a hover, its huge wings beating a torrent of wind, spray, and sand as it came to rest on the shoreline. Its yellow-green slitted eyes finally locking onto the pair of humans, a soft growl rumbled from deep within its chest. Its fangs dripped with---

  "Oh
, come now! Was that necessary?" Menkal chided.

  Delana's breath caught in her throat. Was he insane?!? Is this what old age had done to him?

  "What?" came the dragon's strangely feminine voice, defensively. "What's the point of even being a dragon if you can't make a grand entrance?"

  "There's grand and there's gaudy. Strive for the former, if you please."

  The beast's features took a slight twist, almost appearing petulant. Petulant! Finally, she tipped a curt nod. "As you wish." Turning to Delana, she said, "The wind kisses the wheat, milady mage."

  The dragon's familiarity with Plainsfolk customs startled the fear right out of her. "The wind bears the seed to new fields," she responded with a nervous, curious smile. "Delana du'Nograh of Eastwind Delta, at your service."

  "Eshira of the Verdant Aerie. Seven removed from the line of Lycahtris. At yours." The massive lizard shifted as she squatted down on her hunkers, coming about as eye level to Delana as she could without looking ridiculous. Looking over Delana, Eshira addressed the sapphire mage. "We're well met, darling. You may leave now."

  "But I---"

  "Go already!" Eshira demanded. "Time for some girl talk. No boys allowed." Her mirth rolled softly like a drum in her massive chest as the sapphire stalked away, muttering something about being underappreciated. "Such a lovely specimen, that one, but he needs to learn his place. Now then... I presume you had a reason for calling on me?"

  "Yes, of course," Delana said, gently pulling the delicate chain from around her neck and holding the ring that hung there aloft.

  "Oh my..." the dragon purred, craning her neck for a closer look. "Mind telling me where you found that lovely piece?"

  "Stormhold, about half a month west of here on foot."

  "Of course... of course... And how did you come by it?"

  Delana hesitated, not sure where the line was between pertinent information and disrespecting her husband's privacy, and not willing to cross it. "I was... looking for somebody. I never found them, but this was with their personal effects."