by Ren Cummins
“We will address that should it happen,” Goya said. “First, we will do what we can to disguise you from their initial investigations. Briseida will help you with your hair, and Ian and Cousins will explore ways of concealing your information at the Orphanage.” She took up a pen and wrote a small list of things on a page of parchment, and slid it down the table towards Kari. “Please take this to the Mercantile office at the Atmology college. You will need the top four items in preparation for your schooling, and the last three items we will need here to further secure the building against potential spies.”
Kari looked over the list; she only understood one or two of the items on the list, but nodded. “Will they just give it to me, or will I need to trade?”
“They will see that it is from me; so although you are entitled to your things as part of your tuition, they will grant me my additional choices because we have a standing agreement.” Goya also added, “And you should take your gloves; they may be of some assistance in carrying the items back.”
She also drew a small envelope out of her belt and slid it to Kari. “And give this to Thom at the Mercantile; he’ll take care of you.”
Kari nodded, folding the paper and placing it and the envelope in the front pocket of her overalls.
“Ian,” Goya added nonchalantly, “would you and Cousins please stay and speak with me a moment before you leave? I have one additional request, of a more personal nature.”
Briseida stood and placed one hand on Rom’s shoulder. “Let’s go take care of that beautiful hair of yours,” she said. She led Rom out of the room and into the adjoining building.
Ian and Cousins walked to Goya, who had them assist her upstairs to her study, leaving Kari alone in the room. She looked around, sighed, and walked upstairs to collect her gauntlets before going to the college.
* * * * *
Rom held her nose and leaned back into the sink as Briseida poured a nauseatingly strong-smelling mixture through her hair.
“This will lay down a protective coating on your hair that will allow the new color to be applied to it,” Briseida explained. “We need to do that as gently as possible so that your hair will accept the coloration and look natural.”
“Smells awful,” Rom grimaced.
“Yes, it does; one of the unfortunate facts of potions is that they often smell terrible. I had a professor of chemistry that preferred to add pleasant scents to all their work, but it always weakened the outcome.”
Rom didn’t answer, choosing instead to try and breathe through her mouth in an effort to cut down on the amount of the stench that entered her nose.
As she rinsed the chemicals clean from Rom’s hair, Briseida paused to appreciate its natural color. “Did you ever wonder about your hair,” she asked, “and why it was so perfectly white?”
“I used to,” Rom admitted. “But the Matrons had told me I’d been so sick as a child that it had somehow affected my hair. Like Mister Darrows of the tannery – his hair went white after his wife passed on last year.”
Briseida nodded. “Yes – extremely dramatic emotional transitions can have that effect.”
Rom pulled down a lock of her white hair while she toweled it dry. “Do you really think I need to color it?” she asked.
Briseida turned from her chemicals to look at Rom. “Well, your gems, at least, we can cover with a scarf or perhaps a hat of some kind. However, you certainly draw attention with your white hair.”
“I guess so,” Rom admitted, her face clearly displaying her disgust. “Not a hat, though.”
“What troubles you about this? Certainly, a lot has happened – are you still concerned about all the changes?”
The girl shook her head. “No, it’s not that - - at least, this isn’t about that.” She removed the towel, allowing the thick ringlets to cascade over her face. “Part of me just wants them to find me. I want to find the people who are trying to find me and just… I don’t know, deal with them or whatever.”
The older woman put down the vials she was mixing together and knelt down, coming face to face with the girl. “You are considering, what, then? Revenge?”
“I don’t know. I guess they haven’t really done anything yet, but I don’t want them to have the chance. I don’t want them to hurt anyone.”
“You have little control over the actions of others, Rom. Even Goya and Ian have little governance over other’s souls.”
Rom’s eyes widened. “They could make them forget me! I know they have spells that can do things like that!”
A line creased Briseida’s brow. “Temporarily, yes. But to permanently distort the mind or memories of another – that is considered as distasteful at its least egregious – at its worst a crime – among those who practice the arts and sciences of magic. Even here outside the inner city, there are rules of decorum and philosophy, and we obey those laws. But there are also higher laws to be considered. All things have a price - - every breath you take in is air that another will not have – every grain of wheat you ingest is taken from another’s plate. Imagine,” she added, “what the price must be to permanently change a person’s thoughts?”
Understanding that her point was made, Briseida completed the hair potion and turned back to Rom. Rom looked from her to the oddly-shaped vial with its reddish liquid, and nodded.
“Brown it is, then,” she said.
Chapter 5: Matriculation
Cousins waited at the door until he could hear the mild splashing of the water downstairs, then closed it and stepped back towards Goya and Ian. “Briseida has Rom busy with the altering of her hair,” he said. “We can speak now.”
Goya’s nod seemed sad and weary. “I have not looked forward to this day,” she confessed. “For from this day the moment all the events that lead us towards prophecy will speed along, relatively unchecked.”
Ian agreed. “You knew the world would follow this path ten years ago, old woman.”
“As did you, old fool.”
Cousins had a relatively moderate amount of patience for many things, but not knowing details of a conversation he was present for was not one of them. “This is all well and good,” he said, taking a step closer to them to more directly insert himself into the conversation, “but I have no idea to what you are referring. You suggested this had something to do with Rom?”
Nodding, Ian accepted Goya’s gesture, motioning for him to explain. “Cousins, ten years ago, Goya and I followed a burning line across the stars to where a large crystal had fallen from the sky. Inside it was my replacement, the child who would become this world’s next Sheharid Is’iin, the newest of a pair of Harvesters – of Reapers, as you know them – to watch over this world. That child grew to become Rom.”
“Yes, I understand that, to some degree – I didn’t know about the ‘falling from the sky’ part, but yes.” He blushed, embarrassed for his outspokenness. “Sorry, continue.”
Bowing with only a mild degree of sarcasm, Ian continued. “Long ago – hundreds of years ago, in fact – a geomancer saw in a powerful casting of runes that the entirety of Aerthos would one day be torn apart by the greed and avarice of its leaders, and that even the mystical governance of the Harvesters would fail to be enough to hold their hunger at bay. He foretold that it would fall to three – a Sheharid, a Smith, and a Seer – to remake the world after all else has been destroyed. They believed this event to be the schism of Science and Art which has led to our exile, but many of us have seen past that distraction to the truth.”
Cousins’ mind examined that statement – they believed Rom was the Sheharid, clearly. This suggested that they believed Kari to be the smith - - certainly, she seemed to have some spiritual or magical connection to the crafting labs, although how much of that they would soon enough see. But that left…
His mouth dropped open with the intention of responding with a suitably derisive laugh, but his thoughts returned to the pair of Looking Glasses in his vest pocket. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, t
he pieces of the puzzle already falling into place within his mind.
“No, that’s nonsense,” He protested. “You can’t mean that I - - - that’s preposterous!” he at last bellowed. “I’m no seer!”
Goya lifted her chin to draw Cousin’s full attention. “As we explained to Kari, one’s talents are not granted wholly through training. To some, they possess their gifts by birthright.”
He shook his head. “I don’t believe in that ridiculous blather,” he said. “No one made me a seer, no one can make me be what I’m not!” Ian reached a hand towards Cousins, but the youth slapped it away. “I am my own man,” he declared.
“Well, then,” Ian said, arching his eyebrow, “if you will not accept that, then bear this in mind. We suspect that you three are at the very least significant players in this current campaign by the Queen; and what should concern you is that she likely believes Rom to be one of the players, as well.”
Goya continued on his thread of logic. “And if she believes Rom to be one of the three potential keys, then she will look around Rom for the other two. That will lead her to Rom’s friend Kari, who is even now…”
Cousins breathed, completing her statement: “One of the youngest and likely most gifted to be admitted into the College of Atmology.”
“And if they find two such candidates,” Ian added, “then they shall definitively seek out the third.”
Cousins relaxed his hands, which had unconsciously balled up into tightly clenched fists. “Fine, then,” he said between gritted teeth. “Tell me what I should do.”
* * * * *
The College of Atmology. Kari stood on the bottom steps of the entryway, trying to find a word for the moment. Awe? Reverence? A grin crossed her face from ear to ear. No word was going to be good enough for this. Her eyes started at the top, and worked their way down to the bottom.
The entryway was capped by a tall interwoven mesh of stone carved pipes, out of which poured a varying quantity of actual steam into the air; these pipes curled around the collegiate crest – a hand holding a stylized lightning bolt within the triangular symbol of the Path of Elements. The stone pipes continued down along the building’s front, deviating and meandering off to disappear in the complex design of the structure, with dials and pressure gauges stylized and mapped into the overall concept. Not simply a wall, not just a pair of large brass double doors, the entire structure was like a great and functional tribute to the power and spirit of steam itself; quite fitting for the college established to educate its students in the science and practice of atmology in all its shades and derivations. Atmology itself followed a variety of paths, just like the stylized steam ducts – from pure technology and technique to the more esoteric segments of magical construct and the archaic research of Lost Science.
A few students or technicians brushed past her, snapping her from her contemplation as they rushed forward, pulling open the great doors and vanishing within. She climbed the stairs to the top and reached out a trembling hand to one of the handles, and, judging by the extreme size and apparent mass of the door, braced herself for a good deal more resistance than she encountered. The door itself was perfectly balanced, and required almost no effort at all to open it – it slid open smoothly, with a small puff of steam to expose the hydraulics involved in the counterbalances.
She was forced to dodge several more people who seemed to be far less affected by the sublime impact this moment was having on the young girl. But if their expressions of annoyance or amusement registered at all to Kari, she made no indication of it. Each step was another wonderful transition into this world she had only dreamed of, every second more that she was here a stark realization that her dreams, fanciful though they may have been, utterly paled in comparison to actually being here.
The entry foyer was designed with an arched ceiling – it captured the many conversational voices in and around the room and cast them towards the sky, where they coalesced like the rushing waters in a large stream. The imagery of the outside façade carried inside, with carved reliefs of a great and convoluted pipeworks swarming around the interior – interspersed between many of the curving conduits were portraits of many of the great professors and artisans who had graced these halls over the centuries.
Kari struggled to take it all in, taking to her surroundings as a man dying of thirst attacks a cool stream of water. And so intent was she on absorbing it all, that she was asked – twice – before she finally heard it: “Miss? Are you all right?”
She blushed deeply, spinning towards the young man who had directed the question at her. “Oh. Oh, sorry, I.. um… I…”
He laughed. “No, I totally understand, I was the same way when I first came here. I tripped right over my own feet, and crashed right into one of my professors. He never let me forget that.”
Her own embarrassment faded somewhat; his candor made her feel in its own way just as much a sense of familiarity as the building did.
“By the way, I’m Merrick, second year Steamsman, scientist apprentice.” He held his hand out and she shook it nervously. It was warm and slightly rough – the sort of hand that was already becoming accustomed to working around iron and steel and copper pipes. She felt herself starting to blush again, but pushed it away through sheer force of will.
“I’m Kari,” she said. “I’m…umm… new.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, you must be the one everyone’s talking about! People have been buzzing all morning since breakfast that there’s some new phenomenon on her way here! ‘Youngest apprentice atmologist ever’, they say!” He looked around, trying to verify if he was already causing too much of a scene, and seemed relieved to know he wasn’t. “Hey, I have my free hour right now, can I show you around? It’d be my pleasure, really!”
She was speechless. He was easily four or five years her senior, and here he was, gushing over her like she was made of candy. Nodding, she followed Merrick as he began the grand tour of what was to become the center of her world.
Every corridor held new wonders – sounds, sights, and in some cases, smells. An entire section of the college was strictly off-limits – the individual laboratories for Specialized Research – that filled her with nervous excitement. Beyond the large sealed doors, Merrick explained, the most senior Atmologists and Steamsmiths worked on projects too secret to speak of – things far beyond the scope of the students themselves.
They passed through the West Athenaeum, with its leather and metal-cast books, and took the lift to the upper floors and crossed over the Casting Pits where the refining and pipe-shaping took place. Though the pits below blazed with tremendous heat, large intake funnels were strategically positioned around the room to siphon the heated air back into the engines in the basements, keeping the rooms generally tolerable.
After a long and sweeping tour of the college, they came to the admissions registry. A marked contrast to the Casting Pits, this long room was gently cooled with only a faint scent of the oxidized air that seemed to permeate the college. Behind a series of stone and steel tables sat a young woman, dressed in a formal uniform of the college.
Merrick introduced her to the registrar – her name was Doa – who smiled at the mention of Kari’s name.
“Yes, we’ve been expecting you,” Doa said pleasantly. She reached into a drawer on her side of the table and fished out a single brass sheet of metal, laying it down on the table between them. She read over the small markings engraved thereon, and spun it around for Kari to see. Merrick gasped slightly, but Kari couldn’t understand why. She looked back up at Doa, confused.
“I’m sorry, what is this?”
Doa smiled. “You’re right, I should have realized you didn’t have much time to review things. This is your Folio Token, it authorizes you for your equipment and laboratory lease, as well as – you can see this right here on the bottom – for your workshop keys.”
Kari squinted. She saw various things listed off on the metal sheet, but wasn’t sure what they were all about.
She glanced over at Merrick, who was still staring incredulously at the metal page.
“Kari,” he said, “remember those private laboratories – Special Research?” She nodded, and he continued, “You’ve been given your own laboratory there!”
She was stunned to silence as Merrick led her from the Registrar’s office to the Mercantile’s office. Unlike the open room of the Registrar’s office – which smelled mostly of polish with a faint bit of ash – this area felt like a workshop. The surface of the counter was scratched and dinged, and in most places down to the bare surface of the wood itself. Back beyond the indecipherable stacks of equipment and unidentified boxes came the sharp ringing of a hammer on metal.
Merrick frowned, finally yelling back into the workshop. “Old Thom!”
The ringing stopped. “What ye want?” came the reply. In a moment, an old man with charcoal grey hair shuffled into view. His face was mostly blackened by soot but for a pair of clean circles around his eyes – obviously from the ink-black goggles that now rested atop his wrinkled forehead. He removed a thick pair of leather gloves and set them down on the counter, peering down at the two children. Kari was pretty sure the floor behind the counter was much higher than the floor she was standing on, likely to give the old man a deceptively increased perception of authority. Plus, he looked pretty cranky. On seeing her, however, his expression softened instantly.
“Ever’one gotta come see ol’ Thom,” he chuckled, eyeing her brass token. “Let’s see what we got t’work with.”
She handed the clerk the Folio Token, which elicited a whistle from the old man.
“Young lady, ye’ve got this whole building inna state, I must say.” He flicked the edge of the sheet with his index fingernail, generating a warbled note to echo around the room. “Lemme get you yer keys and yer badge,” he said, turning around and vanishing behind large stacks of shelves and bookcases.