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

by Jeanne Cavelos

  He was amazed at how well he could tell what she was thinking. He’d never felt such an awareness of another’s feelings, not even Elric’s.

  Even with that knowledge, though, he didn’t know what to say to make her feel better. Burell was in a stasis crate in the hold. If he had read Elric’s message when it had first arrived, if they had left immediately, Burell would still be alive.

  A reply arrived from Elizar. It grieves me to hear of Burell’s passing. Please convey my condolences to Isabelle. Of course I will come to Brensil, my good friend. I am well enough. I will be there as quickly as speed allows, which will be much sooner than you. Perhaps then you can tell me something of what you encountered.

  Galen composed a quick message to Elric, letting him know. “Elizar will come,” he told Isabelle.

  She nodded absently. “She must have a grand funeral.”

  “Yes?” Galen said.

  “She spoke of it often, even more so right before we left for the convocation. I tried to make her stop. I thought it morbid.” She gave a short laugh, and Galen took her hand. “‘Five hundred naked slave men,’ she would say, ‘all weeping and ripping at their hair. A shower of red poppies from the sky. My body in the perfect bloom of health.’ She had it all planned, down to the toasts to be made afterward. She wanted to be sure to leave with a last spit in the eye at the Circle.” She squeezed his hand. “I have to do everything as she planned. That would please her.”

  “I will help you.”

  “How do you get used to it, Galen? That someone who has always been there, who has been part of the fundament underlying everything you do, everything you think, is there no longer.”

  He realized with surprise that she was asking him about his parents. She didn’t know that he never spoke of it. And although he knew he was hiding from himself, he never wanted to speak of it.

  Galen pulled his hand away. “You get used to it. You have no choice.”

  She gave him that penetrating look that made him think she knew everything about him. “You are still angry at the universe for killing them.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Her slender eyebrows rose. “No. I’m angry at Tilar. I’m angry at the Drakh. But I’m not angry at the universe. Why would I be?”

  “I’m not angry,” Galen said, pushing down the emotions. “I am disappointed. I am disappointed that we live in a universe of random joy and random despair. I am disappointed that what we do is ultimately lost in the vacuum fluctuations of a heartless cosmos. I am disappointed that there is not some greater meaning to it all.”

  “But the death of your parents doesn’t prove that there is no greater meaning. Burell’s death convinces me more than ever that there is meaning, there is a design.”

  “How can you believe that? How can you believe in a god that would kill her to fulfill some abstract purpose?”

  She laid a hand on his knee. “Burell has been in agony for the last four years. She wanted to see me through my training, and so she did, traveling to the convocation when she knew the horrible cost it would exact. That she died now, rather than hanging on through more months of pain, I see as an act of mercy. That she died saving us, I believe, gave her great satisfaction. That she had the strength to reach us, to use her powers one last time, reveals our capacity to transcend our limitations.”

  He bit out the words. “And if she had died in an accident, saving no one, what would that show? That she lacked the capacity to transcend her limitations?”

  “No, Galen. No. I don’t pretend to understand it all, but I believe God works through patterns, patterns that intersect with other patterns, patterns that occur in different variations. And I believe one of these patterns is to provide opportunities for transcendence.”

  Galen found his voice control uncertain. He lowered his head unwilling to speak.

  “You could just admit I’m right. I always am, except for the times when I’m not.” She leaned forward resting her forehead against his.

  Galen felt his mouth turn up in a slight smile. “You were right about Cadmus. He was ready to defend that hotel to the death.”

  “A man of great loyalty.”

  Galen remembered Mary Stein, the woman whose fortune he had told, who kept marrying men who didn’t love her. Isabelle had said the universe sent Mary that sort of man so she would recognize her own problem. And that the universe had sent Mary to Galen to help him overcome his problem. He raised his head. Her face was inches from his. “You said that I had some problem to transcend.”

  Her lips pressed together in a smile.

  “Must I guess?”

  “Problem is not the right word.” Her rich voice wrapped around him. “But if I were telling your fortune, I would tell you that you must transcend yourself in three ways.”

  “So I have three problems?”

  “First, you must open yourself to others.” Her head darted forward and her lips met his. The touch was soft, her heat and nearness intoxicating. She pulled back, her face flushed, searching for his reaction.

  “What is second?” he asked breathlessly.

  She shook her head. Her lips came to him again, and he brought his hand this time to the side of her face. His finger traced a line down her scalp, along the curve of her ear. He drank in the chemical composition of the subtle oils and perspiration sheening her skin, her unique formula of attraction. He inhaled and captured her essence. He had never wanted anything so much.

  She drew his hand down to her neck, to the artery there. Her pulse pounded in time with his.

  First things first, her message read.

  It was magic.

  “That shirt is definitely you, Mr. Wilcox,” Isabelle said.

  “Why thank you, Mrs. Wilcox,” Galen replied. “And may I say that’s a lovely frock you’re wearing.”

  “You may.”

  Packing up their few belongings, they prepared to disembark on Brensil 4. They had spent the last two days being extremely silly, and extremely happy. They had put everything aside for the duration of the trip, knowing that they would have to deal with reality soon enough, when they returned to the Circle.

  Galen felt strange. His face seemed caught in a constant smile, and the undercurrent of energy from his implants no longer felt restless or irritating. It had subsided over the last two days into a deep, secure channel, making him feel rich and suddenly alive.

  He closed up the two shopping bags filled with their robes and the meager belongings they’d purchased before leaving Zafran 8. They were back in their street clothes, Isabelle looking bright and beautiful in her brown gown, a white-and-brown patterned scarf around her neck. Galen tugged at the brown synthesuede turtleneck, unused to the feeling of the soft, rich material against his skin. He had wrapped the scarf Isabelle had made him around his neck. They had joked about being husband and wife like regular Humans, both with their scarves.

  In the absence of the wigs, they created the illusion of hair on their heads. Galen’s was short and dark. Isabelle’s long strawberry-blond hair looked much as it had before she’d been initiated. She’d included in the illusion some locks that were twisted back and clipped, adding to the semblance of reality.

  If Elizar was there to meet them, then the disguises would hardly be necessary. But they were being cautious, now. Galen conjured an illusion to disguise his staff as a packing tube, then picked up the shopping bags.

  “Shall we go, Mrs. Wilcox?” He offered her his arm, and she took it.

  “Certainly, Mr. Wilcox.”

  They headed down the narrow corridor to the air lock, walking easily in step. The brush of Isabelle’s body against his felt right. Galen knew Elric would not approve, but he and Isabelle were meant to be together. Their feelings would not burn away after time.

  Since the ship was still being guided into dock, the captain and his crew were occupied. The area around the air lock was empty, but for the stasis crate with Burell’s body. It had been left on a wheeled cart.

  The
sight of it sent a restless surge of energy through Galen.

  Isabelle laid her hands on the crate. Galen realized that their time alone was ending, that they must resume care and caution. He swore again to himself to maintain strict control, to conjure nothing by instinct.

  The air lock doors opened, and they pushed Burell’s stasis crate out onto the passenger promenade. The ship’s freight would be unloaded one floor below. The promenade was a vast area, a shiny green malachite floor highlighting the former richness of the mines. The settlement’s domed ceiling stretched high overhead, its darkness dotted with stars. When the mines had been open, the promenade had probably been crowded with new arrivals, those eager for work, those searching for opportunity, or those seeking easy money. But now, with the mines closed, the settlement had turned into a backwater’s backwater, little more than a jumpgate, a planet, and a handful of nearly abandoned domed settlements. The only inhabitants who remained were those who couldn’t afford to leave.

  Galen had found Zafran 8’s dirt and congestion unpleasant, but somehow this was worse. The vast emptiness of the dome seemed to reflect the coldness of the universe.

  He searched for the energy characteristic of a mage, found it in a figure approaching them from across the promenade. Galen recognized the long stride and maroon velvet coat of Elizar. Surprisingly, he detected the energy of another mage, at a greater distance. Could Elric have somehow managed to arrive so quickly?

  They pushed the stasis crate toward Elizar. He looked well, his angular face tilted upward. Since the initiation, he’d grown back his dark goatee scoured into the shape of the rune for magic. His scalp he kept bare. As he walked, his arms swung, and Galen could find no difference between the movement of the left and the right. He hoped that meant Elizar’s recuperation was progressing quickly.

  They met, and Elizar embraced Isabelle. Galen recognized the same anxious intensity that he had noticed in Elizar at the convocation. Elizar released her and took her hands, staring into her eyes. “Isabelle. I am truly sorry for your loss. I know that in the past I’ve been critical of Burell. I apologize. That was Kell’s influence. I realize now how brave she was to defy the Circle and carry on her work, at all costs. And I realize how brave you are for continuing that work.”

  Isabelle looked shaken. “Thank you.”

  “Galen, good friend.” Both of Elizar’s arms rose to encircle him. “I wish the circumstances of our meeting were better.”

  “Your arm,” Galen said, amazed.

  Elizar flexed it. “Yes, I am much improved. Ing-Radi did better than she knew.”

  Seeing Elizar whole again lifted a great burden from Galen. He smiled. “It’s good to see you well.”

  “And so our friendship need not be clouded by anger or guilt.”

  “Are you alone?” Isabelle asked.

  “Razeel accompanied me. She’s preparing the ship for departure. It’s waiting at the next promenade.” He pointed the way, toward a wide passage that connected the promenades, and they headed toward it. “I’ve seen no suspicious off-worlders. The port records show no ship has arrived in the last eight days. You picked a place with very little activity, so anything unusual would be apparent. I think Razeel is the strangest thing they’ve seen here in some time.”

  Galen remained vigilant anyway, but few people walked the passage, and those who did wore workers’ coveralls and had the weary step of locals. The passage was lined on one side by shops, but they were all closed.

  “How is it you were chosen for this ill-fated task?” Elizar asked.

  “The Circle wanted to send two of us to Zafran 8 to investigate unusual activity,” Galen said. “They wanted two who would draw no suspicion.”

  “And this unusual activity, it involved traffic to the rim?”

  Galen looked at his friend with surprise. “Yes.”

  “You warned us of a threat,” Isabelle said. “You knew of the Shadows.”

  “And now you know,” Elizar said. “It will be a relief to finally speak of it.”

  “But how—” Isabelle began.

  “We should stop for something to eat,” Elizar said pointing to the one open storefront along the passage. It was a tavern, small and dark. “I don’t have much food on the ship. When I got your message, I pretty much jumped in and took off.”

  Galen glanced up and down the passage. Just beyond where they stood, it opened into another promenade. There would be Elizar’s ship. He saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  “I’ll call for Razeel,” Elizar said. “She can take Burell’s body onto the ship and then join us.”

  Isabelle’s gaze was directed at the tavern.

  Galen activated his sensors and joined her examination. The restaurant seemed perfectly unremarkable—no odd energy sources or unusual readings. There were two Humans inside.

  “Thank you for coming for us,” Galen said. “I hope we didn’t interrupt your recovery, or your quest.”

  “You remember I said I must undertake it alone,” Elizar said. “I hope that I was wrong.”

  Razeel came from the promenade, pale and petite, her thin, inch-short dark hair drifting like the fibers of a seed-puff around her head. Galen was sure that the dress she wore—this one of blue velvet—was different than the ones he had seen before, yet it, too, hung on her as if it were much too large. Without her hair to obscure her face, he saw that her eyes were huge, the skin around them darkened as if with lack of sleep. She looked from Isabelle to Galen.

  My condolences, her message read.

  “Do you want her to take any of those other things?” Elizar asked.

  Galen put the two shopping bags on top of the crate, but kept his staff. Razeel took the cart with the stasis crate and wheeled it away toward the promenade.

  Elizar put his arm across Galen’s shoulders. “Let us go in. Then we can talk at last.”

  Galen entered with Elizar, Isabelle following. The interior was decorated in dark stone and dim light, with tables on the right side and a bar along the left wall. A man stood behind the bar. “Sit where you like,” he said.

  They chose a table against the right wall. Galen leaned his staff against the wall, and the bartender approached. “Planning on eating or just drinking?”

  “Since this is a restaurant, we were planning to eat,” Elizar said. “Unless it’s too much of an inconvenience.”

  The bartender frowned, handed them menus. They ordered quickly, and the bartender apparently committed their order to memory. “I’ll go wake up the cook,” he said, and disappeared into the back.

  “How did you learn of the Shadows?” Isabelle asked Elizar.

  “Kell knew that they were returning,” Elizar said speaking in a low voice. “Kell has known for some time. You were sent on a needless task. To discover what he already knew.”

  Elizar stopped, waiting for them to absorb the implications. If it were true, Galen thought, then Burell had died for nothing. He could see the same thought on Isabelle’s face.

  “Did Kell tell you this?” she asked, intent.

  “No,” Elizar said.

  “Then what is your source?”

  “About a year ago, Kell mentioned to me that Carvin had discovered Alwyn’s key and accessed his place of power. It was just one of those tricks that Alwyn encourages Carvin to play on him. But I wondered if I had the ability to do the same to Kell. And so I tried, and gained partial access to Kell’s place of power. There I discovered information about the Shadows, evidence gathered by Kell that revealed their power was once again growing ... and much more.” Elizar looked from Galen to Isabelle. “If he had shared this knowledge ... But at least with your work, the information is no longer Kell’s to control. Now that you know, all the mages must be told.” Elizar leaned toward them. “But how did you discover that this traffic to the rim was connected to the Shadows?”

  “We tracked the shipments to a Drakh,” Galen said. “And with the Drakh we saw a Shadow, as static on our sensors. Then we picked up transmi
ssions the Shadow was sending, and Isabelle discovered a way to decode them. I have no idea how she does it, but it’s potentially a great weapon, the weapon we need to defeat the Shadows.”

  Elizar’s hand curled inward and his thumb began its restless course around his fingertips. “You can really understand what they say?”

  “The method is far from perfect,” Isabelle said.

  “But it is a weapon.” Elizar glanced toward the back of the restaurant, leaned in closer. “You must listen to me, quickly.”

  The message arrived as he spoke. Elizar must have composed it earlier. I know much, much more than I have said, things that, if I were to tell you, would turn your understanding of the universe on its head. There is a reason Kell has kept his knowledge secret for so long. There is a reason you were sent on this task, rather than mages with more experience. You should never have been involved. Burell should never have been involved.

  Galen found his energy surging in response to Elizar’s words. What was he implying? That Kell was in league with the Shadows? Elric had clearly indicated that Galen had been chosen for the task to test his control. Could there be more to it? Could Kell have had another reason? Could Kell have sent them hoping they would find nothing? Galen held tightly to the anxious energy, trying to calm himself.

  I respect and trust you two more than any others. And I tell you that the Circle has led us astray. They have lied to us, again and again. They have so constricted our powers that we are now only a shadow of what we once were. If we are to restore the techno-mages to greatness, this coming war is the time to do it. But it cannot be done without risk. It cannot be done by supporting the Circle.

  I want to share with you what I know. We three, working together, can explain to the rest what is really happening. We three can rally them to fight, no matter what the Circle says. We three can learn the secrets of power needed to break free, to start again with no masters to suppress us.

  But I cannot tell what I know to mages who have sworn loyalty to Kell and the Circle. I have held my silence this long because I fear what might happen if I speak out alone. Kell is old, but he is still a formidable opponent. We may have only one chance to reveal the truth, and I need allies of whom I can be sure. I need you to swear loyalty to me, now, and to our common cause: truth, freedom, and glory.