by CM Raymond
“Believe me now?” Marcus asked in the still, winter night.
“Not now,” Parker whispered.
Hadley snorted. “Guess you could be one of those evil mystics I’ve heard of. That would have been one hell of an illusion!”
Three flashes from the blue, magitech torch shined from the stand of trees thirty yards off.
“There are my girls,” Parker said with pride. “I knew it.”
They dropped the rope and scrambled down; bags weighed down with weapons hung awkwardly from their backs, threatening to pull them to the earth.
Just as his boots hit the frozen dirt, a familiar voice greeted him. “Your chariot, sir.”
“Krystal,” he replied, “I’m damned glad to see you.”
A smile spread across the woman’s broad face. Her cheeks were rose-red from the cold. She patted a sturdy hand cart and nodded to Parker.
“How’d you get it?”
She laughed. “With my good looks, those Capitol Guards were ready to give me anything I wanted.”
“Really?” Hadley asked.
“Well, after I landed my boot in the guy’s nuts, it wasn’t hard to convince him to let me borrow it. He’ll be a bit sore when he wakes up in the morning.” She started loading the bags into the cart. “How’d it go for you guys?”
“We’ve got a long walk ahead of us,” Parker sighed. “I’ll tell you on the road.”
He grabbed the handles of the cart. Parker was their leader now, and he would take the first mile of pushing toward the tower. It was cold, but he was warmed by the company of Krystal and the rest of his team. And by the fact that he had found another ally in Marcus.
CHAPTER EIGHT
With a flash of light and a pillar of smoke, Ezekiel and Gregory materialized under a broad oak on the edge of where a stand of trees met a prairie.
The sun was still low, just like it had been when they left their last spot. Gregory's head spun. There were only a few magic users in the Quarter who could teleport, and Gregory had never done it before—until now. They had already jumped several times today, and it was taking a toll on him. He tried to gauge his surroundings, having no clue just how far they had jumped.
He glanced over to watch Ezekiel bend at the waist and then drop to the frozen ground at the foot of the oak. Leaning against the trunk, the old magician closed his eyes. Apparently, the magic was taking a toll on him as well.
“Ezekiel?” Gregory grunted, rushing over and dropping to his knees next to the man. “What do you need?”
A faint smile turned up on his lips, though his eyes remained closed. “Just some rest, Gregory. And perhaps some good conversation once my strength begins to return. We jumped further than I normally prefer, especially with a guest. It takes a lot out of you.”
Gregory nodded. He knew that casting wore the magicians out, even the simple spells he was capable of would drain him ever so slightly. The young engineer also knew this was the beauty of the magitech that his father had specialized in. Thanks to magical energy stored up in the amphorald crystals from the Heights, any human would have magic at their fingertips without it taking a toll on their physical or mental well-being.
He dropped his pack and opened it, searching around for the wine skin. Pulling it out, he placed it in Ezekiel’s hand.
“Ah, ale from the mystics?” he asked.
“My father’s special reserve. I’d saved some in my bag for such a time as this. Julianne told me that you are a fan.”
“She’s rarely wrong.” Ezekiel uncorked the skin and tilted it back. Color came back to his skin as the liquid ran down his throat and warmed his belly. “Now, that should speed the process. Thank you, boy!”
He nodded. They sat in silence for a while, and Gregory watched the sun run its course. At the same time, he kept his eyes on the ground, keeping watch for any movement. Clueless about where they might be, Gregory did know that they would never be safe, and with the wizard resting, he had to be on high alert. Finally, he said, “You know exactly how it works, don’t you?”
Ezekiel opened his eyes and took another pull of the mystics’ powerful ale. He shook his head. “Magic?”
“Of course.”
“Exactly is a precise term for an engineer to use lightly, don’t you think?” he winked with a grin.
“It is, and I don’t. You talk so little about the technical aspects of magic, but I have a feeling that its origins and methods are no mystery to you.” Gregory took the wineskin and took a drink himself, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“You’re very right and completely wrong.” Ezekiel leaned his head back against the trunk. “You know my story, though, don’t you?”
“In part, yes. That you were raised among what you call the Oracle… Lilith?”
“Yes, that is right. Well, she’s... one of a kind. I spent years learning from her, and even I struggle to understand it fully. But I’ll tell you what she told me, and maybe you can make some sense of it. You’re smarter than I am.”
A couple weeks ago, Gregory would have blushed at such high praise, but he nodded instead. He was beginning to accept the fact that he was, in fact, an intelligent person. After his near death at the factory, he was coming to see that life was too short to be ashamed by who you are.
Ezekiel sat a little straighter and warmed into his story. “You know, that in the time before the Age of Madness, our ancestors knew no magic. But that didn’t mean they were without power. They had technological abilities that dwarfed the best Arcadia has to offer. Even Adrien’s airship would have seemed like a children’s toy compared to what they could have done.”
Gregory shook his head, amazed by the idea. “What happened to it all?”
Ezekiel sighed. “Just like magic, their tech had the ability to create… or destroy. On the worst day the world has ever known, humanity saw just how destructive their technology could be. So, it was lost, along with almost everyone.”
The old man fell quiet and stared off into the distance. Gregory wondered if he was thinking about his own destructive capabilities or those of his former student.
“Anyway,” Ezekiel said. “That’s not an answer to your question. The old world’s ability to create large machines was nothing compared to their ability to create small ones. Imagine, machines so small that you can’t even see them with your naked eye, small enough to live inside of a person, but advanced enough to alter their very nature.”
Ezekiel stared at Gregory as the implications of what the old man said dawned on him.
“Wait… You’re saying that magic, everything that you and Hannah can do, it’s really the result of tiny machines?”
“Correct,” Ezekiel said, “living in our blood, passed down from our ancestors.”
“And our ancestors created those machines?”
Ezekiel laughed nervously. “That’s a harder question to answer. Let’s just say that someone created the machines. Lilith calls the machines nanocytes—and those nanocytes allow us to access a much greater power than is found in our world. They open a door to another realm, which Lilith calls the Etheric. And magic users are simply folks that have learned to draw upon that power, manipulate it. And by doing so, they manipulate the world around them.”
Gregory’s head swam as he continued to mull over what the wizard had told him about magic, its source, and means of operation. He had a million questions, but he didn’t know where to start.
“If it’s all tech,” he finally said, “then why let people believe that it is magic?”
The old man placed his hands on his knees and pushed himself to stand. He reached a hand down to Gregory. “We will talk more as we walk. I’ve got the strength back for traveling by foot, but we won’t be using magic for some time. The critters inside of me need a rest.” He gave Gregory a wink and pulled him to his feet.
Following the course of the sun, the two walked in silence for a while, Gregory waiting for Ezekiel to respond. Finally, he did. “You are an intelli
gent person, and you’ve spent your life around technology—does my explanation about the nanocytes make sense to you? Probably only a little. Imagine trying to make sense of this all fifty years ago, on the tail end of the Age of Madness. No one would have understood. And besides, when it comes to actually using magic, understanding is less important than believing. So, when folks began to call it magic, I chose not to correct them—and the Age of Magic was born. After all, magic is excellent shorthand for technology you can’t explain. If you could go back in time and see the old world’s technology, it would certainly seem like magic.”
“My father, I think he understood that—maybe more than anyone,” Gregory replied. “He was always curious about the old world—about their power to tame the world and create new technologies.”
Ezekiel nodded. “Never knew your father. He wasn’t even born when I had set off from Arcadia. But from what I could see, your father is… was… a great man. It’s one thing for a person to become a magician—to learn how to focus and use the power that is inside all of us. But it seems that Elon and his colleagues did something I never thought would be possible in their creation of the magitech.” He laughed, mostly to himself. “Hell, I’m not even sure if Lilith herself expected such a development—which is, of course, a little hard to imagine.”
Gregory reflected on the words for a few paces, then said, “So, you think he’s gone?”
“Your father?” Ezekiel shrugged. “He was in the factory when everything went sideways. Being caught in an industrial fire like that would kill most, but stranger things have happened. You never know.”
“I have no idea how to feel about it,” Gregory said with a furrowed brow. He felt his throat constrict with emotion. “I mean, on one hand, he’s my dad. Always has been. For most of my life, he was good at it. But, it’s hard to shake the fact that the guy was ready to sacrifice me for the Chancellor.”
Ezekiel paused on a small hill. They were walking a path that wound its way down the other side. In the distance, lines of smoke rose into the winter sky. Villages spotted the pastoral areas of Irth, and the one that lay a few miles beyond their spot on the hill would be their goal for the night.
With his eyes fixed on the distant village, Ezekiel pulled his pipe from his bag and filled it with herbs picked up from who knows where. Tamping the weed down with his pinky, he flicked his fingers, drawing a lithe stream of fire that hovered over the bowl. He drew intently and exhaled rings of smoke that danced in the afternoon breeze.
After drawing once more, he said, “I imagine we all have issues with our fathers. One way or another, the men that raise us shape us. Sometimes for good, other times for ill.” He laughed as his eyes held a spot on the horizon. “Mine and yours might have been somewhat similar.”
Gregory smiled. Ezekiel was old enough that the young man almost assumed he didn’t have parents—that the oldest folks in their society had somehow crawled out of the belly of Irth fully grown and ready for anything.
“How so?” he asked.
Ezekiel walked again, this time his legs moved more briskly as if inspired by the promise of a warm meal that awaited them.
“I was born into Madness. In those days, it was necessary for a man to do whatever it took to protect his own—a woman, too, mind you. My father, he was a hard man, in ways—but only because the world had shaped him so.” Ezekiel laughed. “Father took chances, all the time—always for what he thought was right. My mother nearly killed him more than once. He would sacrifice anything for us.”
“How the hell is that like my father? He has become like Adrien.”
Ezekiel drew on his pipe and exhaled as he shook his head. “No. I think not. Adrien is driven by himself. He veils it in rhetoric about Arcadia, of course, but the man wants nothing more than power—power to do as he wishes, to be worshiped by all. It is a sickness that knows no cure.”
“And my father?”
“Your father’s crime was believing the wrong story. A carefully woven story, one that had been told to him since the day he was born. He put his trust in the Arcadia that Adrien had made—a city after his own image. Most of his life, it served him well, and his prosperity only supported the fact that the tale told was a good one, that the narrative was true.”
Gregory nodded, even though he wasn’t completely certain he understood.
Ezekiel continued. “Your father’s last decision, to give up his only son for the city, for Adrien, was a mark of his conviction. It was a terrible thing. He’s not a victim, but, like my father before him, he believed in a story that made sense of the world. And stories—true ones and fictions—most often require a response, demand action.”
“So, you’re saying my father was a good man?”
Ezekiel laughed. “Hard to imagine it that way when he hooked you up to the core, isn’t it?”
Gregory nodded. “No shit.”
“But, he was human—complex in all of the ways we are.” They walked in silence for a little longer. The outline of houses took form on the horizon. Finally, Ezekiel said, “I’m glad you’re a part of our group, Gregory—a part of Arcadia’s revolution, to make her all she was supposed to be in the first place.”
“I am, too.” He pursed his lips, then continued, “It gives me something to believe in, to work for.”
“I need to trust that you would be willing to give all for it. Are you, Gregory?”
Gregory stopped and turned to face Ezekiel. “I am willing to give all, to give my life.”
The magician smiled and nodded. “Then you also believe a story that makes sense of the world. We are not much different than your father, only our story is true. And it doesn’t require us to kill our children. Now, let’s go find some food and shelter,” Ezekiel said as storm clouds moved in from the West.
I hope this story is true, Gregory thought to himself. He said a little prayer to the Matriarch and Patriarch that he, like his father, was not being drawn into the fiction of a madman.
****
Amelia and Hannah stood outside of the room, taking pause before going in to see just how many of their people were going to take them up on learning magic. Those who were gathered to hear Julianne’s story about the girl who would win back the city were mostly women, children, and the physically weak. Both women knew that there was a chance that none of them would come to learn how to fight, to take part in the revolution that was brewing within the tower walls.
Hannah glanced over and watched Amelia run her shaking hands on her pants.
“You’re nervous?” Hannah asked, but it was more of an observation than a question.
“Sure.”
Hannah laughed. “You were the youngest freaking Dean of Students the Academy has ever seen, and you’re pissing yourself in the face of a couple of our misfits?”
“When you take the task of teaching seriously, it always makes you nervous.” Amelia forced a smile. “You should remember that.”
The young magician cocked her head. “Sure. But in the face of kicking Adrien’s ass and taking down his airship, this doesn’t seem like much of anything.”
“Maybe that’s what makes me nervous. Those people in there,” she nodded at the closed door, “if there even are any… Half of them probably won’t make it through the battle.”
Hannah nodded, realizing the weight of her friend’s comment. “True enough. But if they don’t fight, and we lose, life won’t really be worth living, now will it? And Adrien will probably kill them anyway.”
“Good point. Let’s go show them how to defend themselves.”
Amelia turned the knob and pushed through into the room. Hannah followed with Sal right on her heels, his long talons tapping the floor in rhythm with his footsteps.
Hannah froze when she saw the assembly. The day before, they had talked with a dozen or so of the refugees, but the attendance for their first lesson was twenty strong. Her heart leaped. This kind of passion was what they would need to end the Chancellor’s rule forever.
Beaming, she said, “You all know this isn’t the place to gather for free dragon rides, right?”
Eponine turned around and stepped toward Hannah. “I’m not here for free things. I’m here to work hard and learn to kick ass like you.”
Hannah smiled. “Well, then kick ass you shall.”
Everyone in the room laughed, but it was clear they were nervous. The room divided nearly evenly in half. One side was made up of nobles, mostly women and children. She read fear on their faces and could see that they were still uncomfortable with the new life that they had elected. The other half were residents of the Boulevard. Life had been hard on them, which made these people strong. Deep lines on their faces told the stories of struggle and a strong will to survive. Hannah nodded at them, knowing that if they were going to truly be a team, the dividing line between them would need to be broken.
Her eyes lit up when they landed on the familiar face of Roland, a man no more than fifteen years older than her from the Boulevard. He was seated in an old wooden rocking chair. His right leg pushed him in a gentle sway. The other was missing, but a stump where his left leg should have been tapped in cadence with the chair. His rough wooden crutches lay next to him.
“My dragon hasn’t been ridden for some time, my lady,” he said with a wink, “but I’m not here for that. I’ve come to learn how to shoot fire and shit lightning.”
The Boulevardians all laughed, knowing Roland’s humor well, while the noblewomen shifted in discomfort.
His presence brought her comfort; his passion gave her hope. “Well,” she retorted, “if a one legged drunk from Queen Bitch Boulevard can learn to shit lightning, we might just have a fighting chance at making Adrien shit... well, shit.”
Although she wanted to, Hannah couldn’t wipe the smile from her face. “I’m glad you’re all here. Now, let’s see if we all can’t make magic together, shall we?” She looked around the room. “But not here. Don’t want to do Adrien’s job for him by bringing the whole damned place down around us. Amelia, why don’t you lead your class out to the lawn.”