by Andy Boot
Now that had to be a lot of power.
It would break the chain, maybe play into the hands of the enemy, but it was a chance he had to take. He was close to a detector. He scooped it up and ripped the cover from the back, tearing his nails on the catch. Fear meant that the blood which now slicked the detector was nothing more than a minor irritant.
The cell was wired to slow release. He was no expert mechanic, but he knew enough basic maintenance to know the one thing you shouldn't do. He smashed the small circuit board with a stone from the undergrowth, and directed the back of the unit towards the creature. Fumbling, he pulled at the two wires leading in and out of the cell.
Deregulated, the cell split under the strain of the power. A beam of energy shot from the motion detector, directed only by the polycarbons that housed the instrument. Even they began to break down under the strain.
Simeon's fingers burned with a searing pain, forcing him to drop the detector. It was now harmless, all power released.
Simeon, too, was harmless. Hands useless, eyes blinded by the sudden flash of power, he had been thrown onto the ground by the burst
Like any magical construct, the creature lacked intelligence and was responsive to stimuli. In this case, it had been angered by the jolt of power. It was determined to search out and punish whatever had been responsible. Even if that something was laying prone, seemingly a threat no longer.
Simeon still could not see, but he could feel the forearms of the scaled creature as they picked him up, raising him above its head. It flung him down like a limp doll, and he hit the ground with a bone-jarring force. He heard, rather than felt, ribs crack. He was numb. He tried to turn and reach for his blaster, but his right arm failed to respond.
The creature picked him up again. It twisted him in its giant clawed hands, as though attempting to make a spiral of his spine.
Now he felt pain. It returned with a vengeance. He would have screamed if not for the fact that his voice had deserted him, his larynx seemingly forced into his brain, squeezed by the clawed grip.
He knew he would die. He had failed in his mission.
Then he felt the grip release. He fell, but was too numb to feel himself hit the ground.
Too numb to feel anything.
When Simeon regained consciousness he was in his bed. Warmth flowed through him, and he could feel his aching muscles drain of their hurt. He breathed in cautiously. His ribs felt fine.
Around his bed were four adepts, making passes over his prone form. These seemed to coincide with the subsidence of his pain. Ramus-Bey lurked in the background. His eyes met Simeon's.
"Feeling better?"
Simeon attempted to nod. He tried to speak but it came out as a meaningless husk.
"Don't try. It will take a short while for you to return to full health. Call it good practice for the young students," he added with a smile. "I suppose I'd better explain. I felt the surge of power as the thing materialised - and I was not alone. It was strong enough even to disturb the most junior of adepts. I saw the thing attack you, and knew you had little chance. It was a most remarkable charm that constructed it, I'll say that for whoever... anyway, even though that trick with the power cell was most ingenious, it only made the thing stronger. It did, however, distract it long enough for some of my senior tutors to counter the charm. Again, call it good practice."
Simeon was grateful: for that reason alone he did not ask why the Mage himself had taken no active part. That could wait. For now, he was glad to be alive. But there was more to come.
"I attempted to track the source of the charm. It vanished before I could find a true path, but I do know this, it came from outside these walls. I have accused you of attributing outside forces and motives to those things I have called pranks, or jokes. Perhaps you were right in some instances. Certainly, you were tonight..."
"So..." Simeon managed to croak.
Ramus-Bey paused for a moment.
"So the time has come for me to stop hiding from the truth."
CHAPTER NINE
Year Zero - Period Two
It took a few days for Simeon to regain full health and fitness. The charms worked by exaggerating the natural healing processes of the body but it was by no means an instant process. Ramus explained it to him thus: magic does not work miracles, rather it bends reality to the will of the practitioner. So, in the same way that a thought creature is the result of one man's imaginings made three dimensional by the bending of matter, then the rapid healing of injury is not achieved by the sudden creation of new bone and tissue, but by the acceleration of localised time around the wound.
Simeon thought that it made sense, but he really couldn't be bothered to think about it too deeply. For a start, he was still aching in every part of his body. The initial euphoria of being alive, and of not having several broken bones, passed into the dull throb of a regenerating frame. Any charm that had acted as an anaesthetic had long since worn itself out. So his movements were stiff and he remained for the most part in bed, passing time by watching teli-mage broadcasts.
While he did this, rising only when nature dictated, or to check the surveillance tech, the adepts and wizards rallied round. Once again, Simeon was aware that Ramus-Bey had spoken with them, but he had no idea as to the content of that speech.
Whatever the Mage had said, the academy was now a hive of activity. Nervous adepts patrolled the grounds - Simeon was as much aware of this from the alarms they inadvertently triggered as from their breathless reports to him. The tutor wizards were engaged in attempting to construct magical defences to repel any further attacks. Of this, Simeon had to listen to Ramus' despairing cries: "Have I taught them nothing? Their first real test outside of academic experiment, and their attempts to clear the stray thought forms... well, just don't watch the newscast tonight, that's all..."
The Mage had become a decisive, galvanised personality overnight. Now that he had acknowledged the threat was real, he was determined to assist Simeon in a task he now realised was larger than either of them could imagine.
Interestingly, he did not want Simeon to report the night's events to Daliel.
"We must not do this. In acknowledging that we struggled, we may inadvertently be giving succour to the enemy. If we deal with it as matter of course, not warranting any special attention, then we do not encourage a second attempt."
His choice of words was of particular note, for he had no notion of Simeon's unease about Daliel, or the source of previous attacks. Simeon would press him on this presently, but for now he felt compelled to check on the surveillance and defence in his enforced absence.
The Mage sighed. "Could I ever fault my apprentices and students for their effort? But the adepts are no warriors: if there was real danger, they would be as children. However, they are a presence and that may be enough. As for the magical defences... I know I have been harsh in my choice of words concerning those efforts, but in truth it is a thankless task. For a magical defence to work, it must be a counter-charm."
"And you can't counter a charm in advance, as you don't know what it is until it's actually on top of you?" Simeon cut in.
The Mage assented. "Exactly. This is why I feel we should keep word of this attack within the academy. The less anyone knows, the less they can realise the extent of our limitations."
When Simeon was left alone, he pondered on this. Mages had the power to reduce Inan to a pile of dust floating aimlessly in space. Yet they would find it difficult to defend themselves against any direct physical attack because of their age and frailty. Only, perhaps, if they had enough warning to cast a charm. To work great magic took time and effort. A magical attack demanded an instant response. It was that question of time that troubled him.
A warrior could stand alone against a physical assault. Success or failure depended on his powers. He could provide specific defence strategies that would limit attack opportunities, making it easier for him to defend the - comparative - surprise attack.
A Mage - a wizard, ev
en - could not prepare any such contingencies.
So what was it, then, that made the Mages such a deterrent to further warfare? They had the power to destroy Inan, but not without time and protection. As an ultimate weapon, they were severely flawed.
Simeon considered this at length. If he had been able to work this out, then he could be sure that those in authority were also aware of this theory. The Mages became not so much an actual threat as one that was symbolic.
Which would make them a much less dangerous target for attack, with a greater symbolic significance for their elimination.
All in all, not the kind of realisation to give anyone pleasant dreams...
Simeon and Ramus-Bey did not speak of this. Neither did they speak of the suspicions that Simeon suspected they shared. Furthermore, they did not speak of the matter that had been gnawing at the warrior for some time. Why the Mage did not seem to take a direct role in any of the magical activities that went on outside Simeon's window. It was as though either man were afraid to open those particular doors. So they contented themselves with talk of routine.
Besides, Simeon had something else that had thrown his mind into turmoil. Something that he had been avoiding.
It was evening. The pink sun was almost down, the wan light of the pale moons casting a bone-white glow over the grounds. Inside his rooms Simeon had returned to bed after running an eye over the surveillance monitors. All was calm, which is what he had hoped for: it occurred to him that the optimum time for a follow-up attack would be while he was recovering. Whoever had sent the magical assailant must know of at least some of his injuries. To strike in the middle of this confusion would have been his choice.
Yet it hadn't happened. The anxiety he had been feeling was starting to abate. Give a day or two more and he would be well enough to face anything. Even now, the only real problem he faced was the stiffness in his abdomen, muscles complaining as he sat awkwardly on the bed.
So he was more relaxed than at any time in the last few days, and the least prepared for the shock he received on watching the newscast.
It was a piece on the recent trade delegation visit from Kyas. Although close to Bethel geographically, the smaller nation state had historically felt itself ostracised by the large continent and so had always allied itself to Varn. Now, for the first time in over five hundred anums, it was possible that the two nation states would start to trade. Although Kyas was smaller, it had commodities that Bethel wanted, and was in a stronger position than its size would suggest.
Which was not really the kind of thing that interested Simeon. But he couldn't be bothered to reach for the remote image changer by the side of his bed. It would have meant straining his lateral obliques - muscles he had only (too well) become aware of in the last few days. So he watched as the reporter's voice droned on, talking about a ceremony held at the newly established Kyan embassy in Belthan.
Who needed soporifics when you had newscasts? He felt his attention wander, until a brief flicker in the corner of the screen snapped him back to reality. It had been so fast that it had only registered on the edge of his consciousness, but it was enough to make him scrabble for the remote, wincing at the stiff ache in his side, and hit the rewind button.
The image flicked back, too far: he played it forward at half speed until he found the right spot, then hit it the loop function. The same few seconds replayed on the screen, over and over.
He studied it, not trusting the evidence of his own eyes.
It was her. For most of the loop she was out of shot, or was only partially visible behind the robes of the Kyan ambassador. But at the end, she was revealed as the ambassador bowed to the Chief Minister of Bethel.
Wanting to catch the optimum frame, he replayed it again and again until he was sure, then hit freeze.
She was in a ceremonial shift of purple and red, with a lining of gold that showed on the scooped neck. Judging by the colours she had risen in the Kyan military. On Kyas, back on the farm, she had been in green and blue, the lowest level.
But it wasn't only her new ranking that interested him, he was looking at how the gold reflected on her skin, her long dark hair shining, her narrow face composed in a neutral expression. He knew that look, she was bored.
Ensign Jenna Eslo. Even bored, the sight of her excited a thrill within him: but one that was not without a bittersweet taste.
If she was here, why had she not tried to contact him? From her position in relation to the ambassador she was obviously attached to the embassy and not the trade delegation. There were strict protocols in formal society that told him this.
The part of him that wanted to give her credit told him that she did not know that he, too, was in the capital. Ah yes, his conscience replied, but she knows you were repatriated to Bethel. And she is here; in all likelihood since the embassy was established. What did she say to you? That if she were posted here she would find you? Has she?
He wanted to counter this by saying to himself that he was not sure that she had promised this: it could be that it was only what he had wanted her to say, what he had wanted to hear... but this was no argument, and in truth only reinforced the dread that she did not want to see him again.
If that was so, she would have to tell him to his face. When he was fully fit, when he had precautionary measures in place, then he would risk a few hours away from the academy. That was all it would take.
He resolved to handle the issue with speed.
Fate would stay his hand.
Ramus-Bey was a changed man in the time following the attack. Where he had spent his time cloistered away with his studies, now he became more outgoing. Although he had always been the nominal head of the Institute, his appearances to the adepts had been few and far between, and he had been a remote figure. They respected, rather than liked him and his irascible nature had been something of which they steered well clear. It was the wizards, ranking below him in prowess, who had handled the majority of the instruction.
This had changed and instruction now became something in which the newly revitalised Mage immersed himself. The fact that the projects in which his students and tutors were engaged had a more practical and demanding purpose than at any other time only added to his new-found delight.
He still spent some time on his studies, shut up in the ice-cold atmosphere of his chambers, but he was more inclined to take a break and walk in the grounds than at any time before, marvelling in the flora and fauna like one who was seeing them for the first time.
Which, Simeon supposed, he was. It was like the old man had been wrapped in a bubble for a long time. Now with the bubble burst he was able to take in his surroundings more fully. "It appals me to say it, but there is nothing like danger for sharpening the mind. Without it, it is too easy to become complacent." Ramus said as Simeon joined him on one of his walks.
"You're seriously telling me that you welcome these attacks?"
"Welcome isn't the word I would use, but..." he searched for the expression, staring at the cerise-washed skies above. "We forget so easily that, for all our learning, we are not that far removed from the lowest of animals. I have spent my entire life searching for a truth that will bring me closer to the Gods, even to the point of using the knowledge I have learned to prolong that life, to purchase the necessary time to search further. I seek, like others before me, with me, and no doubt after me, to use my mind above my body. The mind is the thing that can set us free: that is what we have been taught. The mind, the will, is what shapes reality. The power to do that is to achieve godhead... or at least the closest that is possible.
"Yet, in that search, we so easily forget that we are animal. The mind and the body are linked, and are influenced by each other. They work in tandem. We try to sever that relationship, and then we wonder why we cannot feel the true importance of what we learn. We can know, but... the knowledge that my mortal shell is under threat brought first fear, then anger which I could not direct, and then the courage to fight back.
/> "Courage I learned from you."
Simeon didn't know what to say. There were many things running around his head, searching for expression. It was one of the least of them that found voice: "Why does a threat on your mortality mean so much? If you are searching... didn't you once say to me that you did not fear what lay beyond the end of life?"
Ramus-Bey smiled sadly. "Easy words to say when that isn't staring back at you. Perhaps it's part of mind and body being tied together that the thought of losing one part, regardless of your so-called beliefs, drives you into terror."
"Fear is nothing to be ashamed of," the warrior said reflectively. "When I first entered training we had to scale walls, tunnel, fight in simulation exercises, learn how to use all kinds of blasters. But the thing that really made me break out in a cold sweat was as nothing compared to those. You want to know what it was?"
Ramus shrugged. "You'll tell me anyway."
"True enough... the thing that terrified me was the training for swamp warfare. Simulations where you had to use breathing apparatus, swim and wade in mud, crawling with insects. It was like being shut in a tomb while still alive. The water... that was bad enough. But swamp slugs, the way in which they attach themselves to your skin... I tell you, that was the real meaning of fear. It was such a small thing yet it went against all reason that I could not, for so long, conquer this terror."
"And how did you?"
Simeon shrugged. "I didn't. I still hate those things. But I forced myself to carry on. What else could I do? Especially as I was dispatched to the swamps of South Varn with the bridgehead force. That was where I was captured."
As they talked, the two men had circled the grounds and were now in the shade of the hanging trees that fringed the west wall. Beneath one of the trees a small ornamental pond housed a shoal of iridescent green and blue fish, which moved in ripples of colour beneath the clear surface.