by Colt, K. J.
Frustrated, she opened her eyes. “It failed again, but I think I am close,” she told Blaise. “Do you have any less valuable Life Captures?”
“Sure. They’re in storage,” he said, walking out of his study. Gala followed him, and they went into one of the rooms she remembered seeing on her earlier tour of Blaise’s house. Every wall of that room seemed to be covered with wooden furniture—furniture that seemed to consist of dozens of little doors. Cabinets, Gala realized. These were cabinets—miniature closets used for storage purposes.
Bending down, Blaise opened one of the cabinet doors and took out a jar with a few droplets in it. “These are Life Captures of my less important work,” he explained, handing her one of the clear beads. “You should feel free to use up as many of these as you want. I document anything particularly important in writing.” He waved toward another set of doors, indicating where he kept his written legacy.
Taking one droplet from his hand, Gala put it under her tongue. With all her being, she willed the ability to see what was contained in the Life Capture. She thought of her time back in the Spell Realm and how she was able to get visions. Then she tapped into the part of her mind that was able to do this before. After what felt like hours of concentration, she felt something finally giving and a vision coming on . . .
Blaise was sitting in his study writing code. At times like these, he didn’t mind his self-imposed solitude. Preparing spells required concentration, and distractions could result in significant setbacks. Thankfully, Maya and Esther knew better than to approach his study while he was working. They would simply come, drop off the Life Captures he needed, and quietly leave if he was busy.
He enjoyed coding because it was so exact, so precise. The sorcery code did what you asked it to do. As long as you wrote out the logic of the spell properly, then it was a simple dynamic of ‘if variable A is set to such and such value, action B happens.’ There was something reassuring about it. A certainty in an uncertain world. His mind liked the predictability of it all. He frequently re-used certain patterns, and they produced the same outcome each time.
The spell he was working on now was different, much more challenging than usual. It was based on the work of Lenard the Great himself, and Blaise didn’t fully understand all of its components—and thus couldn’t predict the results. All he knew was that it was his gateway to the Spell Realm—and that it should enable him to send his Life Captures there, shaping the intelligent object he was creating.
Stopping for a second, Blaise wrote down a few things in his journal.
Gala suddenly became aware that she was Gala and not Blaise. Just a moment ago, she had been him. She had been thinking about sending Life Captures into the Spell Realm to feed the object—the object that was herself. The strangeness of that—of having thoughts about herself prior to her existence—had been jarring. Opening her eyes, Gala looked at Blaise.
“You’re out of it already?” He seemed surprised.
“I stopped it,” she explained. “I didn’t like it. I was not myself. It was the way it had been in the Spell Realm, before I became aware of myself. I felt lost in your mind, and I didn’t like that feeling—although I liked your mind quite a bit.”
Blaise grinned at her, looking pleased. “Thank you. But just so you know, I’ve never heard of anybody being able to exit a Life Capture before it ends. I guess there’s no point in being surprised with you.”
“I am different,” Gala agreed.
“Life Captures tend to be all-consuming,” Blaise said. “That’s what most people like about them. Some are even addicted to the experience. When your own life is lacking, being someone else provides a powerful escape. I, like you, don’t enjoy the feeling of losing myself, but I embrace the chance to learn more about people by seeing life from their perspective.”
“Yes, I could see that. I must admit, I got a chance to learn that you have a beautiful mind,” she told him honestly. “So different, yet similar to my own.” It had been enlightening to witness his thought processes, and Gala felt like she understood her creator better now.
He gave her a warm smile, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thank you.”
She felt a sudden urge to touch his smiling lips, but she fought the impulse, having gleaned from books that uninvited touches were not socially acceptable. “I would like to see another Life Capture,” she said instead. “From someone who is not you.” As strange as the experience had been, Blaise was right: it gave her a chance to learn.
Blaise gave her an approving look. “I have some left over from the batch that was meant for your learning while you were in the Spell Realm.” Taking out a droplet from a different cabinet, he handed it to Gala.
She put it under her tongue and tried to get her body to use it, like it did the last time. Only this time she focused on not letting it consume her completely, as it did before.
She was a village girl, working in a garden near a large field of grass. The day was sunny, and the field was beautiful, with wildflowers that were just beginning to bloom. All of this grass would be gone soon, making way for wheat and other grains.
Looking down, she flexed her arms, noticing the play of muscle underneath her smooth skin. She was strong for a girl, her body toned from laboring on the farm her entire life. She enjoyed that part of her life, the endless cycle of planting and harvesting. Now that the spring was here, her family would soon be hard at work—
Gala stopped the vision. It was difficult to stay detached. For a brief moment, she had been that girl, and the experience was as disorienting as before.
“This person seems familiar,” she told Blaise. “I think I’ve been inside her mind before, in the Spell Realm.”
He smiled at her, no longer startled by her quick exit. “Yes, I’m not surprised you recognize her. I’ve gotten most of my droplets from Maya and Esther, my friends in the village. They have many talents, including natural healing and midwifery. And in exchange for their services, they’ve been requesting Life Captures from women that they help. A payment of sorts, which they’ve been passing on to me . . .” His voice trailed off, and there was now a thoughtful look on his face.
“What is it?” Gala asked, intrigued.
“It just occurred to me why you might have taken that shape,” he said, studying her as though seeing her for the first time.
“What shape?” Gala gave him a questioning look.
“That of a girl.”
“You don’t like it?” she asked, feeling inexplicably disappointed.
“Oh, no,” he reassured her. “I do. Believe me, I like it a little too much.” His eyes darkened, color appearing high on his cheekbones, and Gala smiled, delighted that he liked her appearance. Looks were important to people; she knew that also from her readings.
He cleared his throat, still looking a little uncomfortable. “What I meant to say earlier is I think you look like a girl because so many of the Life Captures I sent to you were from the village women—the majority of them, in fact.”
Gala nodded. That made sense to her. Her subconscious mind had likely chosen the female form based on the visions she experienced through the Life Captures. And since most of the Life Captures were from women, it was only logical that her mind had decided to take that shape.
“So would you like to see one more Life Capture?” Blaise asked. “I smuggled this one from the Tower of Sorcery.”
“Yes, I would love to,” Gala told him.
The young sorceress was sitting in one of the study rooms in the Tower of Sorcery. For the first time ever, she was writing the sorcery code for her own spell. It was a tremendous milestone in her education, and she wanted to make Master Kelvin proud of her achievements.
This spell was of the more difficult verbal variety, since all students had to learn the old-fashioned way before they could get access to the simpler magical language and the Interpreter Stone. To reduce the possibility of errors, she went over the logic of the spell and verified that everythi
ng seemed correct. Of course, she knew that the only way to be certain was to say the spell out loud.
Gathering her courage, she spoke the sentences that she’d prepared, following them up with the arcane words of the Interpreter Spell. Then she watched as a small floating fire sphere appeared in front of her, just as she had coded. She laughed with excitement and exhilaration, feeling like she had just conquered the world.
All of a sudden, there was a flash of bright light in the room and the sphere exploded, shards of glass and burning wood raining everywhere.
The explosion knocked the young woman off her feet, but she managed to remain conscious. The room, however, was nearly destroyed.
Her spell had failed.
Gala stopped the Life Capture and decided not to do any more for the time being. It was just too unsettling for her. This last girl’s mind had been filled with such deep negative emotions of disappointment and fear that Gala was still feeling some residual effects of that.
“You’re out of it again?” Blaise asked as soon as Gala’s eyes opened.
“I don’t think I want to learn about the world this way,” she told him. “I want to experience everything myself, not through someone else’s eyes.”
“Gala . . .” Blaise sounded unhappy again, his brow furrowing in a frown. “That’s not a good idea. I already explained. If we go out there, everybody is going to be curious about you. The only thing you’ll get to experience is their stares. They’ll want to know where you come from and who you are—”
“Because of you,” Gala said, recalling what he’d told her earlier. “Because you’re an outcast.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“All right,” Gala said, coming to a decision. “Then I’ll go by myself. I don’t want everybody to watch me just because I’m with you. I want to blend in, to live as your regular people.” That last part was important to her. She was different, but she didn’t want to feel different.
“You want to pretend to be one of the peasants?” Blaise gave her an incredulous look.
“Yes,” Gala said firmly. “That’s what I want.”
“That’s not a good idea—” Blaise started again, but Gala held up her hand, interrupting him mid-sentence.
“Am I your prisoner?” she asked quietly, feeling herself starting to get upset again.
“Of course not!”
“Am I your property, a magical object that is yours?”
Blaise shook his head, looking frustrated. “No, Gala, of course you’re not. You’re a thinking being—”
“Yes, I am.” Gala was glad he accepted that fact. “And I know what I want, Blaise. I want to go out there and see the world, to live as a normal person.”
He sighed and ran his hand through his dark hair. “Gala . . .”
She just stared at him, not saying anything. She had made her wishes clear. She was not an object or a pet to be kept in his house—not when there was so much to see and experience here in the Physical Realm.
“All right,” he finally said. “Remember Maya and Esther, the friends I mentioned to you before? They live in the village where I grew up. Esther was my nanny, and I think of her and her friend Maya as my aunts, even though we’re not related by blood. I want them to watch over you, if you don’t mind, to help guide you until you’re more familiar with our world.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Gala said, all negative emotions vanishing in an instant. “I would love to meet both of them.” In general, she wanted to meet more people, and she liked the idea of getting to know those who were important to Blaise.
“One thing, though,” Blaise said, staring at her intently, “you can’t tell anybody about your origins. It could get both of us in trouble.”
Gala nodded. “I understand.” She would do as Blaise asked, especially since she wanted others to see her as a regular human being, not some curiosity of nature.
Her creator looked somewhat reassured. “Good. Then I will take you to the village.”
“Is that a village that’s part of your holdings?” Gala asked, remembering from her readings that most of the land surrounding Turingrad was divided into territories—and that each territory belonged to some sorcerer.
“Yes.” Blaise looked uncomfortable with this topic. “It’s part of my territory.”
“And the people living there belong to you, right?”
Blaise frowned. “Only by the strictest letter of the law. It’s an archaic custom that’s an unfortunate leftover from the feudal times. The Sorcery Revolution was supposed to eradicate it, but it failed in that, as it did in so many other things. Despite the Enlightenment, we still live in the Age of Darkness in some ways. This aspect of our society is something that I would very much like to change.”
Gala nodded again. She’d gathered that much from the fact that he was so focused on helping the common people. “I understand,” she said. “So when can I go there, to your village?”
“How about tomorrow?” Blaise suggested, still looking less than pleased with the idea.
“Tomorrow would be great.” Gala gave him a big smile. And then, unable to contain her excitement, she did something she’d only read about.
She came up to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled his head down to her for a kiss.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Augusta
FLYING HIGH ABOVE THE ROAD on her chaise, Augusta observed the shocked looks on peasants’ faces as fifty soldiers suddenly materialized out of thin air in front of them. Few laypeople even knew that teleporting spells existed, much less had ever seen the effects of one.
The peasants in the front abruptly stopped, and the people following them stumbled into them, causing a few to tumble to the ground. The fallen immediately got up, holding out their clubs and pitchforks protectively, but it was too late. They’d shown themselves for the clumsy weaklings that they were.
Knowing what was coming, Augusta smiled. They would get a bigger shock in a moment.
“Who is in charge here?” Barson’s voice boomed at them, hurting Augusta’s enhanced hearing for a moment. She’d used magic to increase the volume of her lover’s voice, and she could see that the spell had had its intended effect. Some of the rebels now looked simply terrified.
At that moment, a giant of a man wearing a smith’s apron walked out of the crowd. In his hand, he was holding a large, heavy-looking sword. A blacksmith, Augusta guessed. His presence explained some of the weapons the rebels were carrying.
“Nobody is in charge,” the giant roared back, trying to match Barson’s deep tones. “We’re all equals here.”
Barson raised his eyebrows. “Well, then, you can tell all your ‘equals’ that we have an army waiting just up this hill.” His voice was at a normal volume now; Augusta’s spell only worked for a short period of time.
The peasant openly sneered. “And we have an army about to march up this hill—”
“More like a bunch of hungry peasants,” Barson interrupted dismissively.
The man’s lip curled in a snarl. “What do you want?”
“It’s more about what I don’t want,” the Captain of the Guard said coolly. “I don’t want unnecessary slaughter.”
The blacksmith laughed, throwing his head back. “We don’t mind killing all of you, and it’s quite necessary.”
Barson didn’t respond, just lifted his eyebrows and continued looking at the man.
“You’re afraid of us,” the peasant sneered again. “What, you think a little sorcery and threats are enough to make us turn back?”
Augusta’s lover gave him an even look. “I would rather not make martyrs out of you. I understand that the drought is making life difficult for everyone, but you are marching on Turingrad. Even if we didn’t kill you—and we will, if you force us—a single sorcerer there could destroy you in a moment.”
The man scowled. “We’ll see about that.”
“No,” Barson said, “we won’t. I will give you a chance to see how futile
your rebellion is. Your ten best fighters against one of us—any one of us.”
“Oh, right.” The man snorted. “And if we win?”
“You won’t,” Barson said, his confidence so absolute that for the first time, Augusta could see a glimmer of doubt on the blacksmith’s face.
A moment later, however, the peasant recovered his composure. “This is pointless,” he said, making a move to turn back.
“You’re scared of us!” A taunting voice—surprisingly high-pitched and youthful—seemed to come out of nowhere, causing the peasant to stop in his tracks. Turning, the huge commoner stared at the young soldier who was pushing his way to the front.
It was Kiam, the boy Augusta had healed during practice.
Before the peasant could respond, Kiam yelled out, “Ten to one is not enough for you cowards—you’re still scared! Why don’t you do fifteen to one? Or how about twenty? Think you’d be less scared then?”
The blacksmith visibly swelled with rage, his bearded face turning a dark red color. “Shut your mouth, pup!” he bellowed and, pulling out his sword, charged at Kiam.
Augusta gripped the side of her chaise, tense with anxiety, as the slim youth unsheathed his own sword, preparing to meet the peasant rushing at him like a maddened bull.
The blacksmith lunged at Kiam, and Kiam gracefully dodged to the side, his movements smooth and practiced. Howling, the commoner charged again, and Kiam raised his sword. Before Augusta could even understand what happened, the peasant froze, a red line appearing on his neck. Then he collapsed, his huge bulk hitting the ground with tremendous force. His head, separated from the body, rolled on the ground, coming to a stop a few feet away.