At least he thought the spell was original; not only original in the sense of something that hadn’t been done before—as far as he knew—but also in the sense of being the origin of the progression, something fundamental to the powers of the techno-mages, a basic postulate.
Elric would have to acknowledge that, even if the attempt to conjure it was foolish.
Yet Galen didn’t see how the spell could do what Elric expected—reveal, express, and complete him. The spell had not developed out of some fancy. It had been deduced through simple, objective logic. Perhaps his spell language was too mechanical to reveal anything about him. Galen knew it was limited, knew he was limited. He wished, for Elric’s sake, that he could have been a better apprentice.
In any event, he had tried elaborate complications; the tribute to Wierden had failed to satisfy Elric’s requirements. Galen could think of no other option.
— chapter 3 —
Galen woke to find the chrysalis in its canister on his table. It hung motionless in the clear liquid, translucent silvery skin catching the sunlight. He crouched before it. This would be the last time he would wear it. He had never been allowed to wear it outside Elric’s presence, but now, for the last day and night before initiation, he was to wear it to symbolize his status. It would be removed by Elric tomorrow morning, at the ceremony. Today was a day of fasting and preparation.
Galen realized with alarm that he had overslept. He had much work to do, and his training session with Elric came first. He dressed quickly in a light black robe and boots. He put a sensor-pad in his pocket—in case he found anything to study. Then he opened the canister.
Usually Elric held the chrysalis up to Galen as he visualized the association command. This time Galen scooped the limp chrysalis gently from the liquid. He brought the bell-shaped section to the top of his head, letting the extension trail down his back. He visualized the equation.
The chrysalis leapt from his hands and seized his head and spine in a powerful grip. Its body rippled against his, adjusting itself quickly to his curves and contours to maximize contact. The connection echoed through him, creating a subtle vibration of energy. He wiped the liquid from his forehead.
As he rushed through the thick, brilliant white mist toward the hall, it crossed his mind that with the chrysalis, he could try out the new spell he’d discovered before facing Elric. Then he would know what it did. Casting spells without his teacher was forbidden, though. And surely giving apprentices the ability to do so before initiation was a test, a temptation. He would not fail. Besides, what good would it do to see what the spell did? He had nothing else to offer.
And he was late.
Galen was surprised to find a number of mages and apprentices standing outside the hall. Then he realized all the apprentices must be using the hall to train this morning. More would be inside. That meant his session with Elric wouldn’t be private, as he had expected. Galen stopped, imagining his spell failing while everyone watched. The chrysalis returned a faint echo of his anxiety.
Federico, Herazade’s apprentice, approached. “Hey. You look like you just swallowed a rock.” As Galen tried to erase the anxiety from his face, Fed jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the others. “Nothing like a little pressure, eh?”
Though Galen knew Federico liked to be called Fed, he was uncomfortable with the familiarity of the diminutive, especially because Fed always seemed so familiar with him. Galen’s awkwardness around people made him sound more distant than he intended. “Federico. Good to see you.” Galen was always afraid that people—especially mages—were seeing things in him that he did not intend to show. In his attempt to prevent that, his behavior around others became strained or overly formal. At least until he knew them well. “You arrived last night?”
Fed nodded. For some reason, Fed’s chrysalis seemed canted to one side, like a jaunty cap. His thick, wiry hair stuck out from it, mixing with his unkempt beard. He looked like a wild man. “Elric is inside, if that’s who you’re looking for.”
“Yes,” Galen said, forcing himself forward toward the hall.
“Where were you last night? You missed some manic action.”
“I had to work.”
“All work and no play, Galen. Speaking of which, Gowen went first this morning. That is one strange guy. Of course can you blame him, with Blaylock as his teacher. I’d bug out in a day.” Galen greeted various mages as he and Fed passed. He was glad Elric had made him review all their names. “Anyway, he did this weird illusion—he had the heavens opening up, this choir singing, and a hand came down and put the chrysalis on his head. Truly freaky.”
They reached the door all too quickly. But then, if it was sealed as usual, they wouldn’t be able to get in. “How have people been getting inside?”
“Elric set it to open when there’s no conjuring being done.” Fed grabbed the latch and opened the door. They entered.
Along the front stone wall, a strip about six feet wide had been set up as a rectangular gallery from which the training could be watched. Mages and apprentices were packed into it, separated from the training area by a blue-tinged defensive shield that would protect them from any stray energies. The two worked their way toward the shield to get a better view. They came up behind the long wooden bench, which had been pulled up to the shield and was filled with spectators.
In the training area, Alwyn was preparing to work with his Centauri apprentice, Carvin. Alwyn glanced his way and smiled at Galen. Galen raised a hand in response. After Elric, Alwyn was the mage to whom Galen felt closest. Alwyn visited often, and had helped Galen learn the runic language of the Taratimude. They shared an interest in that ancient race. Alwyn’s teaching techniques were unconventional, as Galen had experienced a bit himself, and he’d heard much more from Carvin. Alwyn would hide from her, or play the same trick on her over and over, until she figured it out. She was expected to play tricks on him as well. Galen couldn’t imagine doing that with Elric.
During Alwyn’s visits, Galen would study with Carvin. She was a dedicated student, in part because she was the only Centauri currently working toward mage-hood. The previous one, Tilar, had failed initiation at the last convocation and been cast away, his chrysalis taken from him and destroyed.
Carvin shared Galen’s commitment to master the ways of technomancy, yet somehow she was able to combine discipline with a great joy for life. To Galen she had always seemed strangely fearless—passionate, outgoing, open.
Carvin held up her hands, requesting silence from the gallery. She was a strong showman, and her multicolored Centauri silks drew the eyes, an asset for misdirection. She began by asking Alwyn to remove his boots. Alwyn’s eyes crinkled in pleasure at the unexpected request. He bent to remove the cracked, discolored things. “I can’t vouch for the smell.”
When he had handed over the boots and taken hold of her chrysalis, she began to juggle them in one hand. It was pure hand-eye coordination; something at which Galen had never excelled. With a flourish of her hand, she conjured the illusion of a ballet slipper, added it into her juggling. Carvin’s spell language was that of the body; specific, precise movements and their accompanying mental impulses comprised her spells.
With a slightly different flourish of her hand she conjured a sandal, then a buckled shoe. She was now juggling with two hands. Then she seemed to run out of objects to juggle, as the collection of real and fake shoes refused to descend. They had collected in a line over her head, tapping and twisting. It was a great combination of reality and illusion. She could move the illusory shoes easily with a spell. But the real shoes had to be held aloft with transparent flying platforms, which were difficult to conjure at any distance.
Under one of Alwyn’s boots, Galen could make out a rippling distortion about an inch thick. The distortion shifted slightly as the flying platform tilted and twisted, so that the boot resting on it seemed to move.
Carvin extended her arms to the right and swung them around to her left. The shoes began
to move in a circle around her and Alwyn. As they did, she waved one out to arc overhead and rejoin the circle on the other side, then another. Soon she had the shoes moving in a complex pattern, her body swaying and her arms tracing out intricate spells. In her multicolored silks, her movement itself became a part of the magic.
At last all the shoes came back to Carvin’s hands to be juggled. One by one she dissolved the illusions, until all she juggled were the two boots. Then she dissolved those illusions as well. No shoes were left. Alwyn coughed in surprise at that; she’d gotten him. The onlookers clapped, including Galen and Fed. Carvin gave a playful bow.
Alwyn released her. “Am I expected to walk in that muck—I mean mak—with no shoes on?”
Carvin took his hand and turned him around. There, lined up neatly against the wall, were his boots. At some point she had switched the real ones for illusions, and Galen hadn’t known the difference. Alwyn’s eyes crinkled up as he nodded in appreciation. “I raised a genius.”
Galen caught sight of Elric down the gallery. He was wearing a robe Galen had never seen before. It had the high collar Elric favored, but on the chest, silver and copper cords glittered in an elaborate pattern against the black fabric. Such ornamentation was quite unlike Elric; Galen wondered where he had gotten the robe and why he wore it.
Elric was in conversation with Circe, and Galen couldn’t catch his eye. It was unnecessary anyway. Elric would know he was here; Elric almost always knew where he was. Galen realized they would simply have to wait their turn for training. He would rather have gotten it over quickly. Nothing to do but wait.
The shield dissolved. Herazade appeared beside them, wearing a deep blue sari. She greeted Galen and put a hand on Fed’s back, pushing him around the bench and into the training area. “Let’s see what you can do.”
Fed flashed a panicked expression over his shoulder. Alwyn and Carvin approached.
“We missed you last night,” Alwyn said, embracing Galen. Though it was just a friendly greeting, the close contact made Galen uncomfortable. He and Elric did not embrace. The shield came back up. Alwyn released him.
“It’s good to see you,” Galen said. “Congratulations, Carvin. That was perfect. Seamless.”
“Don’t say that,” Alwyn said. “She’ll get a swelled head. And who knows what item of my clothing she’ll make disappear next time.”
“Now there’s an idea,” Carvin said.
“Have you trained yet, Galen?” Alwyn asked.
Galen shook his head.
“I need to get some of that delicious local brew. I’ll try to get back to see you.”
“Don’t rush on my account,” Galen said.
Alwyn smiled. “You’ll do fine. Elric wouldn’t allow any less.” He turned to Carvin. “Think you can keep up with me all the way to the tents?”
Carvin ran for the door, and Alwyn followed.
On the other side of the shield, Fed levitated himself and Herazade off the floor with a flying platform. From the slight distortion, Galen could tell it was a rectangle of typical size, about two feet by three feet. Fed was already notorious for his platform stunts, which, it was said, had once landed Herazade flat on her back in a mud puddle. Since the platform was, in a sense, an extension of the mage who generated it, he had an instinctive ability to keep his balance through various maneuvers. Those instincts could also be improved by practice, as he commanded different accelerations and decelerations and learned to compensate for them, the way an experienced tube rider could.
Of course a platform could be conjured in shapes that were more secure, such as a chair, a chariot, or a scooter, but the tradition of the plain rectangular platform was strong. Any passenger on the platform, though, had to either hold tight to the mage or hope for a gentle ride. Herazade had one hand on Fed’s chrysalis. As the platform began to spin, she clamped her free arm about his waist.
Galen admired Fed’s talent, but he felt fairly confident in using a platform and wanted to see who else was in the hall. So he turned toward the gallery. Elric had taught him to study everything around him. Observation yielded knowledge and understanding. Knowledge and understanding were necessary to use the tech wisely.
While he felt fairly adept at observing most phenomena and drawing scientific conclusions, he had trouble understanding intelligent beings. Their motivations and feelings were often impenetrable mysteries.
Circe was speaking to Blaylock. She had conjured a schematic in the air between them, and as she pointed to different areas, she looked to see his reaction, apparently anxious for his approval. Blaylock, on the other hand betrayed no emotion, wearing a fixed, dour expression. Galen couldn’t tell if he approved or disapproved of what she said.
Beyond them stood Kell, with his apprentices Elizar and Razeel. Though he spoke softly in a gallery filled with talk, his masterful voice sent a deep vibration through the space. Kell’s large frame and precisely formulated gestures embodied power and control. With his dark skin and brilliant white goatee scoured into the shape of the rune for knowledge, he presented a dramatic figure. His accomplishments over his long life were legendary, particularly his feeding of the drought victims on Viscus 4 and his great deception of the Drazi.
Galen had never yet said a word to Kell, though he had sensed the mage, at previous convocations, watching him. He supposed Kell had to take an interest in all of them. Elric and Alwyn had discussed Kell’s increasing age with concern, but Galen thought Kell was still the best of them.
Elizar and Razeel were now receiving Kell’s wisdom, the wisdom of Wierden, which Galen envied when he thought about it. But he wouldn’t have traded Elric for any other teacher. Besides, he wasn’t cut out to be a leader, which was what Kell’s apprentice needed to be. Elizar fit that role. Something in the tilt of his head made his silvery chrysalis look like an ancient helm. With his long maroon velvet coat and gold-patterned vest beneath, he looked regal. He had even grown a dark goatee to mirror Kell’s, his shaped into the rune for magic.
Today, though, Elizar seemed distracted. He was looking around at the other mages, his right hand curled inward his thumb running in circles around his fingertips. Razeel’s eyes were aimed down, as if her focus were inward. Elric would never have let Galen get away with something like that. He demanded full attention at all times. Yet Kell simply kept talking, as if he didn’t notice.
Elizar glanced over and saw Galen. He excused himself from Kell and started across the gallery, stopping to exchange greetings with other mages as he passed by. Something was different in Elizar’s manner. As before, his long stride was assured, his angular face tilted upward. Yet anxiety clung to him. It was something in the way he leaned in for an embrace, in the intensity he put into each greeting, as if he feared losing the goodwill and affection of the mages. As Elizar’s thumb returned again and again to circle his fingertips, Galen realized that Elizar’s attention wasn’t on the other mages at all.
Elizar extended his arms. “Galen, good friend. It’s been too long.” Elizar embraced him. “Sorry I fell out of touch.” Keeping one arm over Galen’s shoulders, Elizar steered them away from the shield.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation with Kell,” Galen said.
“It’s of no consequence.”
Galen was shocked that Elizar would speak this way of Kell, and apparently he showed it, for Elizar quickly added, “He was merely offering encouragement. Razeel needs it much more than I.”
That was more like Elizar. Confidence had never been one of his problems. “I read the memoir of Gali-Gali that you recommended,” Galen said. “Thank you for telling me of it. He was a brilliant thinker, more than I even knew. His strategy in the war against the Zrad was genius.”
Elizar smiled. “I’d forgotten all about that. He had an amazing life. I loved that story about his initiation, about the challenge and what it meant to him.” They stopped in a quiet corner, and Elizar finally removed his arm.
“You’re ready then, for the initi
ation?” Galen asked.
“Undoubtedly. Unlike those poor sods.” Elizar gave a quick tilt to his head, indicating a trio of chrysalis-stage apprentices a few feet away. “Kane and his crew of fools don’t even deserve to be initiated. Their great dream is to settle down on some stone-age planet and dazzle the natives with fireballs. How bold. And they’re about as imaginative as they are skilled.” His eyes scanned the hall. “Carvin—she might succeed as a stage magician. Perhaps Rebo and Zooty are in need of an assistant.”
Elizar tended to dismiss any apprentice whose teacher wasn’t one of the Circle. Galen was used to his attitude, and though he disagreed with it, he felt that perhaps in comparison to Elizar, who was of the line of Wierden, the rest of them were inferior.
“You and I, Galen, and a handful of the other apprentices—the future of the techno-mages is going to depend on us, once we’re initiated.” Elizar’s thumb resumed its course around his fingertips. “A lot of decisions to be made after that. What we’re going to make of ourselves.”
“I haven’t given it much thought, I’m afraid,” Galen said. “I would like, someday, when my skills are great enough, to do the things we’ve talked about—to do good, to make a difference, and to help restore the glory of the techno-mages.”
“Life doesn’t always give us the time we need.”
Something was bothering his friend. “I suppose not.”
Elizar stepped closer, lowering his voice. His dark blue eyes fastened on Galen. “I have a great weight upon me, Galen. You may not understand. I’m expected to assume Kell’s place and lead us forward. But forward into what? We’ve become obsessed with technique, with flourishes and phantasms, rather than with impact.” His fist hit his palm. “We entertain, we enlighten, but what power do we truly possess? The mages of old, the Taratimude, they had power. And they used it wisely, decisively. They knew how to make the tech, and how to use it. We’ve lost so much. And of what little we have retained, I believe key pieces are kept from us by the Circle. I think, perhaps, the Circle is custodian of secrets far beyond what most would suspect.”
Casting Shadows (The Passing of the Techno-Mages #1) Page 6