The Zero Blessing

by Christopher Nuttall

  The magic must have held it together, I thought. But the magic was broken the moment the gemstone was removed.

  I picked up the scabbard, quietly admiring the workmanship. The artisan who’d created it had worked a miracle. I could trace out the lines of gold thread linking the embedded runes together, a piece of work far in advance of anything I could do. The magic detector and deflector was simplicity itself, compared to this. And yet, some idiot had ruined it by removing the sixth gemstone. It was no longer anything but a fancy piece of metalwork, barely suitable for someone’s wall.

  Magister Tallyman cleared his throat. I looked up and jumped. The entire class had slipped out while I’d been studying the sword. I was alone.

  “It is a remarkable object,” Magister Tallyman said. “But I cannot duplicate it.”

  I felt a stab of sympathy. I knew what it was like to struggle with an apparently unsolvable mystery. Even now, even after I’d worked out one advantage I could glean from my condition, I still was no closer to understanding it. I knew I was missing something, but what?

  “It’s beautiful,” I said. “What happened to it?”

  Magister Tallyman shrugged. “There are a dozen different stories, five of which defy belief,” he said, quietly. “The remaining seven contradict each other in several places. There is no way to tell, now, which one is actually true.”

  “Or if any of them are actually true,” I said. If I’d damaged an irreplaceable sword beyond repair, I wouldn't want to admit to it either. “Do you have a hunch?”

  “One of the stories claims that the owner’s brother stole a gemstone and replaced it with another,” Magister Tallyman said. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Apparently, he didn't realise that a replacement would never fit into the runic network. Or maybe he just didn't care. When the owner took it out to do battle ...”

  “He was killed,” I finished.

  Magister Tallyman nodded. “I have to close the classroom,” he said. “Take the sword to the workroom and leave it in the office. Stay and do something yourself, if you want.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  I put the sword back in the scabbard, carefully. Very carefully. The family sword had felt light, moving easily in my hand as though it were made of paper. But the dead Object of Power was so heavy that I had to struggle to lift it. None of the runes were working any longer, not even the ones that should have made it easier to carry. And while the scabbard looked intact, it felt oddly rusty to my bare fingers. I was honestly reluctant to try to carry the sword anywhere.

  The corridor was deserted as I made my way into the private workroom. I’d half-expected Akin to be already there, but he was gone. The room was empty. I carried the sword over to the office and placed it on the table, then returned to the main room. There was nearly two hours until dinner. I could make quite a few Devices of Power in that time.

  I reached for one of the textbooks and frowned as it fell open at a marked page. The tiny fan was spread out in front of me, every last component clearly marked. It shouldn't be difficult to make, I realised. A couple of pieces of metal, battered into shape to make blades; a spring, a rod, a handful of runes and a gemstone to focus the magic ... and yet, a forger as experienced as Magister Tallyman couldn’t make it work. It should work. I knew it should work. And yet, the best anyone had been able to produce was a machine that ripped itself apart within seconds ...

  Just like no one ever managed to get the formula to work, I thought. It should have worked, but it didn't work ... until I tried it.

  I stared at the pages, barely seeing them. I’d made a Device of Power to give Isabella an itch, hadn't I? It shouldn't have lasted long before it crumbled into rust. I knew it shouldn't have lasted. And yet, it had lasted. It hadn't started to crumble until I’d deliberately scored out the runes. How long would it have lasted, I asked myself, if I hadn't destroyed it?

  The thought was tantalising. Forever?

  I blinked, hard. The diagram was open in front of me, demanding attention. I hesitated, then started to hunt for the components. I had to know, even if it meant giving up the chance to make a few more devices. Pieces of metal, rods of iron, a runic sheet ... I placed them on the desk and went to work. It was easy enough to assemble, as long as I was careful. The sheer ease of putting the device together, once you knew what you were doing, must have driven Magister Tallyman and his fellows insane.

  It was nearly an hour before the fan was sitting in front of me, complete in every detail save for one. The gemstone rested in my hand, waiting to be inserted. I swallowed hard, wondering if I dared. If I was wrong ... no one would know, save for me. I’d be a freak of nature, a rare throwback to the days before magic ... days that were so legendary that no one believed they truly existed. The fates had given humans magic the day they allowed us to walk on the earth.

  My hand was shaking as I reached forward and put the gemstone in place. The runes were already there, angled towards the stone. It wasn't a potion. It didn't need a surge of magic to kick it off. All it needed was a gentle touch ...

  I reached forward and pushed the fan. It spun to life. I stared as a gust of cool air washed across my face, sending cold shivers down my spine. It wouldn't last. It couldn't last ...

  It lasted. It shouldn't have lasted, but it lasted.

  I forced myself to look at my watch, then back at the fan. All the textbooks agreed that the fans, when produced by the greatest forgers in the world, only lasted ten minutes. And that was the best anyone had done, without adapting the fan into a Device of Power. Ten minutes ... I watched and waited. Twenty minutes went past, mind-numbingly slowly. The fan continued to spin. It didn't look as though it was on the verge of shattering. The first traces of rust should have appeared, but there were none. It was just humming steadily, blowing cold air across the room.

  I started to giggle, despite myself. I’d done something no one had done for a thousand years, something everyone had wanted to do for almost as long.

  I’d made an Object of Power.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I don’t know just how long I sat there, staring at the fan.

  I knew, now, just what had been missing from the ancient textbooks. I knew what they’d considered so obvious they’d never bothered to write it down. A person with magic, real magic, could never produce a real Object of Power. Their magic made it impossible for the runes to settle, just as Rose’s presence had caused the formula to destabilise and explode. It was different - it had to be different - once the magic was settled, but until then ...

  I looked up at the unkempt stack of textbooks, some copied from books that dated all the way back to the Thousand-Year Empire. One looked as if it had been thrown across the room in frustration. A hundred books, crammed with instructions that no one could follow ... no one, but me. I started to giggle again, despite myself. I’d hoped for power. I’d clung to the hope as I grew older, even as my powers stubbornly refused to manifest. But now I’d found something I’d never expected. I couldn’t wait to tell Dad.

  The door rattled. I panicked. I wanted to show Magister Tallyman what I’d done, but at the same time I was also worried about his reaction. And my father’s ... surely, he should be the first to know. My hand jabbed out, sending the fan falling to the ground. It shattered, the blades and runic sheets crumbling into dust a second later. The magic must have destabilised the moment the runes were bent out of shape. I bent down to sweep it up as the door opened, trying to stay out of sight. I needed to compose my face.

  “Caitlyn,” Akin said. “I heard a crash. Are you all right?”

  I rose, fighting down the urge to laugh. If Akin knew what I’d done ...

  I pushed the thought aside, savagely. Akin could not know.

  “I thought I’d try to make a fan,” I said. The best lies always have an element of truth in them. “But it ran for five minutes and then fell off the table.”

  “I couldn't get it to work either,” Akin told me. He didn't sound as thoug
h he was trying to torment me. “I only managed to get it working for a minute before it collapsed into dust.”

  I nodded, absently. I loathed Isabella, but I couldn't deny she was a powerful magician. And her brother was very talented too. Forgers had had it wrong for centuries. The stronger the magician, the less capable they were of forging. It turned everything we knew about magic on its head. And yet ... the more I looked at it, the more I thought it all fitted together. We were taught to balance our intrinsic magic with runes and sigils to make it work. If intrinsic magic was one end of the spectrum, what was at the other?

  Objects of Power, I thought. I was a zero. It just wasn't a bad thing to be. I may be useless in one area, but I’m unbeatable in another.

  Akin gave me a wink, then hurried past me to his workbench. He was putting together a complex device I didn't recognise, one I thought he’d invented himself. Unless, of course, he’d copied the designs from a book belonging to his father. House Rubén would have its own collection of ancient texts, of course. Even now, with the printing press churning out thousands of copies, there were still hundreds of ancient books that were almost completely unique. My father certainly had plenty himself.

  I looked back at the bookshelves. I could start working my way through them, one by one. I could construct a dozen Objects of Power, a hundred ... it wouldn't be hard, once I mastered the skills. Some of them would be beyond me at first, just as there were Devices of Power I couldn't make, but I would learn. Others ... might need two or three zeroes. As far as I knew, I was unique. Some Objects of Power would probably be forever out of reach.

  But there will be others, I thought. The dinner bell rang. And I can find them.

  I hurried to the storerooms and hunted around, looking for a bag of pre-prepared opals. They were used to sense raw magic, once coated in potion. They glowed when a magician touched them, but they’d never reacted to me. I had a theory about that, now. Magic itself didn't remain on me. I took the bag, dumped it into an insulated box and found a few other items before hurrying back into the workroom. Akin was bent over his table, looking as though he intended to skip dinner. I checked my table, making sure there was nothing in view, then headed for the door. If Akin wanted to stay behind - and get into trouble for missing dinner - that was his problem, not mine.

  Rose met me in the dining hall, looking pale. “A couple of upperclassmen kicked me out of the library,” she said. “I didn't move fast enough to suit them, so they gave me lines.”

  I scowled as we opened the door and hurried into the room. “I’m sorry,” I said. There was nothing I could do about it, not now. “But I do have something to tell you.”

  We ate dinner quickly, then carried the box of opals to the library. The upperclassmen were gone, thankfully. I found a couple of books I’d wanted and carried them into the private room, then waved to Rose to shut the door. She did so, looking puzzled. I hadn't dared tell her what I’d done in the dining hall. There’d been too many listening ears. Part of me thought I shouldn't tell anyone, but I wanted to tell someone. It was too good to keep to myself.

  I sat down. “Rose,” I said. “Guess what I did?”

  She shot me a sardonic look. “Magic?”

  “Sort of,” I said. Her eyes went wide. “I made an Object of Power.”

  Alana - or Isabella - would have understood the implications at once. They’d been raised in houses where Devices of Power were common. Rose took a few seconds longer. She’d only heard about Objects and Devices of Power when she'd come to school.

  Her mouth dropped open. “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah,” I said. I couldn't keep myself from grinning. “I made something no one has been able to make for a thousand years!”

  Rose frowned. “You’re sure it would have lasted?”

  “Yes,” I said. The fan wouldn't have lasted more than five minutes, if it hadn't been a genuine Object of Power. “It was perfect.”

  “Was?”

  “I had to break it,” I said. “Rose ... do you know what this means?”

  Rose paled. “Do you?”

  I blinked. “I’m not useless,” I said. “I can do ... well, I can't do magic, but I can make Objects of Power.”

  “Cat,” Rose said. “Are you ... are you sure you should tell anyone? Anyone else, I mean?”

  “I have to,” I said, astonished. I’d expected her to be pleased for me, not ... not worried. “My parents have to know.”

  I smiled, again. My parents were going to be delighted. And relieved, although they’d never admit to it. I wasn't a weak link after all.

  My smile grew wider. And paying off that favour will be easy, my thoughts told me. Where else could Robin get an Object of Power?

  Rose pointed a finger at me. “I can still hex you,” she said. “That’s true for anyone else, isn't it?”

  I nodded, slowly.

  “So you tell the world what you can do,” Rose said. She looked worried. “You’re suddenly the most important person in the world. What happens next?”

  “I ...”

  I stared at her. “What do you mean?”

  Rose met my eyes. “A couple of years ago, a farmer died suddenly,” he said. “He didn't have any sons, so he left his farm to his daughter. The only problem with that is that daughters aren't allowed to inherit land.”

  I blinked. I’d never heard that before. “Why not?”

  “Sons inherit the land, daughters marry and move away,” Rose said. She shrugged. “She didn't have any close male relatives either. Her father’s brother had died years ago, while her mother’s brothers lived far away. Everyone said her father was selfish for not marrying again. Not having a son ... it raised questions about who would inherit.

  “So the village council met and decided, after careful consideration, that they would arrange her marriage to a younger son, who would take the farm. No one cared what she thought about it. They just married her off.”

  I blanched. Alana had often taunted me with the prospect of being married off to a commoner. And yet, there had never been any suggestion that my sisters and I couldn't inherit, even though we were girls. I - and everyone else - expected Alana to be declared the heir when she came of age. She had magic and talent and determination. And yet ...

  The thought was sickening. “That’s monstrous!”

  “It was necessary,” Rose said. “Someone had to take the farm - and her - in hand.”

  She looked down at her pale fingers. “Cat ... she was married off because whoever married her got the farm,” she said. “What’s going to happen to you when the world finds out what you can do?”

  “I'm too young to get married,” I said. Alana and Bella had talked about fairytale weddings, but none of us were likely to tie the knot for years. “I ...”

  My voice trailed off. Rose was right. I was vulnerable. Sure, I couldn't be turned into something permanently, but I could be overpowered and tied up. Alana and Bella knew a dozen cantrips that would help them escape, if they were captured ... I knew them too, yet I couldn't make them work. Dad had warned me, more than once, not to discuss my lack of power with anyone. My family was powerful - and my parents would protect me - but that might not be enough to keep me safe. I was the weak link ...

  I laughed, bitterly. I was still the weak link.

  “Dad still has to know,” I said. If nothing else, I had to reassure him that I was useful. “I won't tell anyone else.”

  “Good,” Rose said. “You can write to him, can't you?”

  I frowned. Yes, I could ... but could I ask him to come? I’d need a very good excuse ... parents weren't normally allowed to enter the school unless their children were in deep trouble. Maybe I could do something that would get me expelled ... no, that would mean I had an expulsion on my record. Perhaps that wouldn't matter, now, but I knew my mother would hate it. None of her family had ever been expelled.

  “It might have to wait until the winter hols,” I said, finally. Winter was coming. We were allowed to
go home for the solstice, if we wished. “Will you ... will you come home with me?”

  Rose frowned. “Do you think your parents would want me?”

  “I think so,” I said. I smiled. “And I would like you to come too.”

  I opened the box, revealing the opals. “I want to try something,” I said. “Can you stand at the far side of the room?”

  Rose nodded. “Is this something else you want me to do blind?”

  “Not really,” I said. “It shouldn't matter if you know or not.”

  I waited for her to reach the end of the room, then held up the first opal. It was dark in my hand. I couldn't help the stab of bitter regret and shame, even though I knew it wasn't a bad thing any longer. Perhaps Mum and Dad had always known I hadn't had magic. The opals reacted to anyone above a certain level, even if they couldn’t cast spells to save their life.