“Don’t play poor with me, Danil.” Julianne gave him a jab with her elbow. “I know how often you lose, and it’s not enough to claim poor after one bad bet.”
The grin crept back over Danil’s face. He was her best friend and a damn good mystic, but his love of games often drove her mad. “True. But I think I’ll hold off on any more wagers for now. Too evenly split.” He slid back in his chair, letting the dark hair of his fringe flop over his face.
As Melanie took the center of the dining hall, she whispered a word to weave a little magic to make sure all the mystics were attuned to her words. She couldn’t directly improve their hearing, but she could make them force their attention on her words.
She stood tall, her dark eyes glittering in the light. Julianne stifled a groan. Melanie brought her as much angst as Danil brought joy.
Bloody woman would argue about the need for dinner if we let her, Julianne mused, the thought shielded from her mind-reading companions.
They’d often butted heads. Though Melanie was one of the senior mystics and the one in charge of their student component, Julianne still outranked her. Of course, Julianne outranked everyone.
Though there seemed to be no animosity in it, Melanie had made it her mission to ensure Julianne had the opportunity to see both sides of every argument. She was a professional devil’s advocate.
Melanie cleared her throat. “To prepare for war is to invite it,” she said, as Zoe’s illusion unfolded. The Mystics’ Temple, tall and proud as it sat upon the Heights, came into view. “We have survived long by taking a peaceful role, by keeping clear of Irth politics. To show force, to involve ourselves where we should not, is to show we need to be subdued.”
The illusion darkened as mystics appeared at every window, pointing weapons, eyes white to show their magic. A horde of soldiers swarmed up the craggy cliffs of the Heights. The panoramic image zoomed into the doors, where mystic fought soldier, and blood was shed.
The mystics were overpowered as the room whispered with mental impressions of fear and discomfort. Julianne stifled a sigh of impatience. She knew where this was heading.
“Do we wish to make ourselves targets? More than that, how many here could live with the burdens you ask us to shoulder?”
The illusion shifted. A soldier, young and vibrant, excited for the chance to defend his people. Pink cheeked and curly haired, he looked up at the foreboding castle and whispered a vow to protect his family and friends back home. His face, shown again, smeared with blood and drained of color, dead.
Julianne’s eyes narrowed. Melanie was pushing the whole thing a bit far. Still, she sat quietly, not wanting to interrupt. She would have her chance to speak at the end.
Men fell in battle, some barely more than boys. A mother cried as news of her soldier son’s death descended. A mystic, faceless but recognizable in the white robes they wore while on pilgrimage, stood trial. She raised her head and whispered, “Guilty. I plead guilty.”
Oh, fuck this, Julianne thought.
Julianne shot to her feet, her chair squawking loudly on the stone floor. The images vanished. Melanie stepped back, her surprise so strong it was likely evident to one who couldn’t read minds and emotions.
“What the hell do you think I was doing in Arcadia? Stealing from babies? Laying waste to a village of innocents?” Julianne growled, her patience gone.
The mystic leader stepped into the center of the room, waving away Zoe’s offer to project images. Though Julianne was technically stronger than the girl in every aspect of mental magic, Zoe had a flair for storytelling that was second to none.
Tonight, however, Julianne wanted to rely on her words, not a half-cocked story that pulled at heartstrings.
“Adrien was a tyrant. He beat the poor and middle class into the ground, then killed them because he could. He restricted magic to the noble born, using it only to grow his own wealth and power. He ignored his duty as a ruler, twisted it for his own evil purposes. His people starved in the streets, or died in his dungeons. They had but a sole source of clean water. One tiny spout for the entire Boulevard, home to the poor. Even nobles weren’t immune to his violence.”
Julianne turned slowly, meeting the eyes of as many as she could. Her heart raced and her blood boiled at the weak arguments that had been presented. Cowards, all of them.
“Yes,” she snapped as faces turned away from her unshielded thought. “Cowards. Our powers are a gift, a gift that helped pull us from the age of madness. They’re not a right, and if we’re not going to use them to help this broken world pull its shit together, we don’t deserve them.”
“Our magic is—” Melanie began in a wavering voice.
“A responsibility!” Julianne shouted. Blowing out a hard breath, she tempered her voice. “We don’t need to become mindless killing machines to protect the weak. We do need to stand up for what's right, we can’t ignore those who seek to exploit the innocent. We must be the defenders, the protectors of this world. We’re not alone. We have Ezekiel and Hannah and others to help, but we can’t sit by and let them shoulder this burden alone.”
Melanie exuded a sliver of satisfaction at that.
“Yes,” Julianne said with a narrow glare at the woman. “It will be a burden. We will need to make hard choices, put ourselves in uncomfortable positions. Is that more of a burden than letting the world collapse under the likes of Adrien?”
As images of what she’d seen in the previous months flickered through her mind, Julianne finally projected them. Rather than a carefully crafted story, these were disjointed, rough. These were real, things she’d seen, smelled, experienced firsthand.
A child begging on the street, full of helpless desperation. A young man, lying in the gutter. He looked like a drunk turned out to dry, but Julianne’s gentle probe had shown him to be beaten almost to death by Adrien’s guards.
A moment’s work had revealed his crime: arguing over the hefty portion of money he’d been told to hand over to one of Adrien’s goons. A woman, crying because her husband had gone to work in Adrien’s factory. She hadn’t seen him for weeks, and though the weekly paycheck kept coming, she knew in her heart he was dead.
She then showed the men freed from Adrien’s sweatshop, starving and weak but still eager to fight, to reclaim their city. A noblewoman, her dress worn and dirty as she taught a small group of children in rags. The ruins of an old building teeming with refugees after the city itself fell. Nobles and poor training together, breaking down the barriers Adrien had forced on them.
She showed them the power of people coming together. The small, war-torn group of refugees, led by the Founder Ezekiel and his apprentice Hannah, had mounted a solid defense against Adrien and given their lives to stop his blood-soaked reign over Arcadia. They, who had nothing, had fought with everything.
Passion ignited Julianne’s images in a white-hot flame, flickering out as she regained control of her emotions. She knew she’d accomplished what she needed to. The room buzzed with energy, and the minds she brushed showed new understanding of why she had gone to Arcadia. As if in response to Julianne’s storytelling, the storm outside crashed into the Temple. Lightning flashed, drowning the lanterns in the hall with white brilliance.
Melanie’s eyes met Julianne’s, only for a moment. Then, the other woman dropped her head, submitting to Julianne’s experiences and talent. A mischievous spark flared, quickly suppressed. Julianne smiled. The other woman might be the ultimate devil’s advocate, but after making her case, she would always bow to the better decision.
The mood of the room settled as Julianne stepped back to her seat, silently rehearsing her proposal to begin training all mystics in the art of self-defense, and to form new classes that would teach those willing to use their magic like warriors.
She was interrupted by another white flash, and the following thunder cracked right on its heels. A spike of anxiety in the room touched Julianne’s senses, and she shook her head, knowing the old building would weather
the storm.
“It’s not the storm,” Danil whispered as she sat beside him. Julianne jerked her head up, reaching her mind out to the crowd of mystics in the hall, then further, to the guards. Yes, there it was.
Someone was at the door.
2
Who is it, Aldred? Julianne projected into the mind of one of the Temple guards.
I can’t tell, came the bewildered mental reply.
Julianne delved into his mind. He was right, whoever was beating the brass knocker was shielded so tight, none of the mystics at the door could penetrate. She reached out herself, probing the slippery mental barrier.
“Stay here.” Julianne ran across the hall, pushing past the few mystics who didn’t move out of her way first. And make sure the others do, too, she added, sending that thought only to Danil.
Danil sent a mental reply that was more a serious nod than words.
“Master,” Aldred called as she raced to the entry of the Temple. “Can you sense them?”
She shook her head brusquely and walked up to the door. Aldred already had his hand on the latch, waiting for Julianne's instructions. His heavy frame looked as fit as ever, but grey streaks at his temples reminded her that time passed in the mountains just as quickly as everywhere else.
William, the second guard on duty, stepped aside to let her through, ducking his sandy haired head at the Mystic Master.
Who is there? She sent the words directly at the shielded mind, projecting the thought as loudly as she could. Even shielded, a mystic would hear it.
Greetings, Julianne. Please, open the door.
Julianne clamped down her mental shields, furious that she hadn’t thought to do so earlier.
Donna? William sent the name with a feeling of shock.
“Who the hell is Donna?” Julianne hissed.
“An old friend. She and two others went on pilgrimage… oh, years before Selah…” He stopped before saying the word died, but Julianne still heard him speak it in his mind. The death of the former Master marked much time in the Heights for all of them. “Well, I haven’t heard from her since.”
“Can she be trusted?” Julianne asked, brushing aside a mental probe sent by the visitors.
“Yes,” William said, “assuming she’s not changed greatly. Selah thought highly of her.” He added the last part as an afterthought.
Julianne still hesitated.
Please, Donna sent. The storm will wash us off the mountain if we do not find shelter immediately.
The thread of fear in the woman’s thought stabbed at Julianne. She couldn’t allow people—her people—to die outside the gates that were supposed to keep them safe. She instructed William and Aldred to open the heavy wooden doors, even as she forced away a memory of a guard almost dying on the very floor below her feet.
That was different, she told herself. And it was. When Adrien sent his soldiers looking for Ezekiel, she'd immediately known to be on guard. An over eager blast from one of the soldiers had hit one of her men. Ezekiel had not only taken out the attackers with Julianne’s help, he’d healed the wounded mystic guardsman and likely saved his life.
They were Arcadians, though. Not mystics.
The two guards lifted the bar that held the doors shut. Wind slammed them open, almost knocking Aldred flat on his ass as six robed figures hurried in. With their help, it only took a moment for the two guards to recover and latch the doors shut again while Julianne examined their visitors.
“William!” A tall woman pushed back her hood, revealing a mess of red curls threaded with silver. She leaned in to give William a breathy kiss on the cheek and his face reddened. A brief memory flickered in Williams’ mind, and Julianne saw that they were more than just ‘old friends’.
Rather than probe, Julianne turned her attention to the others. They wore matching robes of sky blue silk, trimmed with silver thread. A symbol was embroidered onto the chest and back, one of the sun cresting over two hills. Something about it made Julianne’s stomach twist, though she made sure to cloak that reaction tightly behind her mental shield.
“You must be Selah’s replacement? I'd heard he'd left the Temple to a girl, but I hadn't expected one quite so young.” Donna ran her eyes up and down Julianne's small frame, her face neutral.
“I am Julianne, the Master of the mystics,” Julianne conceded, ignoring the subtle jab at her age.
“Well, we are glad to have made it here. The hike up that mountain was almost as bad as trekking through the Madlands. I expect the evening meal is still at the same time?” Donna asked before sweeping past Julianne in the direction of the great hall. “Ensure your people have enough for guests.”
Bristling at Donna's attitude, Julianne followed, nodding for the two guards to remain behind. Five robed figures trailed behind, silent, as they made their way through the Temple.
Donna strode into the hall with confidence, bestowing smiles and greetings on those she recognized, warmly introducing herself to those she didn’t. As her followers pushed back their hoods, Julianne caught more flickers of recognition from nearby mystics.
She delved into those minds and quickly learned the entire group were mystics from the Heights, trained when Selah was at his peak. They had all set off for various reasons; some to find new talents, others to learn and stretch their minds, and one because he was just plain restless.
None had been heard from in at least five years. All were well-liked members of the community, with friends and some even family, but they'd all just… faded away. That in itself wasn’t uncommon. Pilgrimages could last decades. The rustles of worries and discomfort were for another reason.
Julianne tried again to penetrate their shields, this time going for a quiet, older man instead of Donna. Nothing. Her attempts met an impenetrable wall, slipping aside as though the old man’s mind was made of glass. Julianne muttered a curse under her breath.
“Steady.” Danil appeared beside her, taking her arm and leading her back to her spot at the table. “There might be a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe they’re launching a new fashion line, and want you to model for them.”
“If they think they’re going to cause trouble here, they’re in for a shock,” Julianne grumbled. She gave up trying to use her magic on them, instead saving her energy in case it was needed later.
“It’s not like no one has ever been able to shield from you before.” Danil hesitated. “Have they?”
Julianne eyed him, raising her own shields to cover a memory of a man who’d done just that. He wasn’t even a mystic! He hadn’t just blocked her from his mind, he’d caught her heart, too. Julianne breathed deeply to keep her cheeks from coloring as thoughts of Marcus, the Arcadian guard, rushed through her mind.
“Friends! Thank you for welcoming us back into our home.” Donna’s voice carried over the pockets of conversation in the room.
Julianne hadn’t noticed the noise when she came in, but a quick brush against the closest minds showed every one of them locked down. The mystics were shielding so tightly it was making mind-to-mind conversations difficult, and the normally subdued dining hall was full of noise. If Julianne had a headache before, now it was bordering on a migraine.
“The Temple welcomes all who come in peace.” Julianne let the words drop with all the weight they deserved.
Had they come in peace?
Donna smiled. It did not reach her eyes. “We come not only in peace, but offering gifts. We have heard of your efforts, dear Julianne, and have come to join you in your fight. You will find our resources run deep.”
“Our fight? What fight?” Samantha, a middle-aged mystic called out. “Arcadia is safe, there's no fighting left to be done.”
A space cleared, leaving Donna alone in the middle of the room.
“Your fight against the Arcadians is not over, far from it.” Donna gave Julianne a small bow. “We fight not just the people, but the depravity of mankind, and the failings of those who are not blessed to know the minds of others.”
>
Donna turned to her audience. “For it is our power to read minds that allows us to rise above. Only we, who can truly experience empathy and walk in the shoes of another, are immune to the greed and treachery, the utter selfishness of the human race. Only we are fit to guide the people into a bright new future.”
“Not wearing that color blue with that hair, you’re not,” Danil mumbled.
Julianne raised an eyebrow. “What the hell are you saying? That we’re some kind of superior race?”
Donna shrugged, as if to ask what else she could possibly be saying.
“You know what?” Julianne stalked around the table and went to stand toe to toe with the other woman. “That shit sounds awfully similar to what Adrien thought. I assume you know who he was?”
Donna shook her head. “My knowledge of the recent battles is scant. The condition of mankind, however, is something I am well versed in.”
“He was a magic user who thought he was better than others. He thought his way was the right way, and damned anyone who disagreed. He trod on the weak and helpless, ground them into the dirt while climbing to a higher station.” Julianne paused, narrowing her eyes. “And he’s dead. I helped to take him down, because that kind of behavior is exactly what our magic is supposed to stand against.”
“Of course!” Donna smiled. “What a horrible man. We would never align ourselves with someone like that, and indeed, it was those exploits that brought us here. But please, we have had a long journey. Perhaps this would be best discussed in the morning?”
Julianne carefully shielded her next thoughts. The pretty woman looked as though she’d stepped out of a manor house, not undertaken a long journey. The few mystics in the room whose feelings could still be read emitted blatant distrust. Julianne was inclined to agree with them.
“Very well,” she said. “Morning. The guards will escort you to your rooms and refreshments will be delivered soon after. Be warned, we rise early.”
“We always have,” Donna said with a saccharin smile. “I’m sure by then we will have convinced you of the value of an alliance. Together, the New Dawn and the mystics of the Heights will rule the world!”
Welcome To The Age of Magic Page 93