The top of the decorative frame of the timepiece included a map of his world. Using magic, he pushed and pulled, warmed and cooled elements of the lock until the map hinged open. A small leather-bound book lay snugly in an alcove inside.
Vella. He eased her out. As always, she was faintly warm. As he held her in his hands he knew she was absorbing everything new in his memory since the last time he’d touched her. He’d tested her once, seeing how brief a touch it would take before she could not learn all that he had learned that day. No matter how fleeting the time of contact, she always absorbed everything.
He opened to the first page.
Hello, Tyen. So who won the Tournament?
She knew the answer, of course, but asked in order to make conversation.
Dalle–with a deceptively simple design.
Zeke’s sister. You doubted her abilities at first. You’ll not underestimate her again.
No. Though… have you any record of someone known as the Raen?
Yes. I learned of him from Tarren. The Raen was very powerful and believed to be nearly a thousand cycles old at the time he disappeared. There have been no credible sightings of him for over twenty cycles, so most believe he is dead.
Which was probably why Tyen hadn’t paid a lot of attention, or recalled the man’s name. Since coming to Liftre, filling the void in his knowledge of sorcery and developing and teaching “mechanical magic” had overtaken every part of his life. He’d figured there’d be time to learn more about the history of the worlds later. And if Tarren, the teacher who had been his mentor for most of his student cycles, and now a good friend, hadn’t made particular mention of someone called the Raen then Tyen would have assumed he wasn’t important.
Unless Tarren had another reason to not mention him.
A bell chimed in the distance. He looked up at the timepiece. Dinner for the teachers was about to begin. Tarren might even join them if he’d heard there was a juicy rumour going around.
I must go, Vella. Since everyone will be talking about this I’ll take you with me.
He closed her and moved to the desk. Digging under some loose paper covered with notes, he found a flat pouch he had made for carrying her. It had a strap that he could hang around his neck and holes to allow her cover to touch his skin so she could see and hear everything that he saw and heard. Slipping her inside, he looped the strap over his neck and slipped the pouch inside his shirt. It settled against his chest.
He looked down at Beetle, sitting immobile on the corner of his desk.
“Beetle,” he said. It whirred into life and turned to face him, antennae quivering. “Guard the room.”
It gave a little trill of acknowledgement, then its wings buzzed into life, blurring as they lifted it into the air. It flew to a stuffed animal head hanging above Tyen’s door–a gift from a former student–and settled behind the stumpy horns.
“Good Beetle,” he said. Its wings vibrated in response–one of many little refinements he’d made since leaving his world. People who found the insectoid a little frightening were reassured if it behaved like a well-trained pet. It would also dip its head in apparent shame when scolded, could replicate a pattern of knocks or taps with buzzes, and whistle a few simple melodies.
Leaving his room, Tyen found the corridors were mostly empty. The few teachers still about nodded politely as he passed. Though he had been a colleague for less than a cycle, he had brought to the school knowledge of technology more advanced than any they had seen before. He’d paid his way as a student by developing and teaching lessons on mechanical magic in classes that often included other teachers among the students. Graduated sorcerers, hearing of the new form of magic, returned to the school to learn how to use it, and he now had a list of people waiting for a space in a class.
In return Tyen had gained a thorough training in all other forms of magic. Though he’d learned the basic principles at the Academy–that everything was a variation of stilling and moving–he’d only ever learned the sorts of applications that were possible in a world poor in magic. In worlds rich in magic, which seemed to be most other worlds, so much more was possible.
It had taken some time for him to stop taking and using too much magic for a task. Fighting was certainly different when Soot, the empty space left when magic was removed from a world, disappeared so quickly as magic rushed in to replace it. For an area empty of magic to be a concern in a fight the battle would have to be immense. None of the Liftre teachers allowed any combat on that scale, mostly because it was rude to deplete worlds of magic, but also because the greater the amount of magic used, the more damage done when mistakes were made. They believed fighting at a smaller scale taught students all the skills they needed anyway. Tyen suspected they were wrong, but for him to be proven correct would take a great catastrophe, and he’d hardly wish that on anyone.
Descending the stairs, he joined the last straggling teachers hurrying towards the dining room. It was a large room with several tables arranged in a square. As Tyen entered, a man with short white hair looked up, smiled and beckoned, pointing at the empty seat beside him.
“Tarren,” Tyen said as he joined his old friend. “Eating with the rabble again?”
“I may as well, what with all the interruptions I’ve had today,” Tarren grumbled. “How did the Tournament go?”
“Good. Dalle, the sister of last cycle’s victor, won with an interesting design.”
The old man smiled. He tilted his head to the side as he regarded Tyen. “It was good of you to stay and teach here, when you could have left to pursue your own interests. Not many of Liftre’s former pupils are so loyal.”
Tyen shrugged. His decision to stay had nothing to do with loyalty. Not that he did not admire the school and approve of its philosophy of teaching anyone who sought training, but he did not feel the unquestioning bond for this place he’d had for the Academy. Professor Kilraker, by setting Tyen up as a thief and ultimately killing thousands when Spirecastle fell due to his selfishness and stupidity, had taught Tyen that teachers and educational institutions could as easily turn on you as not. Though Liftre was a wonderful place, he was more realistic in his expectations when it came to its self-preservation, or his.
I stay because this place is the best source of knowledge about magic that exists, as far as I’ve been told. It is the place where I am most likely to find a way to make Vella whole again. A familiar mild guilt arose as he recalled the promise he’d made to restore her, neglected for too long. The demand for lessons on mechanical magic had prevented him from seeking a way to restore her to human form. Once I find someone to help or take over the teaching I will have time for it, he told himself, as he had many times before.
Tarren had offered to help seek a cure for Vella. Of all the people in Liftre, only the old man knew about her. Tyen had let Tarren examine her not long after his graduation, ready to take her back and flee if he saw any thought of stealing her in the old man’s mind, whether for his benefit or the school’s. It was a risk worth taking so that Vella would absorb all of Tarren’s considerable knowledge.
Rojiahna, one of the servers, came to list what was on the menu for the evening. Tyen selected a dish and a glass of wine, then was drawn into a conversation about the Tournament with the teacher sitting on his other side.
“I’m looking forward to seeing what their younger brother can do when he joins Liftre,” Tyen finished.
The teacher hesitated before nodding in agreement. “Let’s hope he gets the chance.”
Remembering Dalle and Zeke’s reaction to his mention of the next cycle, Tyen turned to Tarren.
“The students were concerned about a rumour going around the school about a sorcerer called the Raen. Who is he?”
Tarren’s smile faded. “Ah. Of course. You won’t know much about him. He would never have visited a world so poor in magic as your home world.” He glanced around the room. “We’re not supposed to discuss him, as it leads to rumours like these.”
The door to the kitchen opened and servants filed in, each carrying two or three plates in one hand and delivering them to the table in a show of dexterity Tyen had always admired.
“Thank you,” Tyen said as Rojiahna laid a plate before him.
She set down a glass and poured a syrupy purple wine from a round-bellied bottle. “Bel wine from R’parne.” Straightening, she watched him lift the glass.
He took a sip and nodded at the pleasing, spicy flavour. She smiled and continued on.
He started to eat. The Liftre had an impressive collection of beverages from many worlds, and when Rojiahna had claimed she could bring him a different one every night for a lifetime he’d challenged her to do so. So far he could not remember drinking the same one twice, though he hadn’t kept any records and he doubted he’d realise, after so many wines, if she had repeated any.
Tarren, he saw, was not eating. The old man’s gaze was distant and sad.
“Are you all right?” Tyen asked.
Tarren glanced at Tyen and nodded. “Yes. Come see me tonight.” He picked up his cutlery and started eating.
With his friend looking distracted by his thoughts, Tyen turned his attention to the rest of the room. It was abuzz with conversation.
“… of his return has circulated the worlds many times before and proven to be false,” a young female teacher was saying. “What is different this time?”
“The veracity of the reports,” the older woman beside her replied. Her name was Ame, Tyen recalled. “They come from reliable sources.”
Corl, a dark-skinned older man, let out a short laugh. “They said that last time.”
“And great damage was done,” another woman said. “We should not be discussing this, or spreading the rumour further.”
“And if it is true? Would it not be better to warn the worlds the monster is back?” Corl argued.
“Monster?” another teacher injected. “He is no monster.”
“… who may use the rumour to intimidate and bully others,” another teacher was saying as the discussion split into two.
“My people worship him as a god,” a younger teacher said. “Still do. Every time the rumour resurfaces the chance of them seeing their error is delayed by many more cycles.”
“There is no harm in that. My people call him the Deliverer.” At this new voice heads turned to a short, middle-aged man with long hair knotted into a ropey curtain. “He saved us when our world was dying.”
“And delivered you to mine, Kik, to steal our lands and enslave us,” another teacher replied. He looked remarkably similar to the middle-aged man, except his head was smooth and hairless.
Kik’s eyes narrowed. “That was never his intention. We were forced to take action after your people refused to share your resources with us, Areio.”
“That is a lie,” Areio said, pointing at him with his table knife. “We helped you, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted the best lands, the best of everything we had, and you wouldn’t work for it.
Kik rose. “You gave us unworkable land. You wanted us to starve!”
“We were all starving after your people came! We didn’t have crops to feed double the—”
As the argument continued other voices joined in, cutting across the pair’s retorts.
“Perhaps it was his plan all along.”
“That was nearly three hundred cycles ago. It’s not his fault that you can’t settle your differences. Just… get over it.”
“Peace! Peace! We are all here to learn and teach!”
“He rescued the people of my world, too, but there was a price. It was not worth it.”
“Rescued! He helped you wipe out an entire race! To the last child!”
“A race that had enslaved and tortured us. What would you do? Invite them to dinner?”
Tyen had never seen the teachers arguing so passionately about something not related to the running of the school. His ears rang from the noise. He glanced at Tarren, who was watching it all with a look of wry amusement.
“It’s only a rumour!” someone yelled over the voices.
“Yes! We don’t know if he has returned,” another added.
Silence followed, then a few people muttered under their breath. Kik glanced around and sat down. Some of those who had been arguing looked down at their plates and picked up their cutlery.
“Oh, he has returned,” a high voice said. “This is no rumour.”
All froze. Even those who had continued eating through the ruckus stilled, caught in the act of chewing. Heads turned to a thin, middle-aged woman sitting at one corner of the table. Demble taught the use of magic in art and music, Tyen recalled, and had shown him a method of shaping air to amplify noise. Her manner was reserved among the other teachers, but when she spoke it was often to cut to the heart of a matter.
He hadn’t seen her in a while, he realised.
“I returned today from my home world. During my visit Queen Hevinna requested I entertain her. The court was buzzing with the news that the Raen had been there a few days before. I broke the law against mind reading to learn if it was true, because I had to be sure.” To Tyen’s surprise, tears filled her eyes. “It is true. The Raen has returned. My queen says I must return to my family but…” She shook her head. “This is my home.”
A long silence followed. Tyen saw dismay on all faces. Even Kik did not look pleased.
“Will the school close?” someone asked.
Heads now turned towards Tarren and Corl, the oldest of the teachers. The two men exchanged glances.
“That’s up to the Heads to decide,” Corl said, his tone doubtful.
Ame huffed. “They can’t expect us to stay if we don’t want to. We’re all sorcerers. We’ve broken the Raen’s laws against teaching magic.”
“He does not forbid teaching magic,” Kik corrected. “He forbids the formation of schools, travelling between worlds without permission, and teaching others how to travel between worlds.”
“Everyone knows he kills sorcerers to prevent them uniting against him,” someone said.
“Nonsense! If he had there’d be no allies.”
“Who live only because they serve him!”
“If we return to our home worlds and stay put we will be safe enough,” another voice injected.
“How do we go home when travel between worlds is forbidden?” someone wondered.
“I suppose you’ll offer to serve him,” Ame said, glaring at Kik.
He shrugged. “I’d be honoured, but I doubt I’d be useful to one such as him.”
Voices rose in outrage. Tyen heard Tarren draw in a breath. “Quiet!” he called, pointing at a servant standing by the door. “Let the messenger speak.”
Others repeated the words until the noise lessened enough for the messenger to make himself heard. He looked around nervously and cleared his throat.
“The Heads have summoned all to attend a meeting tonight, an hour after dinner,” the man said.
A short silence followed his exit, then someone whispered. “Well, that confirms it. They’re closing the school.”
“No it doesn’t,” another disagreed. “They might want to wait and…”
“This will be the end of Liftre,” Tarren murmured as the teachers began to argue again. “Even if the Heads decide to stay put and see what happens, most will abandon it out of fear or respect for the Raen’s laws. Is was only his absence that made the creation of Liftre possible.”
Tyen stared at him in disbelief. “Close the school? Just like that?”
The old man nodded and resumed eating.
“Who is this Raen?”
“The ruler of worlds.” Tarren glanced at Tyen. “Could you go to the meeting and tell me what happens?
Tyen nodded. The room was quiet now. Many had resumed eating. Some looked pleased, some worried. A few regarded their plates as if suddenly nauseated by what they saw. Tyen picked up his utensils, though his appetite was not what it had been, and began his meal. The prospe
ct of Liftre closing sent a shiver of apprehension through him, and he realised he had taken its safety and the companionship of fellow sorcerers for granted. He wanted it–perhaps needed it–more than he’d believed.
CHAPTER 2
Liftre’s corridors hadn’t been so crowded and noisy since the last founding anniversary celebrations. Clusters of teachers, students and servants formed suddenly and broke up as quickly, slowing traffic only briefly. While most conversations were held in low voices, shouts cut over them as people sought and found friends and relatives.
Tyen saw people appear and disappear. Some he recognised as parents of students, no doubt come to collect their offspring. Some were teachers. A few held items he suspected belonged to the school, and he wondered if they’d bothered to ask for permission to take them.
One of the younger teachers nodded to Tyen and, as he was about to pass, slowed.
“Are you going to the meeting?”
Tyen nodded. “Are you?”
“No.” The young man stopped. His attention kept shifting, drawn to every movement in the corridor. “The Heads will either tell us to leave, or wait, or fight. Fighting would be suicide, waiting might be fatal if the Raen decides to make an example of us, and the sooner we leave the better chance we’ll reach safety.” He frowned. “Have you got somewhere to go? Your home is a dead world, isn’t it?”
“A weak one,” Tyen corrected.
“Well, if you can’t go back you’ll need time to find somewhere safe. Don’t wait for permission. Go.” He grimaced. “Good luck.” He hurried on.
Tyen had only walked a dozen or more steps further when another teacher stopped him. She only wanted to thank him for his lessons on mechanical magic and wish him luck. Soon after, an older sorcerer, now retired, repeated the advice to leave now. Tyen wished the man well, but only changed his course towards the meeting hall. At the rate he was moving through the crowd it would take him as long to get there as it would to get the rest of the way to his room.
When he finally stepped inside it was a relief to enter a space of comparative quiet and stillness. A few teachers were present, and twenty or so students. A large group of servants milled to one side. The last detail brought the first true tingle of anxiety. Servants never attended meetings.
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