The Awakening of Ren Crown

by Anne Zoelle

  “Oh, no. Sorry about the interruption. There is my lunch date. I thought he said to meet him up here. See you around, I hope!”

  I made a very poor and obvious strategic retreat, and didn't look back. There were fifteen thousand mages at this school. They'd never remember me.

  Will was slipping into the crowd as I dashed down to the next tier via the closest ramp—a ramp that was unfortunately leading in the opposite direction that I needed to go. It took a concentrated effort to keep an eye on him. How did people find anyone in here?

  I lost sight of him for a few moments, but then saw him sit at a table, still glowing with an internal light. I once again was a complete pillock and quickly darted forward. There were several empty spots at his table. I took a deep breath as I drew closer.

  “Hi. Um, I was wondering if I could join you.”

  I got a couple of “great, new person coming to ruin our group dynamics” looks. Will just looked surprised. I gripped my tray. I could handle being told no. I braced myself for the rejection.

  “We are discussing our group project for Transcendental Physics in Politics,” one of the guys at the table said condescendingly.

  “Sorry. Didn't realize. I'll just—”

  “No, it's my fault,” Will said quickly. “I asked Ren to join me for lunch. I forgot.”

  A warm rush of feeling swept me.

  Another one of the members looked at Will. He looked half-starved and there were circles beneath his eyes. “That is exactly your problem, Tasky. You lack a brain sometimes.”

  “Better than a conscience,” Will shot back.

  The conscience-lacker sighed heavily. “Just sit, whoever you are. We will talk over your head, then you can continue on your lunch date with Tasky.”

  “Er, ok.” At this point, I'd take it. I put my tray down and settled into a seat.

  One of the prettiest girls I had ever seen sat down next to me. Or rather, she gracefully slid into the seat. Blonde and graceful—a lithe Botticelli wearing three very conspicuously located rings. Nervousness rushed through me.

  “Hot,” Christian said appreciatively.

  Which he followed up with—“Such a delicious soul, suck it out too!”

  Christian's voice seemed to be splitting even further, which was concerning. But I wondered if this was a point in my favor. That he was in a between-state of some sort.

  Another tray plunked on my other side, and a cute, sporty looking guy sat down. He flashed me a smile and opened his drink. “New?”

  I could feel Will's intent stare.

  “Er, to this group, definitely.” That seemed safe, and my tongue was all but useless in my mouth. I felt Will relax, even three seats away.

  “Lucky you. I'm Mike.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mike.” I held out my hand. “Ren.”

  “Great, Bessfort, if we could continue...” someone said.

  I didn't have to say much, thankfully, as the seven people around me bickered and argued and debated concepts I had never heard of. Needing to soothe my nerves the only way I knew how in this situation, I withdrew my notebook and a drawing pencil, and allowed my mind to capture images. I had always sat with Christian and his friends at lunch, drawing and soaking up their theatrics.

  I sketched small, detailed pieces of the gorgeous architecture and magnificent view, then lightly blocked in the rest of the cafeteria landscape. I flipped the page and started to outline the people at our table. Only after block shading most of each face, making sure to catch the way the bright light from the massive window mixed with the warmer tones from the chandeliers, did I cue back into the conversation.

  “They are scanning cuffs at checkpoints, Camille,” said the boy who had rejected me initially.

  “Good. Anyone who doesn't wear a government issued cuff has something to hide,” the beautiful girl next to me said. Her expression was militant. Perhaps, not so much a lithe Botticelli as a warlike Athena, beautiful and deadly.

  “That is not true. Maybe some mages just don't want to be tagged by the government in case the government goes corrupt. Can't very well overthrow a corrupt government if you are controlled by them,” Mike pointed out.

  Camille stiffened next to me. “That is treasonous talk.”

  “No, that is speculation and philosophical discourse. Besides, using your logic in reverse, a government shouldn't be wary of an uprising, if it isn't doing anything wrong.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Controlling cuffs help mages. They stop crazy ferals from blowing all of us up.”

  Will looked nervous, but he broke into the discussion. “It wasn't that long ago that similar devices were used for far worse things, though.” Will's words had an edge to them. A warning to me not to speak. I obediently started shading again. “And that is why you have mages still questioning how we can limit them.”

  “Yes, well, you all can use your tiny little outlier of 'a corruption what-if' while I use my real world example of a past origin mage on the loose, laying waste to half of the Third Layer.”

  “The government—”

  “I understand why the resistance doesn't want cuffs,” a girl said in a strong voice on the other side of the table. “My Awakening was extraordinary. But once the cuff was on, it felt like I was empty again. It took three years to achieve even a tenth of the magic level of my Awakening.”

  I looked at my cuff. So...Marsgrove hadn't done anything extra diabolical to mine?

  “The more adept you are at control, the easier it is to access your magic through the cuff,” Camille said stiffly. “It compensates for you.” Her tone clearly said that she found the other girl lacking because of this.

  A variety of expressions crossed the other girl's face, then she smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. “I wouldn't give up the feel of my Awakening for anything. It was extraordinary. You old magic types completely miss out.”

  So...non-ferals had a cuff in place from birth? Maybe I could still get Christian resurrected with mine on, then. Maybe I was starting in the wrong place.

  “We miss out on nothing. I trained myself to be exceptional, and all that effort makes me extraordinary,” Camille replied.

  I pulled my pencil along the lines of her face, edging it with more dominant strokes.

  “Definitely hot,” Christian mused. I kept myself from rolling my eyes only at the last moment.

  That made me pause for a second and embrace the feeling. How long had it been since I had done that?

  “Allowing mages—especially rare types, ferals, and those who don't practice real control—to be free, encroaches on the civil liberties of the rest of us,” Camille said. “Such mages pose real dangers, and I for one do not want my law-abiding family in danger because some wild beast can't contain his urges.”

  I wondered if she thought sitting next to such a person might be contagious. I calculated the proximity between our elbows.

  “Not this again,” someone muttered.

  “Dangerous when uncontrolled, but late-blooming ferals tend to be powerful, which gives them a political position. It’s what I've been saying all along,” Mike said, pointing his fork.

  “And we have diverged from the physics aspect of class again,” a boy across the table said, obviously annoyed. “In order for the Third Layer terrorists to succeed in either taking over the First Layer or collapsing it into theirs, they would need to use a series of very complicated enchantments, only one of which we've discussed.”

  “Or they would need a new weapon.”

  “Like what? Everyone knows you would need either a port mage to allow the equipment through, or an origin mage to bend creation entirely. Five port mages exist, and they work for the Department and are accounted for. The last origin mage blew himself up three decades ago.”

  The first boy put a small disk in the middle of the table and a hologram burst out, showing a senate-styled chamber and many delegates arguing.

  “You can see it there. Look at Lorenzo's face. He knows something. The Th
ird Layer bastards have something. Everyone knows Lorenzo is a terrorist, and yet there he sits free as a bird.”

  The hologram showed a close-up of a distinguished man who did indeed have a smug smirk, but my attention was caught by the pin-striped man across the aisle, who was staring hard at him in displeasure. Marsgrove.

  “This is happening now?” I asked, absently, barely aware of speaking at all.

  The silence was absolute for a moment. I looked up to see everyone staring at me.

  “What she means is do you have the delayed transmission or the live one?” Will said, giving me a small negative shake with his head.

  “Oh. This was the Sagittarius Resting broadcast,” the boy answered.

  No clue what that meant—maybe the Sagittarius at the bottom of the clock?—but I just nodded and kept silent. The group continued its squabbling, while I stared at the hologram. Shots of Marsgrove were frequent, as he made statements at a large podium and was featured with many of the others who spoke.

  “Two more weeks of negotiations. I can't believe I took this class during the term the Third Layer decided to enter talks.”

  Two more weeks. I had two more weeks.

  “Could go faster,” someone said. “They still haven't disclosed why the sudden decision to negotiate.”

  “No way, they are going to draw this out until the last brutal minute.”

  I tried to put all of the information I was hearing into a temporary holding-bucket in my mind so I could analyze and categorize it later. But when one of the group members rose to get ice cream, I followed suit, needing a break and hoping magical ice cream machines would do something neat, yet non-threatening.

  I could use a pick-me-up. I didn't want to think about political whatsits or when Marsgrove would return or discussions that spurred ennui and rage. I just wanted to learn what I needed to bring Christian back. After that I could be normal.

  Disappointingly, the ice cream machines looked more normal than I was. No delightful ten-eyed creatures serving, just machines with handles emitting a distinct chill.

  I was trying to decide between Banana Swirl and Magic Raisin—I wasn't fond of raisins, but what if I loved magic raisins? Maybe they'd make me feel better. What was a magic raisin? Did it come from a magic grape? Christian liked raisins. Or was it magic mixed with raisins? What did magic taste like? I reached forward to find out—when Camille stepped next to me.

  “I saw your sketch of the discussion group. You are talented.”

  “Oh, uh, thanks. It's not finished. But you make a good subject.” Ok, that sounded weird.

  She tilted her head, accepting the compliment in a way that didn't come across as narcissistic. She was simply very sure of herself. “Thank you. Do you do commissions?” Her voice was rhythmic and feminine and strong.

  “I...haven't?”

  “Well, if I saw more of your work, I'd consider hiring you for a portrait.”

  “Thanks.” I tried to accept the inherent compliment half as well as she had and failed miserably as I shifted on my feet.

  “You didn't say anything during the discussion. Are you an advocate?”

  I looked her over cautiously. They had discussed physical constructs, Third Layer terrorism, controlling cuffs, ferals, and repressive governments. I wasn't sure which advocacy I was supposed to be for or against with that question. “I am all for keeping the world safe.”

  “Good. Speak up next time, guest or not, or people will assume you are on the side of integration.”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  She pivoted and walked away.

  I decided maybe I'd do the Banana Swirl after all. Just in case magic forced me to be stranger.

  When I returned to the table, only Will remained. The cafeteria had steadily cleared out, and there were now many vacant tables. I glanced up at the astronomical clock hanging on the eastern wall and made the mental note to come at this time tomorrow.

  He raised a brow and sent a pointed glance up to the ice cream machines, which were visible from the table. “Making friends with Camille Straught?”

  “You know I like to live dangerously.” I took a bite of my ice cream. It was good. The banana and the cream flavors tasted fresh and real. “What's her story?”

  “She's a combat mage.”

  I blinked. “Seriously?”

  “A good one too.”

  “Huh. She looks like a fashion model.” The Athena vibe grew stronger. Or maybe I'd go back to the lithe Botticelli image, but splitting her own clamshell in half with her bare hands.

  He shook his head. “Don't run afoul of her. The Straughts desperately want to be considered an Old Magic family, but are only three generations removed from Magie Nouveau. New Magic. They compensate in a somewhat draconian manner.”

  “Lovely.”

  He nodded. “Our groups were assigned by the professor; otherwise we'd never cross paths. My advice is to walk the other way when you see her—or any of her minions. Any of the Old Magic users or their clubs, really.” He waggled his fingers. “Three rings.”

  I tipped my spoon to him. “Shall do.” I wondered if she usually sat with that first table of girls I'd blundered across.

  Taking another bite, I watched Will write something in his notebook. I looked around, but the tables near us had emptied. “So that thing about the cuffs? It's not just me who is blocked?”

  He looked surprised for a moment. “Oh. No. It's too easy to make things happen here. What do you do if you want a turkey sandwich and, all of a sudden, start thinking of live turkeys? A sandwich with a live turkey sticking out might appear. Then you might think of King Kong, and you'd have a fifty-foot turkey gobbling everything.”

  I stared at him, scoop of ice cream halfway to my mouth, and thought of my dormitory desk. That was exactly how my brain worked. “So, the cuff is stopping me from making King Turkey?”

  He nodded. “Most people don't think or conjure that big, but the cuff stops you from the brief wistful or vengeful thinking the mind naturally evokes. Course, if you really, really want a King Turkey, and have natural skill with creation magic, you might get one. You're a good candidate for that, what with the gophers and all. That type of magic usually doesn't last long, though, unless you can fill in all the pieces to make it somewhat real. Then you just suffer the consequences. Someone made a rampaging rhinoceros yesterday. It was full of candy and rage.” He shook his head. “A piñata spell gone bad.”

  My mind was suddenly envisioning a rhino full of Snickers, fully forming it into vectors, rotating it around and shading rough skin in, candy growing inside. Each piece of the rhino moved in order, like a robot testing its parts—toes flexing, neck shifting. I slid my gaze to the right, half expecting a rhino to come bursting through the giant pane of glass.

  Nothing.

  My magic lay completely dormant beneath my cuff. Caged. I mentally assessed the feeling. Magic had slipped out when I had desperately wanted a solution to my cafeteria table dilemma. Magic had slipped out when I'd concentrated intensely on a locked box in my room. Magic had slipped out when I'd gone past sane chasing dirt particles.

  At the moment, magic hummed pleasantly, but uselessly, beneath my cuff.

  Will must have read my face. He smiled. “And...no rhino. You should try the practice rooms. You can make all the crazy stuff you want in there without penalty. Helps you get in touch with how your magic works. And buy a guide. A guide will help you identify and modulate your output. The more you can control it, the more your cuff will let free. Cuffs aren't sentient, but they 'trust' more if you can stream your magic in certain ways. Get the cuff to work with you instead of against you. That reminds me.” He put his hand in his pocket. “I've been carrying this around for days now, hoping to see you.”

  He looked nervous, but handed me a familiar leather band. I felt a little like I had the day I had fallen off the jungle gym in third grade. Wondering why I could no longer breathe.

  “It isn't the same one, obviously,” he sai
d, voice uncertain. “But I...I saw the look on your face when you looked at the burn on your empty wrist...”

  “It was my brother's.” My voice was barely audible as I mechanically reached for it. It was a perfect replica. Made by magic, obviously. And there was a feel to it. It almost felt like Christian. Like a melding of Will and Christian.

  “I...er, I did a quick workshop in leather spells.” He looked around quickly, lowering his voice further. “And, I used a spark off the sword to capture some of your magic for its creation. I also inserted a spell to help you with basic knowledge. A basic knowledge encyclopedia will ping your consciousness when a topic is raised. Then you just have to tap into the database. You can put other stuff in there too. Useful.” He tapped the side of his head.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, barely able to speak as I put it on.

  He cleared his throat and did that male thing Christian and Dad sometimes did, where he rubbed at his hair, intent on changing an embarrassing subject. “So, it’s good to see you. How are you adjusting?”

  I cleared my own suspiciously tight throat. “Splendidly.”

  He smiled. “It's crazy here, isn't it?”

  More glorious and terrifying, but I nodded to him, touching the bracelet. “So an old magic club? What clubs are you a member of?”

  He looked surprised, then shifty. His caginess caused me to smile. My magic adored Will. I touched my new bracelet again.

  “What makes you think I’m in any clubs?” he asked.

  “Aren't all the cool kids?”

  He looked around, then leaned forward, pushing his glasses up. “There are all sorts of secret groups around here. You just have to keep your wits about you and your senses open. They tend to find you, rather than the other way around.”

  I blinked. “Ok.”

  He smiled. “I have a feeling you'll be in more than one.”