“I guess that’s a good point,” Chester allowed, though he still looked wary. He kept his distance from Fel and kept glancing back to check on him. It would be insulting if it wasn’t amusing watching him get worked up. “Here,” he said finally, “This one is the most intact boat in the place.”
It was a modest fishing boat, but it looked big enough to have a cargo hold that would suit Fel’s purposes. There were no holes, just dents and scrapes and algae along the hull. Any lettering was illegible and any enchantments would have worn to nothing by now. Still, it was already on the water.
Fel searched for the gangplank and boarded. The wood groaned with his weight, but it seemed sturdy enough. There was a small hold beneath the main deck, just enough for the two—no four—of them to fit. They may not be able to stand upright, but they would fit. Fel glanced over at Aldon, still chatting with the Legionnaire. Chester. Fel couldn’t say he was surprised Aldon wanted to help them. It was the decent thing to do. Fel just wasn’t used to that sort of charity. Helping Aldon was the first time he had acted outside of his own self-interest. The world hadn’t really presented him with much choice, but still, being the good guy was new. Aldon may be naive and privileged, but he had something that Fel had never witnessed firsthand, too. Goodness.
Fel ran through the options in his head. He needed to seal the wood around the hold, that was easy enough. He moved his hands in quick strokes, letting the enchantments blend as he also got rid of the masts and rigging. Steering the ship would be difficult, there would be no way to see where they were going anyway, so he added some padding to the enchantments on the boat’s front and sides. Once he was done, the only thing left was to get in, enchant some weight and density, then seal the door behind them.
He joined Aldon and the soldiers, hands in his pockets. They were laughing about something, which was annoying. Aldon turned to him, facing him fully, and asked, “Is it ready?”
“We just need to get in,” Fel signed.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Mian said, the scowl turning grim. Chester patted the young soldier’s arm.
“He’s not keen on the water,” Chester explained, then to Mian said, “The water will get us out of here. And hey, we actually completed some of the mission. We’ve located one of the politicians we came for, so there’s something.”
Mian didn’t respond, just glared at the boat, but followed anyway. Fel nearly rolled his eyes. Did it really count as success when it was the politician that was doing the saving? They would have been discovered eventually.
Fel signed to Aldon, “We all need to be in the cargo hold. It’ll be tight, but once we’re in I’ll seal it and get it moving. Then we sink.”
Aldon translated his words as directly as he could, which surprised Fel again. Amaria never bothered to translate for him accurately or like she cared what Fel had to say. It was a small thing, but it lingered in the back of Fel’s head as they piled into the hold. Aldon lost his balance and nearly toppled over the side, but Fel caught him, pulling him close to avoid going over himself.
There were specks of brown in the green of his eyes.
Aldon pulled away, apologizing and thanking him in the same breath. Was that color in his cheeks? Red just beneath the light brown of his skin?
“Guys! It’s really cramped down here. Are you sure we’ll all fit? I’m a bit claustrophobic.” Chester’s voice carried up from the hold and shattered the little bubble that had built around them. Aldon, now grabbing at any surface, made his way down.
“It’ll be fine enough. We just need to get out of the city.”
Fel closed his eyes and collected his thoughts. He had never had any sort of relationship with another person that wasn’t a necessary alliance. Amaria. Kade. Pax. They had all been necessary alliances. Vida. His fingers rubbed at the soft, thick threads in his cardigan. She made it for him. A friend. No, family would be a better word, but time hadn’t given them long enough to label it.
Then there was Aldon. Aldon wasn’t a necessary alliance. He was the opposite of necessary, helping him had done nothing but upset Fel’s life. Was he a friend then? No. Surely they would part ways as soon as they were safe. If they were safe. The idea left a sinking feeling in Fel’s chest. He stomped his way to the cargo hold.
Fel twisted so he was nearest to Aldon—so he could be near the door—and sealed it air-tight. He moved his hands to work in the final layers of enchantment and prayed the ship was intact enough to hold it all. The floral/sweet smell started to overpower the fish and soon the space was much cooler than it should have been with four bodies making heat.
The boat swayed beneath them as it drifted out with the current. Then he added the weight enchantments and the groaning grew to wails as water compressed around them on all sides. They could hear the rush as the main deck submerged. Then it quieted. The groaning lessened and the only sounds were the occasional creak, another drip from somewhere inside the cabin, and the gentle whoosh of the current.
They didn’t need to get far, just far enough. There were only a few miles to cover before they were outside Meraton. They felt the odd bump, each body tumbling around as the riverbed corrected their course. The enchantments were strong, but the boat was not.
Twenty minutes passed, but they couldn’t be certain they were out of danger yet. Trouble was, Fel was starting to get a little light headed.
“Anyone else’s chest feel a bit tight? Like they’re not getting enough air?” Chester asked, his pale skin now a shade of white reserved for the deceased.
“If I’m being honest,” Aldon added, “I’m having trouble breathing, too.”
Fel slapped his forehead. He tapped Aldon’s shoulder to get his attention and signed quickly, “I didn’t consider the air.” They’d been breathing what had been trapped inside when Fel sealed the door. He wasn’t sure how long they could continue.
“I can’t breathe, guys. I can’t breathe,” Chester wailed, which wasn’t helping. Mian was bug eyed and quietly hyperventilating. Also, not helping.
“Both of you calm down,” Aldon ordered, “You’re making it worse.” He turned to Fel. “Any way to add air?”
Fel shook his head.
“Do you think we’re past the city?”
Fel shrugged.
“Great, then we need to go as far as we can.”
“But I’m dying,” Chester wailed.
Mian closed his eyes, his hands like vices on his cheeks.
“You’re not dying,” Aldon assured, his voice filled with authority and a touch of genuine concern. It was how Kade sounded. A real leader that cared about those they lead.
Ten more minutes had passed while they were debating. Fel’s eyes began to droop and if he put off surfacing any longer he may not be able to do it at all. He signaled to Aldon, who was slumped over, skin clammy. They would chance it. Fel lifted the enchantments holding them down then unsealed the door.
Fresh air wooshed into the cramped cabin. Each of them took greedy gulps in, too winded to care that they were all heaving like animals. Fel was nearest the door and the first to the main deck, though he only moved high enough to look around. Grassy plains stretched out on all sides, behind he saw Meraton breaking up the gentle slopes of hills. It was miles away now, growing smaller.
“We should land,” Aldon said, “I’m not sure this boat will hold much longer and we’re moving away from Azlemaine.”
Azlemaine? Oh, right. Aldon lived in the capitol. He wanted to return home. Fel wasn’t sure where his home was now, but that was his problem.
“We’ll have to go around Meraton, but it still shouldn't take too long,” Aldon continued, apparently, he’d already worked out this plan with the soldiers.
Fel got the boat to the shore and Mian bolted off, jumping the entire way and rolling until he was face down in the grass. He lay still for several minutes.
“Land! Sweet land!” Chester pranced among the weeds.
“Lucindra is just a few miles south,”
Fel signed, his back to the soldiers as he spoke with Aldon, “They should have a shuttle to Azlemaine.”
“Perfect, then we’ll head that way,” Aldon said, dusting off his clothes. He could finally be rid of that hooded coat, his hair blowing in the slight breeze.
Fel waved a generic goodbye. Homeless. Alone. Untethered. It wasn’t as scary a thought as it had seemed before. He could do this. He’d survive. Find work, hide that he was a Chanter, find himself a home on his terms. He’d be fine. Great.
“Aren’t you coming?” Aldon asked.
Fel turned, a part of him lifting with a bit of hope, the rest of him realistically crushing that hope. “Not sure what I do now.”
Aldon laughed. “What you do is come with me. With us. We make a really great team. And I need you.”
Fel’s mouth fell open.
Aldon held out a hand, his smile infectious. “What do you say?”
Fel couldn’t describe the feeling blooming in his chest. Like a dormant part of his soul was waking up. He took the offered hand, a flutter surging up his arm. Aldon didn’t let go right away, hand lingering, his skin smooth and warm, then they were walking to Lucindra.
Maybe it wasn’t his fate to be alone.
2
Havinnia remained stony while Vika Kannan seethed. A feat few could accomplish. Kannan was not slight, her shoulders were broad and her bearing intimidating and her animosity was a presence. They stood in Havinnia’s office, hearth blazing and a warm, cookie sort of scent effectively masking the signs of strong enchantment. The room was cozy, to Havinnia, decorated in honeyed woods and shades of pink.
Havinnia had just informed the General of the new and immediate mandate that all Chanters report to their local Legion Offices for “observation.” Kannan had not taken to the news easily, which, if Havinnia was honest, earned the General a point of admiration from her Queen.
Kannan’s eyes narrowed, her words polite, but clipped. “It will take several days, Your Majesty, to properly implement such an order throughout Vacua.”
“I understand,” Havinnia said, her eyes and posture betrayed none of the turmoil she felt at giving such an order. It was underhanded, unethical. Not only were Chanters to be detained, but Havinnia had to give the order in secret first, to minimize resistance. Or that was how her colleagues had put it.
Kannan turned away, hands crossed behind her back, the great golden spear simmering in its sheath across her shoulder blades. “Forgive me, Majesty, but I would be...remiss if I did not question—”
“I know,” Havinnia started, and Kannan turned again, “You want to question if this is necessary or if this is wise or even right? I don’t blame you,” Havnnia only let the smallest glimpse of her unease slip through, just as she had agreed with Jordana. Kannan was trustworthy, loyal, and, it seemed, of a like mind on their course of action. Havinnia could be a Queen of secrets and wield her authority like a weapon, not tolerating a single comment from a treasured ally…or she could acknowledge that ally. She couldn’t trust blind devotion from her subjects either, when a spark of truth might sway disloyalty. “You need to know that this decision was not in my hands, but it is the decision of Liore. To go against this would risk not only war between the Nations, but a consequence far greater than politics. Know that this is not our choice. For now.”
Kannan was silent, her face inscrutable. She walked to the door, almost without saying a word, but turned at the last second to say, “I will do as ordered, Majesty, but if I may add: be strong, don’t simply pretend.”
She left. It was several moments before Havinnia realized she had not taken a breath. Those words rattled around in her head. She hadn’t stopped staring at the door until Jordana had entered. Jordana had not visited her at work in a very long time, not when it was clear the amount of work and secrecy of the job would put a barrier between Havinnia’s two lives. Now, Jordana knew everything and saw no reason to leave Havinnia to tread this mess alone. They were partners.
“How’d it go? That woman is beyond scary, by the way, I think the flowers wilted as she passed.”
“I think your advice will work. Kannan definitely didn’t want to obey my order to start detaining Chanters, but ensuring her to some degree that I agreed with her while not having any other choice, she seemed to understand. As far as I can read that woman. At least, I think it will help her to carry out the task, however much she hates it. However much I hate it.”
“We will think of something to convince the Nations. A better solution has to be out there. I’ve been doing my own bit of reading and research into the subject, now that I’m privy to the details,” Jordana grinned, pausing to kiss her briefly before continuing, “I’m thinking of branching out to some of the college libraries.” Havinnia rolled her eyes. Their sense of humor was often compatible, but puns were her limit and Jordana’s favorite. “I’ve got a lead, but I need to do a bit more digging.”
Why she hadn’t asked for Jordana’s help sooner was beyond reason. Jordana was the best researcher Havinnia had ever known. She plowed through anthologies on any subject, from fishing to airship maintenance. Boring, long winded details on mundane topics were like a drug. The woman had read all nineteen volumes of Ralic Earstwhite’s How to Civilized Conversation, which was nineteen volumes on social etiquette: table manners, entertaining, and fine dining from three centuries ago. Volume II was entirely about setting tables. Telling her wife had been the first wise decision Havinnia had made since becoming Queen.
It did, however, very nearly lead to an altercation between her wife and the four most important people in Liore. Jordana had to be carried off by a Legionnaire, curses echoing down the halls that thankfully did not reach their targets, her swears eloquent and yet savagely crude. Once her immediate outrage had quieted, Jordana had gone with Havinnia to glare at Peregrine Oakhaven’s portrait in solidarity.
“He even looks like an ass,” she had said, “If I punch the painting, do you think his spirit would feel it?”
Queen Havinnia had laughed in that room for the first time.
And as for the Book, Jordana had read it three times. About the Founders who were five factions of people, each survivors of a broken world, who salvaged Liore from the wreckage. Enchanting, specifically the process required to turn the raw glinsium ore into Glint, had polluted the world. Weather started to change. Animals mutated. Sickness. A progression of horrors until the world itself began to rip apart, the land no longer habitable, everything began to decay. An enchantment saved Liore, alone.
The Founders each claimed land for their own tribes, those who shared their ideals and cultures from the world before, but agreed to remain unified. They created the Book, detailing the past for all future leaders so history might not repeat. And so the world went on, developed and functioned. Enough time had passed when the origins of Liore were long faded scars, generations with no memories of a time before.
Then Peregrine Oakhaven decided that maybe enchanting wasn’t so bad. If they did it carefully. The Founders were probably just being dramatic. And so, enchanting had returned and with it the slow decline of everything else. Until now, the present, where history would inevitably repeat. A second cycle.
There was only one difference between then and now: Chanters. Chanters hadn’t existed before, but their existence suggested that one day they might embrace a clean way to create enchantments. A new evolution of human interaction with their world and the Glint that ran through the soul of the earth. But that was long term, they needed a way to handle the escalating crisis now and not by enslaving thousands of people.
“What sort of lead did you find?”
Jordana pursed her lips, quirking her head. “Now, I need you to hear me with an open mind.”
“I’m listening.”
“So, I’ve found a few tiny references to...well, it’s mostly believed to be a form of magic,” Jordana rushed through Havinnia’s jaw dropping and skeptical look, “Now I said to hear me out. This magic, if I am understa
nding correctly, would do a lot of what enchanting does and it will do it without Glint. I need to learn more first, which is why I’m going to check other libraries.”
“Magic?” Havinnia raised an eyebrow, shaking her head. She supposed there was a level of fantasy about Glint, but it was mostly math. Figures, symbols, calculations, measurements. Reality. Chanters were about the closest thing to ‘magic’ she was willing to get, and even that seemed more the natural evolution of humans after so much Glint exposure.
“I know that face, but you really need to trust me on this. At least give it a chance,” Jordana pleaded.
“I will try. Does this magic have a name?”
“Well, I’ve had to piece together a lot of information from various sources, but from what I’ve gathered they are calling it electricity.”
“And you think that ‘electricity’ will save the world? Without enslaving Chanters?”
“I think it is entirely possible, yeah.”
Havinnia took Jordana’s hand and intertwined their fingers. “Then let’s see what we can find out.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
HE’S THE GREATEST ENCHANTER IN HISTORY
1
Gideon sat cross-legged on the cold concrete floor in a nest of pages. Fingers tapped as a pen scratched over a tattered notebook. Neat script scored every inch of paper, numbers and letters for equations, charts and symbols, graphs and even a few doodles. The calculations were all in Gideon’s head, she only needed to get it in the right order.
Each hand was dotted with tiny burn scars, small pricks of red blemishing the cream of her skin up to her elbows. Enchanting wasn’t always an easy or glamorous occupation and it was hard to remember gloves when a new enchantment was sizzling to life before your eyes. Her lips worked silently, mouthing her thoughts as she wrote them down. Her attention was completely enraptured with her work.
The room was small and full. Mis-matched shelves lined the walls, tall ones and short ones stacked on medium ones so no space was empty. Some shelves held books, others papers and folders and notebooks. Her enchanting tools. Most held objects. At a glance it might seem like the storeroom to a pawn shop, except for the small sparks here and there of green and gold. Glimmers of light fading from objects or bursting from others. Flowers sprouted from every free nook or cranny. Blooms of every variety, all woven into the space, a full spectrum of hues and tones. Pinks, blues, greens, whites. They were calming and pretty. She liked to look at them.
Catalyst (The Second Cycle Book 1) Page 24