Casting Shadows (The Passing of the Techno-Mages #1)

by Jeanne Cavelos

She pressed her palms against the arms of the chair again, shifted her body. “The Shadows are the greatest danger the universe has to offer. Take great care in everything you do.” She looked from Isabelle to Galen, her brows raised in an expression he recognized from Isabelle. “Now you need a plan.”

  They exited the tube, and Isabelle led the way through the port city to the Strauss Hotel. The back of her head was bare of stubble today. She had scoured it that morning for the first time since the initiation.

  Galen had done the same, independent of her, after rising to find his eyebrows nearly fully grown back and a short stubble covering his head. His skin had finally recovered, and he’d judged he could withstand a scouring. He decided to leave his eyebrows and scour the rest of the hair on his head away. He recited the words of the Code, then envisioned the equation, calling the scouring down upon himself. The pain was startling, intense. Yet he felt clearer afterward, more focused. The fact that Isabelle had chosen to do the same added to his growing sense that they were perfect for each other.

  The roads were busy with morning traffic and noise and smells. The air was dry here, and still, so that the dirt and odors seemed to hang in a pall, obscuring the pale green sky. Rather than the fresh scent of the sea, he smelled rotten food, waste. The buildings flashed one brilliant sign after the next, the messages of all lost in the chaos. Intelligent beings of several different species passed them: the native Wychad, Pak’ma’ra, Humans, Kinbotal. They avoided eye contact, looking down or into storefront windows.

  Isabelle seemed invigorated by the activity, pointing out different places and hurrying ahead. Of course, this was her home, so she would have grown used to the congestion and turmoil, just as he was accustomed to the open plain and clean breezes on the mak.

  Galen had visited cities before, and as they went, this one was particularly dirty and run-down. The lack of humidity made it seem colder, too, as if an extra layer of insulation had been taken away. He crossed his arms over his chest for warmth.

  His senses felt as if they were under assault. He became aware again of the undercurrent of energy from the implants, the itchy agitation they generated. Perhaps that was why he felt so uncomfortable here. He determined to keep firm control of his tech at all times, to hold the restless energy in check, to cast a spell only with careful deliberation. He would not act on instinct. He would not fail the mages again.

  Isabelle pointed out the crooked, glowing sign for the Strauss Hotel farther down the street. The hotel’s seven-story facade was a grimy white, except immediately below the sign, where a row of whiter spots revealed where letters had once spelled out its old Wychad name. The entryway was modest, with a small black awning over the open doorway. “Quiet, Comfort, Convenience” was written in script across the awning in stained yellow.

  They entered to loud, raucous chanting. The words—and the language itself—were lost in the sheer volume. Yet Galen recognized it immediately. He’d been up late into the night listening to it. The Narns were still at their drinking game. They seemed to have an endless capacity for alcohol.

  The chanting came from the lounge, which was off the lobby to the right. Several Narns were packed in the doorway. Galen recognized two of the cargo techs from the Khatkhata.

  They’d hoped that studying the Narns would give them some idea how to proceed, how to uncover what kind of passengers the ship was carrying, who was paying the bill, and where their final destination lay. Galen and Isabelle had examined the records of the crew, searching for opportunities. They’d found precious little. Of the ten crew members, eight had no family, no ties. They were opportunists and criminals. Some had sold weapons to Earth during the Earth-Minbari War; many had been with the same captain, Ko’Vin, for a long time. They formed a solid group, doing almost everything together.

  Tricking them to reveal a connection to the Shadows, when they might not even be aware of it, would be difficult. And if they did know of the connection, how could they possibly be coerced into betraying their wealthy, powerful employers? A simple deception would not work, and a complex deception was impossible, since Galen and Isabelle had so little knowledge of the Shadows and how they worked.

  Galen began to realize how ill-prepared they were. Of the steps Elric had taught him—information, preparation, control—they had only superficial information, minimal preparation, and were in a position to control very little.

  The lobby was modest in size, with worn furnishings and a dingy flower-patterned carpet. They approached the front desk, a long counter manned by Cadmus Wilcox himself. Cadmus had eyebrows that hung low over his eyes, which gave his face an expression of perpetual fear. His thin, receding hair was combed to the side, and a lock of it curled around onto his forehead. A shaggy, walrus-style moustache completely obscured his lips. He stood in the center of the area circumscribed by the front desk and looked out toward the lounge, as if caught in a position of lonely command behind frontline bunkers.

  Galen had studied Cadmus’ records and found that he had worked at the Strauss since it changed owners twelve years ago. He’d been manager for eight years and seemed to have little life outside work. His home was a modest apartment two blocks away, though he spent most of his time at the hotel. He ate his meals in his office behind the front desk, and kept a cot behind the door that he was using more and more frequently. He seemed very concerned about the hotel and its staff, though unable to do anything to alleviate those concerns.

  Cadmus jerked back a step when he saw them. Then, as he recognized Isabelle, his mouth opened, and Galen caught a glimpse of a damp lower lip sticking out from the bottom of the moustache. “I’m so glad to see you,” he said. He had a thin, nasal voice. “I thought you were away. This current crowd”—he stepped up to the desk and leaned toward her, lowering his voice—“they’re completely out of control. In the last day they’ve had two knife fights. They offered one of my employees fifty credits to get married, another employee two hundred credits to run a cocktail straw all the way up his nose. They’ve made the most outrageous demands, throwing credits away like they were nothing. Their captain offered a thousand credits if we could produce authentic Narn breen from our kitchen, and then when we couldn’t, threatened to disembowel our chef. The captain told me the manager at Hotel Ribisi displeased them the last time they were in port. I know that man. He’s in the hospital still.” He glanced nervously around the lobby. “I have a call button to the port authority, but by the time they arrive, it could be too late. I know your mother put a spell of protection on the hotel, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that. But even if no one gets killed I don’t know if I can take this stress!”

  Isabelle laid a hand on the counter, her voice measured, calming. “My mother understands. She is aware of your situation, and that is why she has sent us. I am a mage now in my own right, and this is Galen, a very skilled member of our order.”

  As Cadmus’ nervous eyes took him in, Galen nodded, pleased at Isabelle’s description.

  “Is that”—he rolled his shoulders in an odd jointless way—“what happened to your hair?”

  “Yes, that is our custom. My mother thought we might spend some time here while the Narns remain, to help you get through this difficult period.”

  Cadmus’ bottom lip peeked out again. “Oh, I would be grateful for that. Not—not that I can’t take care of myself. I can be as rough as the next guy.” Glancing nervously toward the lounge, he reached under the counter, lifted into view a PPG, which he held between thumb and forefinger. He returned it quickly to its hiding place. “But I worry about the rest of the employees.”

  Galen thought that if Cadmus ever tried to shoot anyone, he’d most likely shoot himself in the foot.

  “Of course,” Isabelle said. “We thought we might take a table in the lounge and tell fortunes, the way my mother used to do. Then we’ll be nearby, if the need arises.”

  “That would be fine. That would be perfect. Anything you need anything I can do, you let me know
.”

  Isabelle leaned toward him, and Galen could tell Cadmus enjoyed being the confidant. “We would appreciate it if you could spread the word about our services being available. Particularly to the Narns, and particularly to the second-in-command G’Leel. You know her?”

  “She has the...” Cadmus ran his finger across his nose.

  “Yes. Have you spoken with her at all?”

  “Only to ask her to step aside so the cleaning tech could deal with a rather unpleasant mess she’d made after drinking too much.” Cadmus adjusted his curl of hair with a careful index finger. “But I can tell you that she recorded a message to be sent to an address on the Narn homeworld, and then canceled it.”

  Isabelle put a hand on his arm. “That’s very useful. You’re managing the stress incredibly well. I’m sure you don’t need our help at all. But we’re glad to offer it.”

  Cadmus’ moustache shifted, and Galen assumed he was smiling. “Isabelle, would you tell my future?”

  “Hold my hands.”

  He took her hands. She bowed her head and closed her eyes. When her eyes opened Galen could see the moment in Cadmus’ face. She captured him completely. His nervous gaze fixed on her, and his face relaxed, losing its self-consciousness, its momentary concerns. All that remained was hope. It seemed a terribly intimate contact.

  “You have always known that you are different, that others depend on you. You have difficult weeks ahead. You will face the most severe trial of your life. When you do, something will rise up within you that you never knew you had, a bravery and strength of character that have lain deep within you. You will stand up for what is right. You will defend your place and your people. You will behave with nobility. From that moment forward, your life will change. The bravery will remain with you, refusing again to be buried. It will bring you success, prosperity, and love.”

  Isabelle’s voice was brilliantly modulated. Stress, rhythm, and repetition combined with striking power to create an almost hypnotic effect. Isabelle maintained eye contact for several more seconds, giving him that knowing smile. He smiled with her. Gently she released him and pulled slightly back.

  “I couldn’t ask for better than that, I suppose,” Cadmus said, straightening self-consciously. His eyes resumed their nervous activity. “Let me show you to a table in the lounge.”

  Galen could never have done what she had done. Could never have reached out to someone so strongly, to have created such an intimate contact. He always held back. That was why, as Elric constantly reminded him, his presentation was weak. He didn’t want to connect to other people. He didn’t want them to know him.

  The predictions, of course, were creations of Isabelle’s imagination. But Cadmus seemed to believe them.

  Cadmus squeezed his way into the lounge past the Narns, who had begun thinning out after a long night. Galen reached into his pocket, dipped his finger into a packet of what felt like fine dust. As he brushed past several Narns, he planted probes on their arms, jackets, whatever surface presented itself. Isabelle, he knew, did the same.

  The lounge was modest in size, with a bar at one end and small tables crowding the rest of the room. The dingy flower-patterned rug clashed with green-and-gold striped wallpaper. The lighting was dim, and the lack of windows gave the feeling of perpetual night. In their dark leathers, the Narns clustered around the bar and nearby tables. The drinking contest seemed to have ended, although the drinking had not. The Narns had begun to look a bit fatigued, though, hanging on one another, swaying unsteadily, gold-and-black spotted heads drooping. One slid off the bar and thumped to the floor.

  Cadmus jumped at the sound. “Oh.” He showed them to a table in the corner, and after fussing over Isabelle for a few more minutes, retreated.

  “An optimistic prediction,” Galen said, “wasn’t it? Cadmus doesn’t quite seem the heroic type.”

  “If he believes it, then it will become reality. And I would much rather give him something positive to believe, and play a role in the creation of a positive reality, than be party to a negative one.”

  Galen stared into her mysterious grey eyes, hoping he might see a positive future for them. “What if he didn’t believe?”

  “A skeptic does not ask his fortune to be told. And if he does, he should be politely rebuffed.”

  “Have you any predictions regarding our success?”

  She smiled. “Yes.”

  Suddenly Isabelle’s head turned toward the bar, and she grabbed blindly at Galen’s arm. “Galen, look. It’s Tilar.”

  On a stool at the far end of the bar, sitting by himself, was Tilar, the Centauri apprentice who had been cast away three years earlier. Several Narns had been standing in front of him before, so Galen hadn’t seen him.

  He wore an ornately decorated vest and a brilliant white shirt. He took a long drink from his glass, his sharp nose nearly touching the alcohol. He didn’t look much different than Galen remembered, though he’d cut his crest short, and his hair even shorter. It seemed so strange, running into him here, now. Techno-mages, as a rule, did not believe in coincidences, except for those they had arranged. Seeing Tilar made Galen think of an old mage trick: turn up unexpectedly in a place, as if you had arrived ahead of the person you were contriving to meet. Many times Galen had gone on a walk along the cliff only to find Elric already there, waiting for him. Of course, Tilar wasn’t a mage. But he knew the tricks.

  Tilar turned in their direction, and Galen saw surprise, puzzlement, and then pleasure on his face. Tilar slid off the stool and came toward them, his gait unsteady. Galen felt uncomfortable as he approached. It wasn’t forbidden to talk to someone who had been cast away, though it was forbidden to maintain a relationship with such a one. Galen did not want to know what Tilar had been doing since he had been cast away, did not want thoughts of his own failure resurrected. If the Circle had voted differently, Galen would have been cast away. He would be the one at the bar in shirtsleeves and hair, living with his own failure.

  “Galen! Isabelle? I barely recognized you without the...” He waved a hand over his head. “It’s so great to see you!” He bent down, glass in hand, and hugged each of them, wrapping them in the smell of alcohol. “What are you doing on Zafran 8?” He pulled a chair from the table behind him and fell into it.

  “I live here,” Isabelle said. “Galen came for a visit.”

  Now that Tilar was closer, Galen could see some blotching of the skin on his forehead, a sign of heavy alcohol consumption in Centauri. Tilar’s body slumped in the seat at an angle. Galen had never been close to Tilar, who was several years older, but he remembered watching Tilar train at the previous convocation, and had thought his skills impressive.

  Galen glanced at Isabelle, not sure what to make of Tilar’s presence. Had he learned of their arrival and sought them out in an attempt to renew some contact with the mages?

  “I forgot you lived here,” Tilar said. “Did you always live here?”

  “Yes,” Isabelle said. “With Burell.”

  “It’s so great to see you.” He looked from Isabelle to Galen. “When did you get...” He waved his hand again over his head.

  “Just a few weeks ago,” Galen said.

  “A few weeks. That’s right. Third anniversary of my casting away.” He held up his glass with the word casting, then swallowed its contents. He squinted at them. “Shouldn’t you be at—still be at—the convocation?”

  Galen glanced toward some noise at the bar. The remaining Narns were staggering out. He and Isabelle were losing their opportunity to talk to them—until tonight, anyway.

  He needed to track where they went, listen to what they said. The Narns might reveal something valuable. Remembering his resolution to cast spells only with caution, Galen focused on the blank screen in his mind’s eye, visualized the equation to access Burell’s probes. The tech strongly echoed the equation. The network of probes requested Burell’s key, and he gave it. A menu appeared, and he selected two probes in the lobby, watching as the
Narns stumbled toward the elevator. They all seemed headed toward their rooms.

  Galen received a message from Isabelle. I’ll deal with him, if you track the Narns.

  Yes, he responded. He visualized the equation to send the message while observing the input of several of Burell’s probes and simultaneously keeping track of the conversation at the table. He felt as if he were back in the training hall keeping four balls in the air.

  “We left the convocation early because Burell was taken ill,” Isabelle said. “She’s been ill for some time now, and hasn’t left her place of power in years. The strain was very hard on her. We thought it best to get her back at once. Galen came along in case I needed help caring for her.”

  Isabelle was right not to confide in Tilar, of course. Yet Galen wondered if he might have some information that could help them. If it had been Galen cast away, he would have liked to help.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Tilar said. “Can’t she be healed?”

  The Narns pushed into the elevator, one of them starting up a drinking song. Galen switched to the probe within the elevator.

  “No,” Isabelle said. Silence followed.

  Keeping careful focus to maintain probe access, Galen roused himself to speak. “What brings you here, Tilar?” he asked. He cast the spell to activate his sensors, feeling wrong to distrust a former member of their order, but remembering Elric’s caution to be wary. Another ball in the air.

  Tilar waved his glass in circles. “Oh, I’ve been traveling a lot. Went to Centauri Prime for a bit but couldn’t stand living with those self-important fools. I made some money in investments, using all the knowledge I’d gotten as an apprentice. Then I lost it all. I guess you could call me a con man these days. Nothing as exciting as being a techno-mage, I’m sure.”

  There had been an odd jump in his heart rate as he spoke the last sentence, but Galen thought it most likely arose from dissatisfaction with his own circumstance.

  He’s telling the truth, Isabelle wrote. But then he knows we could detect a lie.