However, their eagerness and Danil’s impatience both worked against the magic itself. Mental magic required a calm mind, an inner stillness that was more elusive the harder it was fought for.
“Let's try something different,” Bastian said. He thought back to the very first time he used mental magic.
It had been after class. A month of training, trying as hard as these men to force his will over something elusive and intangible. Finally, one afternoon it had happened, and not at all how he had expected.
Tired, crabby and sick of the press of people that always seemed to be around, he had snuck off up the mountain. He hadn’t gone far, just enough that the air didn’t smell like bread and the view over the Temple made it look like another world.
He had made himself comfortable in the crook of a tree branch and almost fell asleep, listening to the birds and letting his mind drift. That’s when it had happened—a sense of oneness had crept over him as his breathing settled and the universe became just an extension of his fingertips.
Bastian blinked, clearing his suddenly-white eyes and letting go of his magic.
“Let's try it with whiskey,” Mack suggested.
Bastian grinned. “Actually…” He walked over to Annie's liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of amber liquid. “I'm not getting you drunk, just loosening things up a bit.”
He poured a shot for each of them and watched each man down it with pleasure. Francis had told him a few days ago that the New Dawn had destroyed most of the alcohol in the village, probably because it could make the effects of mind control unpredictable.
“Now, instead of trying to make the magic happen, let's take a few minutes to meditate. You've been practicing every day, haven't you?” He eyed the men.
Mack looked away, pretending to examine the drapes. Lewis shrugged. Jarv grinned and nodded eagerly and Francis stayed quiet, knowing as well as Bastian did that he hadn't practiced once.
“That's fine,” Bastian said easily.
Mack, Lewis, and Francis let out sighs of relief, glad to be spared the tongue lashing Danil was prone to giving when they admitted they hadn't been putting any extra effort into learning to shield.
They settled back in their chairs, eyes closed, hands limp in their laps. One minute passed, then another as Bastian skimmed their minds.
It was no surprise they had trouble letting go of their thoughts. Each man had been through so much pain and loss over the previous months. Bastian withdrew from Jarv’s mind, which was surprisingly clear and right on the edge of expanding into a true meditation. He didn't want to inadvertently distract him at the critical moment.
He pushed his mind out to Francis, whose face was pulled into a slight frown as he tried to force his mind blank. Bastian watched him push thoughts of his wife away over and over again.
Danielle had been mind-controlled into thinking the growth in her throat was cured by the New Dawn. Bastian knew that wasn't possible, not for someone with mental magic. Healing was the realm of the druids.
She had died just a few days after Julianne and her people had liberated the town, the growth now so large it strangled her. Francis had laid her body, thin and frail after two weeks of being unable to swallow, to rest in the small family graveyard. He had vowed to destroy the New Dawn if it killed him to do it.
I will burn them for what they did, Francis thought, unaware that Bastian was listening in.
Uncomfortable eavesdropping, Bastian pulled away just as Francis’s fingers twitched. As Bastian turned back to Mack, something sparked in the corner of his sight. He looked back to see a tiny flame flickering in Francis’s upturned palm.
“Fuck!” Francis snatched his hand up and shook it, his eyes wide with panic. Bastian missed the telltale change in color that happened when someone used physical magic like that. “What the fuck was that?”
The others jumped and when Bastian, bemused at the turn of events, looked to Mack, his heart gave an excited thump. The man’s eyes glowed white.
“Uh, Mack? You feeling ok there, bud? You look a bit…” Jarv’s face was almost as white as Mack’s eyes, which cleared as he focused on his friend.
“What?” Mack asked, seemingly unaware of what he'd just done.
It was too much for Bastian, who felt a bubble of laughter rise from his belly. His four students looked on as their teacher dissolved into hysterical laughter.
“Danil…” he gasped, wiping tears from his eyes. “Danil will never believe I got two of you to cast magic!”
Chapter Four
Artemis paced back and forth, the small, abandoned stable only giving him a few steps to move each way. His feet kicked at the bedroll jumbled in a heap on the straw and Julianne wondered, not for the first time, why he had chosen to sleep there.
If she thought he was capable of feeling guilt, she would have guessed that was the reason. Artemis, though, didn't feel things like normal people. He wasn't a bad man. Just… wired differently.
Julianne hadn’t known him back at the Temple, but some of her friends had. They’d warned her he was different, that even though his heart was usually in the right place, he had trouble showing it.
His mind was a mess of information. Memories, facts, musings and questions leaked out of his brain as if there was so much to ponder, he couldn't keep it all in. His passion was for information. People were just things that either provided it, or didn't.
“Because I can’t abide people,” he snapped, reading her thoughts. When he looked up, his white eyes seemed surprised. You don’t think I like being back here, do you? Surrounded by people with their noisy lips and shouty heads, interrupting my peace!
The mental sending struck Julianne sharply, the clear thought forming a hard edge in the man’s otherwise scattered mind. For all the time she had spent trying to understand his mind and make sense of the way his thoughts fluttered around like a cloud of butterflies, she was no closer.
“Artemis, it has nothing to do with liking people. It’s about what’s right,” Julianne said patiently.
“Right for who?” he quipped. “Certainly not right for me. No, what’s right for me is disappearing, vanishing into the woods and never coming back. Just think, Julianne. If I’d done that to begin with, none of this would have happened!”
“We’ve been through this!” Julianne snapped. “It doesn’t matter what you did. You never meant to kick off such widespread destruction, I understand that. But you bloody well need to do your part in fixing it.”
It wasn't like she was asking much. She, Danil, and Bastian had their hands full trying to teach the townspeople how to create mental shields. Without that vital skill, they were defenseless against future attacks by the mystics who had enslaved them before.
She put her hand on her hips and drew herself up. “Artemis, your place with the mystic community depends on it.”
Artemis stilled. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he slumped. “Fine. I'll help. On one condition.”
Julianne raised an eyebrow. He wasn't exactly in a bargaining position. Still, she didn't want him offside, so she nodded for him to proceed.
“I'll take three classes a week, no more. Children only. They don't argue as much as their parents.”
Julianne hesitated, then nodded. It was all she had intended to ask of him, but she would let him think it was a win.
Artemis stepped closer. “And one lesson for you, and one for your friends. You will let me test you. And, maybe, try some things I’ve been working on.”
Julianne sighed. Artemis had been badgering her to let him test her strength for weeks now. She wanted to—she was just as curious as he seemed to be. She just hadn’t had the time.
“You’ll take four lessons with the children, and one per week with each of us. Fair?”
Artemis grinned and nodded eagerly. “Wonderful. The other two can double up, they’re not particularly interesting. I can’t wait to get in your head, though!”
Julianne shook her head in exaspera
tion. Artemis had a knack with words that would send most people around the bend. “Whatever you say, Artemis. Just… try to be nice to the children at least?”
He shrugged, his innocent expression so earnest it was almost comical. “I adore children. It’s their parents I can’t stand.”
Chapter Five
“Higher. Higher, ye soft-cocked little man!” Bette heaved her side of the barrel, trying to lift it into the cart.
“Hang on, the stench is so bad I canna breathe. Just…” Garrett’s grip failed, and the large tub started to topple. He snatched at it with both hands, jerking it too high in his haste to catch it. “Look out!” he yelled.
His warning came far too late. The carefully harvested pile of cow, horse, and sheep droppings slipped to the ground, the wooden barrel exploding on impact. He flinched as dung splattered his face, then cowered as a shit-covered figure rose before him.
“I… will… KILL… YOU…” Bette growled. She used her shirt to scrub at her face, but it was as dirty as the rest of her. She spat, almost gagged, then stripped off her shirt. The linen chemise beneath it was only marginally cleaner. “And stop looking at me tits, ye clumsy bastard. I know yer doin’ it.”
She finally found a clean strip of cloth to wipe her eyes and glared at Garrett. Bette kicked at a pile of dung on the ground, splattering it over his pants, then stormed off.
Garrett watched her go, eyes wide. “Oh, I'm in the shit now,” he muttered, then laughed at his own pun.
“What in the Bastard’s name is that stink?” Danil laughed when Garrett jumped at his voice. “Sorry, friend. Didn't mean to startle you. What's wrong? You look like you're expecting the hangman’s noose. And what’s that smell?” He screwed up his face, sniffing the air.
“Get fucked,” Garrett growled. “Ye’ve read it in me mind already, haven't ye? Ye just wanna rub it in by making me say it out loud.”
Danil laughed. “You got me there. I caught Bette’s thoughts on her way out, too. Bloody glad I'm not in your shoes.”
“Aye, well, you be getting out of me head, ye cheeky prick.” Garrett scraped his boot on the bottom of the wagon, only succeeding in spreading the mess around. “Ahh fuck. I'll have to shovel this shit back up meself. She's not coming back, is she?”
“I doubt it,” Danil said with a laugh. “But can you blame her?”
He lifted one of the shovels from the cart and tentatively began to load it with dung. He used his magic to look through Garrett’s eyes, but politely stayed away from the rearick’s deeper thoughts.
It was slow work, as Danil had to pause each time the rearick looked away, but they soon fell into a rhythm.
“Thank ye, Danil. I do appreciate the help, even if yer an asshole.”
“Anytime, you snarky little bastard,” Danil replied dryly.
Garrett grinned at him. “While it's just us,” he began, looking around to make sure that was true, “I thought maybe ye might have a wee bit of advice for me.”
Danil raised an eyebrow, wondering what he was about to get himself into.
“Well,” Garrett continued. “It's about… well, it's about womenfolk. Ye seem like ye may have a bit more experience with ‘em than I do, if ye know what I mean.”
Danil laughed. “I doubt that. I mean sure, I live with a bunch of them and I've dated my fair share, but that doesn't mean I understand them.” Even his mind reading ability didn't eliminate that hurdle.
“Go on with ye,” Garrett groaned. “I thought you at least would know.”
“Life in the Temple… it's different to the outside. Less complicated, for the most part. Fewer misunderstandings due to this”—Danil tapped his head—“and we do tend to have more leniency towards casual flings than the outside world. Still, women? You're asking the wrong man, my friend.”
“Bah. Well, I'll ask ye anyway, because Marcus is too bloody smitten with Julianne to be of any damned use.” Garrett stood back and scratched his beard. “I've been fixin’ to ask Bette a question, the sort that a man can't just come out and ask a lass.”
A grin almost cracked Danil’s face in half. “Oh, I know exactly the sort of question.” He clapped Garrett over the shoulder. “And I know exactly what to do.”
“Ye do?” Garrett asked warily. “Because I like me balls round and intact, if ye know what I mean.”
“Oh, I know,” Danil said.
He winced as he contemplated just what punishment an angry Bette would dish out to an unsuspecting rearick. Bette was a firecracker, and no one bore the brunt of that more than Garrett.
The two men scraped the last of the mess off the ground, conversation stalled as they carefully lifted it up on the cart. They managed to do it without a repeat of the earlier attempt and Danil stood back as Garrett strapped it in securely.
“Look,” Danil said. “I've had an idea brewing in the back of my head for the last few days, and it might just be the answer to your problem… and to a few others, not to mention being a shit-ton of fun. If you help me out with it, I'll make sure you get the perfect opportunity to ask Bette that question of yours.”
Garrett narrowed his eyes, knowing Danil had a love of mischief. Still, he figured it would all be worth it if Bette said yes.
Chapter Six
Julianne left the stable as close to a run as she could without being obvious. Artemis meant well, but he could talk the ear off a drunk raccoon. She wondered if he would have even noticed if she had snuck out twenty minute earlier. Admittedly, she probably wouldn't have cared if he did.
Even now, his voice rambled on to no one in particular as he contemplated the physiological difference that caused each type of magic to affect the eyes differently. So far, he hadn't managed to crack the code, and it bothered him greatly.
Mystics’ eyes turned white when using their powers, while nature mages’ eyes were green. Physical magic turned a caster’s eyes an eerie black and recently, another type of magic had been discovered that made the girl’s eyes glow a violent shade of red.
That had been startling to see, not least because Bethany Anne, believed to be the first magic user, had been depicted with red eyes. Though the records never did agree on where she went exactly, she had left earth hundreds of years ago, and her legend was one of the most prolific in this new age.
Bethany Anne’s departure had eventually spawned the Age of Madness, a period where the elements that connected humans with magic sent them mad. Thanks to the Founder—who had ended the period of darkness and returned to teach people like Julianne’s old Master, Selah, how to use magic again—the world was finally coming to rights.
Still, the power they had was far from what Bethany Anne, also known as the Queen Bitch, was known to do. Immortal, invincible and yet still full of compassion (at least according to the legends), she was most often depicted with glowing red eyes.
Julianne made a mental note to tell Artemis about Hannah, the young girl Ezekiel had found with unheard of powers and crimson eyes.
She spared a quick wave to Danil, who was deep in conversation with Garrett, then wrinkled her nose at the smell. They must be off to cart the animal castings to a neighboring farm for composting.
Annie had a magical talent for growing things, a tiny sliver of untrained nature magic that eliminated the need for fertilizing and extra water.
The town was still reeling after months of neglect. The New Dawn had pillaged the harvests and taken everything of value. Whether they had only planned to stay until they had run the place down, or were just incredibly stupid, she wasn't yet sure.
Maybe today's examination will finally shed some light on that, she thought.
Fifteen minutes later, she arrived at an old stone wheelhouse. She waved at Josh, the guard out front. “Is Marcus here?” she called.
He raised a hand to his head as he thumped his chest, a salute some of the townspeople had taken for the mystics. Though Josh's hair was as white as the cotton wool clouds overhead, he stood tall and proud. “Yes, ma’am. Inside with
the muckers.”
Julianne pressed her lips together at the insulting term. She knew the townspeople didn't think of Julianne and her friends as muckers—a term coined from the shortening of ‘mind fuckers’—but she had been on the pointy end of hate for mystics before.
She chose to ignore it, though, figuring the people who used it had been treated badly enough by the ‘muckers’ to call them whatever they damn well wanted to.
The old wooden door creaked as she pushed it open. It was dark inside, the tiny windows at the top of the building filtering the only spears of light with dirty glass and muddy streaks.
"Oh, for goodness sake, Marcus. I know it's meant to be a containment center, but you don't need to make it look like a dungeon." Julianne squinted into the shadows to where Marcus lazily leaned against a wall.
"It's not me," Marcus said with a shrug. "They’re still punishing themselves. If you want the lantern, it's over there." He gestured to the wall beside the door Julianne had come through.
Her shoulders dropped. "Not again," she mumbled.
The last remaining members of the New Dawn were like a thorn digging into her foot. Sure, they were scum, but not quite the level of scum that August, Rogan’s second in command, had forced them to be.
"Present!" Marcus barked.
The full figures, almost hidden by the dark shadows in the room, stood swiftly and saluted. It wasn't the tap to the head and fist to the heart that Julianne's people were familiar with. Instead, they slowly raised a hand then stiffly touched one ear, a gesture she knew they’d been taught by August.
"If I may speak, Master?" A man stepped forwards, shoulders slouched and eyes to the ground.
Julianne bit back an impatient report. "Of course, Jeffery. You know you don't need to ask permission to speak.”
“Thank you, wise leader.”
Julianne rolled her eyes. The group she faced had a clear split of personalities: those that resisted any attempt to show respect towards her, and those who layered it on thicker than the shit that had filled Garrett’s barrel earlier.
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