ã€ŠStorm&#x27;s Apprenticeã€‹


 0. The Road

    The man leading the caravan was a looming skeletal figure draped in a long black robe. His skin was an unnatural granite gray, his lips were mushroom white, and when he grimaced he flashed two rows of square, perfectly white teeth. The short sword on his back rested in a scabbard of white bark, and the sandals that moved silently on the dirt road were faded brown leather. The only source of color on his entire body were his eyes, and those were a shade of green so bright they almost seemed like they were glowing.

    He was a Reeve, one of the Antorxian Empire¡¯s sorcerer knights, and he was both our captor and our protector.

    Magic practically radiated off his body, so thick and intense that even my undeveloped maja senses could pick it up. His particular magical signature felt cold and precarious to me, like fishhooks lodged under skin.

    The other prisoners all had the feel of magic about them too. It was how they''d found us. But their signatures were still weak and hard for me to pick out, with no distinct sensation to them.

    My magical training to date was practically nonexistent.

    The Antorxians had stamped out all rival magical traditions when they''d conquered Losiris two decades ago. The legendary orders of Losirisian wizards who spoke words that moved the earth and carried staffs that called the wind were no more than legends. The Itinerants of the Abbey, with their connections to greater spirits of protection and healing, were nothing but bones littering decades-old battlefields. The Green Wanderers were buried beneath their beloved earth. The old king¡¯s Interlocutors were just gone.

    Now, the only magic left in the land was Antorxian sorcery, a magpie¡¯s nest of looted arts and disparate traditions, unified only by the Antorxian Empire¡¯s stranglehold on their practice.

    I''d been apprentice to the scribe back in my village of Kirkswill. He¡¯d passed on enough to me to at least sense and accumulate maja, but even that was dangerous knowledge to have, and he hadn¡¯t known more besides. I couldn¡¯t move earth or call wind, or even light a candle.

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    From what I''d overheard listening to the other prisoners, not everyone knew even that much.

    The Reeve walked slowly at the head of the wagons, flanked by soldiers in black and silver brigandines, radiating more menace than all their swords and crossbows put together.

    He was a symbol of Antorxian tyranny.

    The Reeve¡¯s were no small part of Antorxian success. They were assassins, saboteurs, and armies unto themselves. And their diverse and unpredictable talents had apparently made countering them a nightmare for the Losirisian forces. This one was Master Eradicus, the scout who¡¯d found me and all of the other potentials in the caravan. Kirkswill¡¯s militia hadn¡¯t even tried to fight them. Their lives had been worth more than a futile gesture.

    As I watched him striding down the stony road, a wet leaf fell from the branches of a tree above. It landed on the back of his robe, where it stuck, just below his shoulder. He carried on oblivious.

    The soldiers¡¯ eyes were on the trees of the swamp as we traveled. They were wary of wild spirits and spirit beasts.

    One of them held a fulminer, a hollow black iron weapon that could shoot a lance of magical energy hot enough to cook someone alive, but his presence didn¡¯t seem to reassure the rest.

    I was close to the back of the caravan, sitting in a wagon that stank of unwashed bodies and the animals that pulled it. I was still in the clothes I''d been wearing when I was taken two weeks ago, a white thigh-length shirt that itched where it didn''t stick to my body, and a pair of canvas pants that stank worse than I did.

    When I¡¯d been taken from my home, I hadn¡¯t been allowed to bring anything with me. Everything we needed would be provided ¡ª that was the lie they¡¯d told.

    So far, we''d been given two meals a day and a barrel wash once a week, and scarcely anything else.

    One of the wagon¡¯s steel-rimmed wheels went over another rock, and everything in the vehicle rattled.

    I tried to ignore the pain in my joints and told myself the journey would soon be over.

    We were in the final stretch now, driving on a stony dirt road that wound through a cold swamp.

    Our destination was visible ahead of us, a mountain that speared up unnaturally from the forested wetlands, like the corpse of something enormous that had dragged itself here to die. Clouds hugged its frosted peak, while dark green grass and purple heather rashed its lower slopes.

    A little way up, just before the slope became severe and impassible, a ringed fortress of gray stone sat alone on a landscape of blasted grass.

    It was the place we were going to be spending the next three years. It was where some of us would die. Our prison, our crucible, Windshriek Academy.

 1. Old wood calls for blood (1/5)

    The wall was twenty feet high, made of huge quarry-cut stone blocks that had to be as clean and unmarked as the day they were set. The thing looked like it¡¯d been built to hold off an army, but no army could possibly threaten it here, so deep inside the Antorxian heartlands. I wondered if it was a statement, meant to project an impression of strength, impregnability, and inescapability. Either that, or they were deeply insecure people.

    The top of the wall was wide and flat enough for someone to walk along, but I didn¡¯t see any soldiers stationed on it. There didn¡¯t seem to be any defenses at all, which worried me. Even my tiny home village of Kirkswill, population two hundred, kept a couple of idiots with spears stationed at its gates. Here, it was eerily quiet.

    The passage through the wall was gated by a lattice of black iron. There was no lock, but as we stopped in front of it, the Reeve gave off a pulse of maja.

    I couldn¡¯t tell what it meant or what it was doing, but a second later, the gate swung open.

    As we passed through, my skin was swept by a feeling like wire brushes. Antroxian sorcery at work.

    What would have happened if I hadn¡¯t been welcome? It was easy to imagine that harsh, prickling feeling turning to razor blades against my skin.

    Despite the imposing surroundings, I was immensely relieved to be off the wagons.

    After days of sitting on bare wooden benches, any excuse to stand and move was welcome, and the knowledge that I wouldn¡¯t be going back to the wagons made it even sweeter. I dared to fantasize about a padded chair, or even a bed. For all I knew, there was a couch waiting for me in a warm and comfortable dormitory.

    Looking around at the austere stone buildings and wind-swept mountainside tempered those expectations a little, but I maintained a flame of hope.

    As we moved up through the academy terraces we passed a building that smelled of soap and wet stone ¡ª a washhouse ¡ª and it took all of my self-control not to break off in a run toward it, whether it would have got me a crossbow bolt in the back or not.

    The Academy grounds were cut out of the soft earth and hard stone of the mountain, spread out across at least seven levels. Grassy and weed-strewn, they reminded me of the terraces of a mountain farm, though the only farming here was happening in small plots of bare, gravelly earth.

    The Reeve led us along a dirt path that wound between outbuildings, barracks, guardposts, and other facilities. One of the soldiers pointed out buildings as we passed; a laboratory, a workshop, an infirmary, a library. He pointed at a rectangular slab of stone with a single door, and told us that was the barracks where we¡¯d be sleeping.

    The biggest building in the grounds was a giant square tower sitting on the second highest terrace. It was a brutal, unadorned monolith, made from a strange black stone that didn''t match the other buildings and didn¡¯t seem to be made from individual blocks. The closer we got to it, the bigger it seemed, until it looked like it could fit a dozen wagons across its base end to end. My only frame of reference for buildings that big were the massive granaries in the village back home, but this was wider and many times as tall.

    The soldiers didn''t lead us all the way up to it, stopping a few tiers down at a wide dirt training ground next to a row of storage sheds.

    We had a minute to stop and group up together. There were about twenty of us in total. The caravan hadn¡¯t been a good environment to get to know each other, not least because the soldiers were always listening, but I''d caught a few names. Most of them had been taken like me, gathered from the various territories of the Antorxian empire. There were a few who¡¯d come willingly, native Antorxians who were used to the draft and maybe even approved of it, but they hadn¡¯t been given any better treatment than the rest of us.

    After a few minutes, a new woman appeared at the edge of the training ground. Another Reeve.

    She stood six feet tall, tall enough to look over my head, with a dense braid of black hair that hung over her shoulders like a coiled snake. Her skin was mostly a purely human shade of light brown, but it was patterned with areas of gray, transforming her face into a patchwork of dead, stony flesh.

    One of her eyes was brown, but the other had been eclipsed by an area of gray skin on the left side of her face. That eye shone a bright, icy blue.

    She was radiating magic less strongly than the Reeve who''d led us through the swamp. Either she was a weaker sorcerer, or she was actively suppressing her signature. What maja did make it out felt heavy and sharp, like a stone spur that pierces the sole of a boot.

    She watched as we assembled into something like ranks, looking at us with the blank-faced gaze of a predator.

    When the soldiers had finished prodding us into two loose rows in front of her, she started speaking.

    ¡°I am Master Cordaze, Consignor of Initiates, and you are blessed to find yourselves at Windshriek Academy.¡±

    Her voice was cold, direct, and had the hint of a regional Antorxian accent. Her gaze roamed over us as she continued.

    ¡°This Academy is a machine that turns indolent novices into loyal sorcerers of Antorx. That is why you are here ¡ª to be stripped of your weakness, to be educated in the Sovereign¡¯s Path, and to be forged into sorcerers of exacting caliber. It will not be a pleasant experience for many of you. Those of you born in our vassal territories may have suffered under the effects of luxuries. It will take time for you to purge and forget the damage they have wrought. I will offer no comfort for you in that process. I will offer you nothing, except for this promise: In three years¡¯ time, you will either join the ranks of the most powerful mages the continent has ever known, or else you will be no more. If not dead, then you will wish you were dead.¡±

    She put on a pleasant smile as she asked, ¡°Are there any questions?¡±

    I was sure no one would take the opportunity, but after half a minute of silence, a boy halfway down the front row raised his hand.

    He was about my age, maybe as old as twenty, with black hair and pale skin, wearing the smeared remains of a collared shirt and well-tailored trousers.

    Cordaze didn''t even wait to hear his question. Her arms snapped up into a sharp-angled pose and a lightning bolt exploded from the air between her clawed hands. The arc of white energy whipped forward, meeting the boy¡¯s arm just below the elbow with a loud crack and a sputtering hiss.

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    His forearm exploded off his body, leaving nothing but a smoking stump behind.

    A few seconds later there was a pattering sound as charred fingers and cauterized flesh rained to the ground around us.

    The boy slumped to his knees, his remaining hand wrapped around his scorched elbow, his mouth open in a silent scream.

    ¡°This is the first lesson of the Sovereign¡¯s Path,¡± Cordaze said coldly. ¡°Nothing is ever given freely. Not knowledge, not answers, and especially not power. If you cannot see the price, then the offer can only be the bait for a trap or a means of manipulation. Only what you take is cleanly yours. These words are the first step on your new Path: It is not to receive, but to take.¡±

    A couple of the prisoners who I''d guessed to be native Antorxians repeated the words quietly to themselves, like a prayer; ¡°It is not to receive, but to take.¡±

    Cordaze seemed satisfied with the looks of horror on the rest of our faces.

    The silence that followed seemed to be about what she was expecting.

    A tiny goblin voice in the back of my mind told me to raise my hand and ask whether all questions would result in de-clapitation, or if that was just a one-off to make a point. Surely she wouldn''t be so repetitive as to blast off another student''s hand? Luckily, I managed to intercept the suicidal urge before I could act on it.

    ¡°While you are here, there will be little in the way of direct lessons. We have no lectures and no syllabus. You may barter for instruction from the masters or your upperclassmen with whatever currency you possess. Beyond that, you are expected to engage in vigorous self-study. You will be assessed. Each week you will be given a test in the form of a task you must complete. Failing to complete this task twice in a row will have you meet the Failure''s Fate. Do not look on your tasks as chores. They are gifts, designed to cut away your weakness, leaving only strength behind. You will not be coddled, but you will be given opportunities. The library is open to you. The laboratory and workshop are open to you. The infirmary is open to you, should you need it.¡±

    Her eyes fell on the kneeling student as she finished.

    ¡°Your first test will be delivered soon. You will have one week to prove you are worthy of this chance.¡±

    As she turned away, it became clear that her last words were a dismissal. She took several steps toward the edge of the training ground, then a step that took her far further than it should have, flickering from one place to another. She appeared on the edge of the next terrace up, then she passed out of sight.

    The soldiers wore bored expressions as they pushed us into a loose group and started shepherding us back down the terraces. A couple of them stayed behind to drag the injured student away, while the rest of us left together.

    The soldiers began leading us back down the mountain, towards the barracks where we¡¯d be staying.

    Master Cordaze¡¯s words haunted me as we walked. There was a paradox in them.

    She''d told us that nothing was given freely, but then she¡¯d freely told us a bunch of stuff, not least the line from her Sovereign¡¯s Path.

    I didn¡¯t believe her line about anything offered freely had to be a trap, Scribe Bevin back in Kirkswill had taught me the scribe''s arts because he enjoyed spouting off about the craft, but if the Antorxians believed it, then either their philosophy involved overlooking this obvious contradiction, or even this information was a trap.

    Cordaze had given us the first words of her Sovereign''s Path ¡ª It is not to receive, but to take.

    Where was the trap in that? Where was the manipulation?

    It would make people suspicious of anyone offering to help them out of kindness, for a start. It would throw a wet blanket over anything done in the spirit of cooperation. With the way she¡¯d explosively punctuation of her point, some of the others were probably already believing it on reflex. The completely unprompted violent punishment was an emotional hammer blow that would simply stop people thinking about it too clearly.

    I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if it had all been a carefully choreographed interaction designed to manipulate us; the first step in the violent destruction of whatever we¡¯d believed before we came here.

    Either that, or Cordaze was just a sadistic psychopath who loved blasting off people¡¯s limbs. From what I knew about Reeves, either option was just as likely.

    Sadism or sophistry, I couldn¡¯t deny that the Antorxian philosophy had won them the world.

    The soldiers escorted us down two tiers to the building that would be our home for however long we survived here.

    They¡¯d called it a barracks, but in reality it was more like a cell block. There was a large central room lit by an open skylight and furnished with wooden benches and wooden tables. A corridor ran around the central room, connecting to small stone cells where we would have to sleep two to a room.

    As we filtered into our cells, we found the promised ¡®everything we would need¡¯, which turned out to be a tunic, scarf, and robe all in the same coarse light gray fabric, a pair of leather sandals, and a scrubbing stone that would have to serve for all our personal hygiene requirements.

    It was far from all I needed. I needed a journal. I needed a pen. I had a scribe''s training and a scribe''s tastes, but none of the tools I''d lovingly cared for at home. I needed soap. I needed a hairbrush. I needed a bed that was more than a bag of straw on a wooden frame. Give me a book of poems and a cushion and I can be happy, but I guessed those things were luxuries in the Antorxians¡¯ eyes.

    The washhouse further along the grassy terrace was more disappointing than I could have imagined ¡ª mold-specked cubicle rooms where cold water could be made to pour down from a lead pipe near the ceiling. I used it to get as clean as I could, then dressed in my new clothes.

    I was cold and miserable as I sat down on my bed, my back to the wall of the cell.

    My new roommate, a sandy-haired boy with a warrior''s build who hadn''t washed, didn''t seem any more interested in talking than I did.

    It was a couple of hours until dusk, and in relative private for the first time, I decided to practice the little that Bevin had taught me about magic.

    I stared at my roommate for a minute, checking that he wasn¡¯t watching me and wouldn¡¯t start, then crossed my legs, lay my palms on top of my knees, and closed my eyes.

    One by one, I tried to shut out my senses. Sight was easy, with my eyes closed. Hearing was next, simple in the silence of the room. Touch was harder. There were so many different sensations vying for my attention; the rough clothes, the prickling of the straw in the mattress, the tickling of my hair around my ears, but I''d had a lot of practice shutting out physical discomfort, so I was able to do it.

    Smell was the hardest, in that room. My nose prickled with salt and sweat ¡ª the bodily smells of work and travel coming from my roommate''s side of the cell.

    After a few minutes of slow breathing, I managed it. Then, the world opened up.

    With all of my physical senses shut out, I was left with only my spiritual senses.

    I felt the Fold; the vast layer of reality that stretched above the material world, pulsing with its own energy, its innumerable denizens, and its own alien laws.

    I felt the Fold as if it were a storm over a distant ocean, seen from the safety of a sheltered place on the shore. Lately, it felt like it was getting closer.

    I took a long, slow breath, trying to draw in some of that distant energy.

    It trickled into my body with a feeling like needle-points, a prickling up and down my throat, in my veins, and in my chest. I quickly bound the energy, weaving it into my core, adding to my reserves, in a miniscule way.

    This was accumulation, and it was the only magic I knew.

    Growing up, I''d heard stories of Losirisian wizards, of their enchanted staves and words of power, but their crafts had died along with them, their words forgotten. Now, the Antorxians were the only path to magic left open to me.

    I sat there for an hour, slowly accumulating maja, struggling to keep my connection to the Fold open despite my surroundings.

    If only I¡¯d known how to do anything with it, I might not have been taken so easily. Even now, I might have had the power to make my way in the world outside the academy ¡ª even if it meant being an outlaw. But I was a vessel without an opening. I was like a bucket with a stuck lid.

    Eventually, I felt the growing need to sleep and I let my connection fade. The world became mundane again.

    I had weeks of built-up weariness to shed. Weeks on the road, and the shocks of the day.

    Despite the thin mattress, the strange company, and the fear that one of the other students was going to murder me in the night, I managed to close my eyes and let myself fall unconscious.

 2. Old wood calls for blood (2/5)

    The next morning I woke up to dry bedding and clean air. There was none of the constant dampness I was used to from sleeping on the road. There was no smell of animals, no bugs in my clothes, no dirt in my hair, no itching welts on my ankles. The straw in my mattress was poking me in half a hundred places and the room was a bare cell, but it was still the nicest place I¡¯d slept in weeks.

    My roommate was already gone when I woke up. He¡¯d left behind nothing but a disturbed straw mat and a pair of dirty underwear lying on the ground. I was obviously going to have to have that conversation with him. The shorts also brought me to the disturbing realization that my roommate, and many of the others, were probably going around in the natural style.

    I swung my legs out of bed and stood up. Outside my room, the corridor was dark and cold, and the open sandals they¡¯d given us were doing nothing to keep the chill off my feet. I hurried through the corridor to the common room, hoping there¡¯d be food and a fire.

    Inside the large central chamber, I found food, but no heat.

    At some point the soldiers had dropped off a sack of oat cakes in one corner. I took one, sniffing it then examining it cautiously. It was made of chewy crushed oats, with black seeds and crushed nuts all baked with . When I¡¯d checked that it was fresh and insect free, I took a bite. It was hard, dense, and bland, but it was no worse than a bowl boiled oats and there was no shortage of them. I grabbed a second and took them to a table.

    There were a few other of my fellow captives in the common room. Most of them were drawn in on themselves, still suffering from the trauma of the journey, still missing home, or missing people from home. I knew how they felt. I wasn¡¯t in the mood to talk to anyone, and I didn¡¯t think trying would do me any good. One boy with pink skin and wild brown hair broke with the pattern, seeming to by noticeable happy. He caught me observing him and gave me a warm smile. His attitude was almost more off-putting than the others¡¯. What did he have to be so happy about?

    I ate my oat cake quietly on my own, thinking about how I could use the day.

    We were supposed to be getting our first assignments soon, but they hadn''t arrived yet. I didn¡¯t know when or how they''d be delivered, or even if we were expected to go and pick them up from somewhere. Kirkswill didn¡¯t have a college, and the village school kicked you out at age eight no matter how badly you wanted to stay, but it was hard to understand how an educational institute like the academy could be so disorganized.

    But just because I didn''t have homework yet, didn''t mean I had no work to do.

    Cordaze had put the resources of the college at our disposal. I was going to use them.

    Ignoring their code, the Sovereign¡¯s Path, ignoring their threats and promises, ignoring all of the subtle manipulations I''d noticed and the ones I hadn''t, learning to use magic was my best chance at taking ownership of my own future.

    If I didn''t want to become a sorcerer drafted into a tyrant¡¯s military, or even if I did, then I had to learn everything I could while I was here. I had a healthy maja reserve from a year of peaceful meditation and accumulation. I knew how to accumulate more. If I wanted to actually do anything with it, I needed to study. I¡¯d have to do as the Antorxians did, and take what I needed.

    I choked down my first oat cake. It left my mouth too dry to even consider the second, so I stuffed it in my waistband for later. If I didn¡¯t bring something with me, the chances were I¡¯d forget to eat at all.

    <hr>

    I passed other students as I moved through the academy grounds. Most were older, men and women in their twenties or thirties. A few were my age or younger. The group I''d arrived with had all looked between the ages of fifteen and twenty, but the students I saw walking around the grounds looked as old as forty. It seemed like you were never too old to become a sorcerer. Or more likely, the Antorxians brought people to be trained here no matter how old they were when they were discovered. I could imagine mothers and fathers with grown children living their whole lives quietly nurturing magical gifts they didn¡¯t understand, only to be swept up and brought here the first time a Reeve passed within sensing distance of their villages.

    All of the other students wore gray robes in the same cut but with different shades. The older students seemed to have robes of darker gray, as if they got to wore darker colors the further their studies progressed. I supposed that culminated in the Reeves, who wore black.

    Some of them even carried weapons. A tall muscular student in near-black robes carried a large two-handed sword of questionable quality scabbarded on his back. A student with bone-white hair walked past me carrying a short sword in her hand, its naked blade made from some kind of black glossy stone. Quarterstaffs were popular, and at least a quarter of the other students carried daggers of varying quality, sheathed in birch bark, cloth, or leather, and strung through the waistbands of their robes.

    I tried to avoid them as I moved around. I even avoided their gazes, looking down or away, rather than at anyone directly.

    It amazed me how much Master Cordaze¡¯s demonstration had already affected my way of thinking.

    In my own life back in Losiris, I''d have been quick to strike up conversation with any of them, to ask for advice, or for directions, or just to comment on the weather. Community was a strong force in Kirkswill, and nobody would hesitate to call out to someone they recognized, or someone they didn¡¯t. Even insults were thrown and accepted in good humor.

    Here and now, Master Cordaze¡¯s sudden, shocking violence was fresh in my memory, and it was intractably linked with her warning against accepting help.

    I found myself flinching away from every sharp look.

    If there was anyone in that crowd who hadn''t taken the Antorxian philosophy on board, I saw no sign of it.

    It took about a quarter hour to reach the library. The building didn''t stand out from the others in the Academy. The walls were made from irregular stones mortared together, the roof was a row of ancient timbers meeting in an angled peak, with a foot of overhang on each side. The doors were mottled bronze, with a relief of curling vines embossed across them.

    It looked crude compared to the military precision of the outer wall, with its square cut slabs and smooth battlements. It made me think of a mountain village or remote monastery more than an imperial academy.

    The bronze doors opened at a push. Inside, the building opened up into a bare, deep, dim, empty space. The only feature was a set of steps, descending down into the mountain.

    The steps at least matched the Academy walls. They were sharp, straight stones, quarry-cut and precisely placed, leading down into darkness.

    The only light in the room came from a pair of lanterns that gave off a cold, blue light, each mounted on top of a pole. The light from them barely reached a few feet down the steps, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn¡¯t take either of the lanterns down from its pole; they were fixed in place.

    As I stared first at the lanterns and then at steps, I realized that we were meant to go down them without light. It was like they¡¯d thrown another barrier put between me and what I needed; a minor test, or another tiny trap. Or maybe it was an expression of Antorxian philosophy, to get the good stuff, you have to risk your life.

    I wondered how many promising new sorcerers the Antorxian military lost to slips, trips, and falls.

    With one hand on the wall, taking my steps very carefully, I moved forward and descended into the darkness.

    <hr>

    I''d never in my life seen a real library before. I¡¯d grown up in a small village where the idea of a book was almost an alien concept. If it couldn¡¯t be planted, fermented, eaten, or spun, then nine out of ten Kirkswill residents just didn¡¯t care about it.

    Scribe Bevin had owned the biggest collection of books for thirty miles; shelves of farmer¡¯s almanacs, botanical dictionaries, bestiaries, herbals, cookbooks, histories, novels, and astronomical charts, drawers that held cases of pinned insects, sacks of textile samples, boxes of dried plants, and mineral exemplars. Visitors came from all over the five villages to browse it, to ask Scribe Bevin¡¯s advice, and find out what exactly was eating their turnips, but it was still only one man''s private collection.

    I''d always imagined that a real library would be a bigger version of that. I wanted and expected a room full of packed shelves, rows of neatly organized books, with glass-shrouded lamps and tables for scribe work.

    The library at Windshriek Academy had books all right, but that was the only part I''d got right.

    Every book sat alone on its own wooden plinth, surrounded by six or more feet of open space. The books had iron shackles riveted to their covers, each spine chained to a metal ring set into its stand so that it couldn''t be removed. There would be no taking books away to study in comfort. The only light in the space came from a single blue lantern, held in the hand of a life-size stone statue of a robed woman who sat kneeling on the ground a little way from the stairs, so lifelike I had to poke it in the nose to make sure it wasn''t really one of the gray-skinned academy masters.

    Past a few feet, the library faded into darkness, exacerbated by slitted fabric dividers that hung from the ceiling at regular intervals, blocking light, muffling sound, and turning the space into a maze of eerie, lightless chambers.

    I didn''t know if sorcerers quickly learned to see in the dark, or if we were meant to carry our own light sources, as dangerous as that seemed in a library. Maybe forcing us to hunt for knowledge in pitch darkness was another lesson in Antorxian philosophy.

    Despite the dividers, the underground space felt huge. The air was cold, dry, and smelled of oiled wood, leather, and calfskin. There could have been a thousand books entombed here, but because of the limited light, I only had access to the handful of them closest to the stairs.

    Books weren''t the only items down there. Mixed in with them were seemingly ordinary objects. Just in the space lit up by the lantern, there was a cup, a bowl, a hand-mirror, a dagger, a hairbrush, a wooden rod, all positioned with just as much reverence as the books on plinths of their own

    They were more than mere decoration, but I didn''t know what purpose they served.

    I only stood staring for a few seconds, before rushing forward to examine the collection.

    The first book I went to was bound in shaved oak, with a sword design block printed on the cover. The pages were linen paper and smelled of beeswax and cedar oil. Opening the cover, the title on the first page declared the book to be The Opening Arts of Arrenshu.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    As I leafed through the pages, I realized it was a duelling manual. Every page depicted a fight between a sorcerer in black and a variety of colorful assailants. Each print showed the sorcerer beating their opponent using maneuvers with cheerful names like, Boulder Falls on the Village, and Snake Squirms Free.

    I knew that Antorxian sorcerers were as dangerous with weapons as they were with magic, and Arrenshu seemed to be specifically designed with a sorcerer''s capabilities in mind. Several of the book''s moves involved inhuman leaps and contortions. One of them even required the sorcerer to accept a sword through their own chest to land a strike, which I would have assumed was a fatal proposition for anyone.

    I didn''t have a sword, and doubted I''d ever be any good with one. Even when I was growing up I was always happier with a book in my hand than swinging a stick at dandelions. When the other village boys were dueling with straight branches, I was always away to the side, drawing letters in the dirt.

    The second book I opened was called That For Which We Kill. It was a manual on butchery. Over two hundred pages it explained how to butcher various corporeal spirits and spirit beasts, what parts were valuable, and how they could be safely removed and stored. I learned that the Earth-tremor Toad¡¯s horn was strongly metal aligned, and that the Wilting Wren often had a stomach full of crystalized maja stones. It only hinted at what might be done with any of these gory trophies.

    The first few chapters were dedicated to going over the tools that a novice dissectionist should have and how to care for them. I didn''t have any tools at all, let alone steel scalpels, glass jars, and gorse flower candles, so the book was of only academic interest to me.

    After that I started moving through the books systematically, skimming them enough to get an idea of the contents then moving on.

    There wasn''t anything like a library index, but I gradually got a feel for the layout.

    The martial aspects of the sorcerer''s arts were spread out in a gradually widening wedge leading directly away from the stairs. In this area I found the book on Arrenshu, a manual on a dagger fighting style called Forsecare, a book on how to fight using a sharpener buckler, one on different exercise regimes designed to strengthen the body, and one on magical body reinforcement. I spent longest on the last, reading about how a sorcerer could concentrate maja in their limbs to increase their performance, but it assumed too much prior knowledge to be useful to me.

    In the quadrant to the left of the stairs were books on spirits and their exploitation. That had been the section where I''d found That For Which We Kill. I also found books on contract design, a spirit bestiary, and even a directory of named greater spirits that a sorcerer might contact using rituals which it mentioned but didn''t describe.

    They all offered hints, made promises of greater power, with the details only alluded to. If I had any way of reading in the dark, it would have been enough to tempt me out of the pool of light.

    To the right were general books on magic as a practice. It was here that I found the most useful book so far.

    What the Sky Taught was a book of vellum pages bound in black oak, with a forked lightning bolt of shaved horn lacquered onto the design on the cover.

    It was handwritten, and not by someone with a scribe''s touch. The text swayed irregularly over the pages, the script alternating in size and clarity as its author''s hand grew tired or their emotions grew erratic.

    The vellum pages were silky smooth under my fingers, and I felt the same shock that I always had when reading vellum, that this was skin, with its faint animal scent and pores and blemishes. This one even had dark traceries of the original animal¡¯s veins stretching out across the paper.

    The text of the book, written in the style of a journal, was a broad overview on the different kinds of magic practiced by sorcerers.

    It divided the magical arts into three categories: aspect magic, structured magic, and materials magic.

    Aspect magic was the most common type among sorcerers. The mage took some of their bound maja, aligned it with an aspect, like fire, and pushed it from their body in a pattern that would be reflected in the mundane world. The lightning spell Master Cordaze had cast would have been aspect magic.

    It made for fast, instinctive spells, limited by the fact that the sorcerer needed a deep understanding of the aspect they wanted to recreate. Or at least an understanding ¡ª everyone had their own unique relationship with a given aspect.

    The book helpfully offered a ritual for gaining access to the Fire aspect. All I''d have to do was prepare a brazier with the right fuel, oils, and meditations, and plunge my hand into the flames until I needed urgent infirmary treatment.

    I knew I''d have to make progress in aspect magic eventually, it was a sorcerer''s mainstay, but at the same time I wasn''t in a hurry to fry my fingers like sausages.

    Materials magic involved making use of spiritual components; using spirit organs or maja-infused plants in alchemy, crafting fetishes and imbuements from parts of spirit beasts, even implanting Fold-touched tissues into the sorcerer''s own body. I felt like That For Which We Kill would have been useful for someone practicing materials magic.

    That field might have appealed to me, as all crafts did, but I had none of the tools I needed, none of the components I needed, and no way to get either.

    The category that really appealed to me was structured magic.

    Structured magic existed in the realm of symbols and diagrams, grammars, geometries, and crisp lines meeting at precise angles. It was a realm I was familiar with.

    A cantogram was a magically significant diagram that resonated with an aspect of the Fold. When it was properly drawn out in maja, it would snap, and invoke whatever effect it was associated with.

    The most accessible way of drawing out a canto was drawing it in free maja in the air, using a technique called misting. All I''d need to do was channel maja to my finger and emit it in a stream as I drew out the design.

    But despite being the most accessible, it wasn''t the eaisest. Free unaligned maja was invisible, so I wouldn''t be able to see my work as I sketched it. It would be like writing while wearing a blindfold.

    In addition, the air was a very unstable medium, so any design placed into it would very quickly lose its shape. And as someone whose first writing had been fingerpainted letters on a wall, I knew that a finger was a crude drawing tool, especially compared to the delicacy and finesse of a canto.

    There were equipment and materials that could make it easier. Maja-infused ink, wires spun from magically-infused metal, or a spirit stylus could all help in the creation of cantos embedded in physical items, but I didn''t have ink, or wire, or any tools at all.

    But as long as the only thing between me and making use of this form of magic was practice and study, I told myself I''d be able to do it.

    What the Sky Taught included the canto ¡®Winter Hearth¡¯ as an example, which would create gentle warmth in the space it was created, but would also dim light in the area. Apparently most cantos had multiple effects, and part of the art of them was balancing and mitigating trade-offs. Cantos with pure effects were rare enough to be considered family or even national secrets.

    Even a canto as simple as Winter Hearth was dauntingly complex. A double circle, filled with a pattern of about fifty lines, interior curves, and characters from an alphabet I didn''t recognize.

    Memorizing it would be like trying to memorize the schematics of a cathedral, but I tried anyway.

    I pictured the diagram as if it were a maze I was walking through, making myself see the turn-offs and their angles, telling myself the story of my journey through its elaborate branches.

    Memorizing it took the bulk of the time I spent in the library.

    My legs were aching and my eyes were gritty by the time I decided I wasn''t making any more progress. I rubbed my hand over my face and closed the book in front of me

    Out of nowhere, I felt a shiver run across my skin.

    The hairs on the back of my neck and my arms rose up, as if a chill had just swept over me. I felt like I was being watched.

    I jerked my head around, looking for the source of the feeling.

    I froze when I saw someone watching me from the edge of the light.

    It was a woman, standing about thirty feet away, mostly hidden by one of the fabric partitions. The only part of her I could see was a dark-haired head, peering around the corner on the end of a long, elegant neck.

    She was a few years older than me, with pale skin rashed with black spots that made me think of decay. Tar-black hair framed her face, falling down and around her head in a way that made it look like she was surfacing from dark water. Most of her body was hidden, but I could see the neckline of a white robe at the edge of the divider. White. The masters wore black, the students wore gray, so who wore white?

    She was staring at me with a completely empty expression, like the face of a doll. She was smiling at me, but her eyes didn''t even seem to be focused.

    I stood there for a few seconds, feeling suddenly weak, listening to the blood pumping in my ears.

    ¡°Hello?¡± I said.

    The girl took a step forward, out from behind the divider. There was something wrong with the way she moved.

    She was abnormally tall, seven or eight feet at least, except she walked hunched over with her head hanging below the level of her shoulders, like the haunches of a vulture. Her legs were long and bent, never fully straightening, and her long arms, like the spindly limbs of a young tree, hung down close to the ground. She barely seemed human any more, if she¡¯d ever been.

    As she took another step toward me, I recognized another feature of her face. What I''d thought was a shadow on her forehead was actually a scar; a straight line, thin and precise, running down through the center of her forehead from her hairline to the bridge of her nose. Two deep divots sat on the left side of it, as if her head had been pricked by a carving fork while the central cut had been made.

    She took several more slow steps toward me, smiling her hollow smile the whole time.

    ¡°Hello?¡± I said again. I took a few steps backwards to maintain the distance.

    She brought up one of her over-long forearms and waved at me in an exaggerated motion, her hand making wide arcs through the air, like the wave of an over-enthusiastic child.

    I felt the urge to run. I wanted to turn around and sprint out of the library, up the stairs, and out into the open air. But I knew that if I did that now, I''d never come back. Whenever I thought of the library I''d always imagine that this stretched woman was waiting for me down here, in the dark. The place that should have been my salvation would be cut off from me.

    Instead I stepped forward. I did what Scribe Bevin had taught me to do in the face of clients who refused to pay, and stood up straight, squared my shoulders, and spoke directly to her.

    ¡°Madam, please stop there until we''ve introduced ourselves.¡±

    The words felt fake in my mouth, but the woman stopped. Her expression didn''t change.

    ¡°Hello,¡± she said after a few seconds. She spoke with difficulty, like the word was something she had to dredge from memory and deliberately enunciate.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± I asked

    After a while, she replied. ¡°I am Ba.¡±

    ¡°Ba,¡± I repeated.

    I wasn''t familiar with it as a name. I only knew it in the context of language, as the second letter of the Old Irisian alphabet.

    ¡°I''m Dorian,¡± I said.

    A second later, the sound of footsteps on stone came from the same direction that the tall woman had come from. Another woman emerged from the shadows.

    The newcomer at least had normal human proportions. She was shorter than me by about a foot, with olive skin and deep red hair.

    She stopped when she saw me, then looked between me and Ba. She gave me a long, distrustful stare, before she resumed walking toward the stairs. She called to Ba sharply as she passed.

    ¡°Ba, come.¡±

    Ba immediately lost interest in me and followed after her.

    I moved to keep the distance between us as they walked past, heading for the stairs. As they started climbing, I overheard the other woman speaking to Ba in a lower voice.

    ¡°In future, don''t speak to anyone other than me.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Ba replied in the same halting way as before.

    ¡°Only my orders are to be obeyed.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    I stayed still, listening until their footsteps had disappeared beyond the top of the stairs. Feeling confused and slightly disturbed, I hung back until I was sure they were gone.

    Over a couple of minutes my heart calmed down and my alarm turned into confusion.

    The second woman had obviously been a student, but what did that make Ba? The student had spoken with the tone of a master speaking to a servant. Did the students here have their own staff? Did they keep slaves? Slavery wasn''t a crime that the Antorxians were known to commit, but I couldn''t ignore the absolute deference Ba had shown.

    When I was sure I wouldn¡¯t run into them at the top, I started up the stairs myself.

    It was night when I emerged from the library. The sky had transformed into a depthless velvet curtain, twinkling with the lights of a million heavenly bodies far above. I¡¯d heard that the stars were greater spirits, blazing with power in their void-strewn domains. I¡¯d also heard that they were distant suns with worlds of their own. Scribe Bevin hadn¡¯t known the truth for sure. The only people who might know were powerful priests and mages who dealt with the greater spirits, or the truly legendary mages who were said to have left the confines of the terrestrial world. It was beyond my knowledge as an apprentice scribe, or as a novice sorcerer.

    The mountainside felt just as cold as the void above me. An icy wind blew down from the peak, billowing the grasses and rattling the roof tiles of the buildings nearby. It almost knocked me off my feet when I stepped out of the shelter of the building, and it did take my breath away.

    I staggered away from the library along the dirt road that led back to our barracks.

    On the way I tried to put Ba and her master out of my mind, concentrating on consolidating what I''d learned about cartograms and structured magic.

    Soon, I''d be confronted by the first of the tests that the masters would assign to us, but for now, I hoped that I had time to experiment with this new kind of magic.

 3. Old wood calls for blood (3/5)

    Pain like needles ran down my arm, radiating out into the muscles and bones, adding to an ache that had been building all morning.

    The experience of forcing maja out through my hand was like exhaling until my chest bucked in pain, then continuing to exhale. It was stretching my fingers until my joints popped, and curling my feet until they cramped, and clenching my jaw so hard that my teeth broke, all at once, and somehow worse. Expelling maja felt like choosing to bleed.

    My instincts told me that this was self harm. My body told me that I was spending my life. I put all those feelings aside and pushed on regardless. A feeling like sparks danced through my hand as I drew my finger through the air, telling me that something was working, even though the maja that was leaving me was invisible.

    My maja only left my core reluctantly, trickling down my arm as a line of dark droplets before pooling at the end of my finger like blood oozing from a paper cut. I felt a slight resistance as I spooled out a spiderweb-thin line of concentrated magic, like my finger was a piece of chalk dragging against a slate board. The thread of maja left behind might have been invisible and intangible, but the real physical feeling of drag convinced me that something was happening.

    The maja of my core felt cool to me, like damp ashes in the fireplace of a room where all the shutters were nailed shut. It was calm, peaceful, and relaxing. What I was trying to do with it now went against that feeling. I was throwing open the shutters and letting the breeze in. I was stoking the fire, and trying to catch the smoke.

    I drew my hand through the air as the energy congealed at my fingertip, tracing the lines of the Winter Hearth canto in the air as quickly and accurately as I could, the flow of maja creating a slow, sickening tug that stretched from my hand to my heart as it left my body.

    With a pained sigh, I drew the last line.

    I felt the canto cohere and connect as a buzz of energy in the air. For a moment I could feel the maja circulating through it in an ever-accelerating loop, and then... it fizzled. The energy dispersed like a slap of cold water to the face. The canto faded into nothing, accomplishing nothing.

    It was a full day after we¡¯d arrived at the academy. I¡¯d had a day of study in the library and hours of practice during the evening, but I was still failing every canto I tried to cast.

    It wasn''t my memory that was at fault. I''d been back to the library that morning to check, and I had it perfectly memorized. It had to be my rendition that was flawed.

    No matter how many times I tried, I couldn''t draw the canto out faithfully enough to get it to snap into the spell. It was maddening. I had the knowledge and the power, but I didn''t have the skill. My lack of physical coordination was letting me down. If only I''d played more sports.

    Though, having an audience didn''t help. Adrian lay on his bed at the opposite side of the cell, watching me without comment.

    He¡¯d barely spoken since we¡¯d arrived, just two or three words to tell me his name. Everything I knew about him I¡¯d learned from observation.

    He¡¯d refused to wear the clothes they¡¯d given us. He¡¯d put on his gray robe just for long enough to wash the clothes he¡¯d worn on the journey and make it back to the room. Now, his damp shirt and pants were hanging off the room¡¯s desk to dry, while he lay in bed with the coarse blanket pulled up to his stomach.

    I¡¯d spotted old scars on his chest and forearms; thin white lines hiding under fair hair that I took to be nicks from a sword. He wasn¡¯t much taller than I was, which was probably a sign that he¡¯d grown up poor, but he¡¯d filled out since then. His fortunes must have been improving, before he got drafted.

    When I looked at him I saw a boy who¡¯d won his way free from lowly beginnings through martial skill. He had the sword scars, and the muscle to match. Maybe he¡¯d found a place in a city militia, or won a position as someone¡¯s squire. He might even have been a criminal, a bandit, though from the innocent expression I¡¯d glimpsed on his face when he didn¡¯t know I was looking I doubted it.

    He was staring at me now with an unreadable expression. His eyes were like blue stone, and his gaze was as heavy as stone. After a minute I realized he was silently judging me.

    ¡°What?¡± I said to him, letting my hand drop.

    I wasn¡¯t expecting a reply. He¡¯d been morosely silent since we arrived. But after a while, he did reply.

    ¡°You¡¯re desperate to be one of them,¡± he said.

    He spoke with a Losirisian accent, making him my countryman. He was probably from somewhere in the Central Tablelands. He sounded sad, more than judgmental. I paused before replying. Did I really seem desperate?

    ¡°I want to learn magic,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s my only chance at being free one day.¡±

    ¡°Freedom?¡± he asked dully. ¡°That''s your reason for playing their game? Or is that just what you tell yourself?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the truth.¡±

    ¡°It sounds like a lie,¡± he said. ¡°The kind that a good person tells themselves so that they can do something evil.¡±

    ¡°Look, I¡¯m only trying to cast a hearth spell.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re walking the path they laid out for you,¡± he countered. ¡°As soon as you decide to follow, you¡¯ll follow them to the end.¡±

    I let go of the mass of maja in my chest, feeling it slump and relax, like a farm horse that¡¯d just been let off the plough.

    ¡°Well, what¡¯s your plan?¡± I asked him. ¡°Starve to death in bed?¡±

    He¡¯d barely left bed since we¡¯d moved into the cell the previous day, and I hadn¡¯t seen him take any of the bread the soldiers had brought us at night or the oat cakes they¡¯d left there this morning. I wasn¡¯t even sure he¡¯d had anything to drink. I felt a flash of concern that he might really have resigned himself to starving to death.

    ¡°I plan to keep my soul,¡± he said, then he lay back on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

    I watched him for a minute, then got up, grabbed the extra oat cake I¡¯d picked out for myself that morning, and walked over to his bed.

    I held the cake out to him.

    They were dry, unappetizing things, but I¡¯d had worse. They were solid food.

    He ignored the cake, staring up at the ceiling.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    I leaned over and jammed it into his mouth.

    He yelped, waving a hand to push me away, but I was already stepping back.

    He pulled the oat cake out of his mouth, shooting me a glare, but I noticed that a bite was already missing out of it.

    I went back to sit on my bed.

    When I called up my maja and began threading it down the length of my arm, it seemed less sluggish than before.

    <hr>

    Our assignments arrived that afternoon.

    I was sitting alone at one of the tables, halfway through a lunch of salt crackers when the messenger stepped into the barracks. His hands gripped the handles of a dark wooden box, and I had no doubt that our assignments were inside.

    He was escorted by a pair of soldiers in black and silver felt brigantines. The soldiers carried their swords unsheathed, like they expected us to attack them.

    The messenger marched into the room, placed the box on one of the tables, then pulled off the lid to reveal a neat stack of scrolls.

    He pulled them out one by one, passing them off to the soldiers who handed them out, seemingly at random.

    One of the soldiers approached me, a scroll in one hand, her naked sword in the other.

    Her expression was blank. I couldn¡¯t tell if she was going to stab me if I refused to take the scroll, or if the blade was just another level of psychological pressure, but either way it didn¡¯t have any influence on my decision. I knew we¡¯d be getting assignments, and I knew we¡¯d be punished if we failed them. I¡¯d already decided I¡¯d do them.

    I took the scroll and put it down on the table in front of me.

    When everyone in the common room had been given a scroll, the messenger took the box into the corridor and started handing them out door to door, catching anyone who hadn¡¯t been present in the common room.

    I looked down at mine. It was a roll of simple white paper a hand¡¯s width across, bound around a wooden rod by a length of brown twine.

    I put down what was left of my cracker and picked it up.

    After weeks away from Scribe Bevin¡¯s study, my hand thrilled at the touch of the paper. It was soft, silky, and dry; the feeling of home, of quiet lessons and engaging work. I ran my hand across it before I even touched the string tying it closed.

    It felt like linen paper, with a faint raised texture, stone beaten and cold pressed. It would crease well and ink readily, and wouldn''t easily tear even when it was wet.

    Realizing I was putting it off, I untied the cord and rolled the scroll out flat on the table.

    My first assignment was written out across two lines.

    At the base of the mountain, north of the road, by a lake in the shape of an amphora, a solitary ginsberry tree grows. Collect from it a pound of green leaves and bring them to Master Korphus in the Academy laboratory.

    Below the description was an artful sketch of a broad tree with seeking hand-like roots, and beside that a diagram of a star-shaped leaf.

    I reread it a couple of times, looking for a hidden meaning. I found none.

    A pound of leaves.

    It wasn¡¯t a task that would strain the average Losirisian villager, let alone a sorcerous initiate. It certainly wasn''t much of a test of my ability.

    Was it a chore then?

    I could understand a master who offloaded tedious tasks to their subordinates. They''d call it a test to put down their apprentice¡¯s inevitable complaints.

    Despite where I was, and how I was brought here, and exactly who was giving me this assignment, I felt disappointed.

    I rolled the scroll back up. I thought I should just get it out of the way as fast as possible.

    It was only just past midday, so there were still about seven hours of daylight left, and it wouldn¡¯t take much more than two hours to get down to the base of the mountain.

    Around the hall the other students were reading their assignments with varying degrees of relief, confusion, and despair. Every assignment must have been different from the rest. I wondered if they were all as mundane as mine.

    I didn¡¯t know what a ginsberry tree was, but if it was by a lake and there was only one, I¡¯d probably be able to pick it out, especially if the picture was accurate.

    There was no chance I¡¯d be able to get my hands on a knife to help cut the leaves, but I needed a bag to hold them at the bare minimum.

    As I looked around the common room and my eyes fell on the sack full of salt crackers the soldiers had dropped in the corner an hour ago.

    So far, none of the other students had recognized the sack they brought food in as something that we might take and use for ourselves. The speech Master Cordaze had given when we arrived could even be construed to mean that I should take it. The first line of her Sovereign¡¯s Path practically told me to, It is not to receive, but to take.

    I stood up slowly and began making my way over to the sack.

    It still had a small stack of crackers in the bottom. I took them out and put them on a nearby table, then bundled up the sack and pushed it under my tunic. A quick look around told me that nobody had seen me. They were all too caught up with their private thoughts about their assignments.

    I headed for the door that led back to my cell.

    I tried to catch a glimpse of someone else¡¯s assignment over their shoulder as I left, but they heard me coming and turned around, shooting me a suspicious glare. I considered asking them what they¡¯d been told to do, but given the general mood of the group, I didn¡¯t think that would go anywhere. Maybe I could get Adrian to tell me his.

    When I got back to our room, the other boy hadn¡¯t even looked at his scroll. It was still tied shut, sitting on the desk. He didn¡¯t look at me as I came in, his eyes were fixed on the ceiling above his bed. The oat cake I¡¯d left him with was sitting on the floor in the corner, half eaten, as if he¡¯d taken a few more bites then thrown it across the room.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to look at your assignment?¡± I asked.

    There was a brief silence, before he said, ¡°Why would I?¡±

    I moved to my bed and sat down. I pulled out the twine I¡¯d taken from my scroll and started tying it around the top corners of the sack to make a loop.

    ¡°Cordaze said they¡¯d punish us if we failed two in a row,¡± I said, speaking while my hands worked.

    ¡°As if there¡¯s anything left to punish me with.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I said cautiously. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to put my imagination for punishments up against theirs.¡±

    He didn¡¯t reply to that, and I didn¡¯t push it.

    I was glad that he was at least talking now. Maybe after a few more days, he¡¯d start to consider his situation and make his survival a priority.

    I finished with the sack. Between scribe Bevin¡¯s library and my spinner of a mother, I was as good with ropework as anyone back home, and with a few strategic plaits and knots I¡¯d been able to turn the sack into a makeshift shoulder bag. With a knot in each corner of the sack to provide grip and the twine tied around them in a fisher¡¯s hitch, it would sit on my shoulder without cutting, and the knot would hold strong even with a heavy load.

    ¡°Do you mind if I read it?¡± I asked, looking up from my work.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll give you extra credit for doing two.¡±

    ¡°I just want to know what the other tasks are. Aren¡¯t you interested in mine?¡±

    Adrian¡¯s response was to turn over and put his bare back to me, facing the wall.

    I took that as tacit permission, and grabbed his scroll from the desk. It was identical to mine, except for the assignment written inside.

    Pray to the goddess Ixilthan and report her response to Master Deisite in the tower¡¯s command center. The following prayer may be used:

    ¡®In the Hollow Depths I call to You, Ixilthan. In the holy light of tallowed foes I witness you, Ixilthan. In the eyeless sight of your keepers, I kneel to you Ixilthan. I care not for the sun. It is you I venerate. Ixilthan. Ixilthan. Ixilthan. Holy, holy, holy, Ixilthan; worthy of worship.¡¯

    It was bizarre. Another non-task. But this one couldn¡¯t even be a chore. How would they even know whether Adrian had done it? They couldn¡¯t listen in on someone¡¯s private prayers. And to demand he get a response¡­ Gods responding to mortal prayers was the stuff of fireside stories. At least, it was in Losiris. Maybe we¡¯d just been praying to the wrong gods. Or the right ones.

    I carefully rolled Adrian¡¯s scroll back up and re-sealed it with its twine. I cast a glance at him as I put it back on the desk.

    ¡°Do you want to know what it says?¡± I asked.

    ¡°It won¡¯t make any difference.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure you wouldn¡¯t want to do it even if you knew what it said,¡± I told him. If he wasn¡¯t even going to wear the clothes, there¡¯s no way he¡¯d claim to venerate some subterranean god, even as a lie.

    I went back to my bed and pulled my makeshift bag over my shoulder, shifting it until it sat securely.

    ¡°Look, I¡¯m going down to the foot of the mountain to gather some leaves,¡± I said. ¡°I should be back by dark. If I¡¯m not¡­¡±

    Adrian rolled over in bed and shot me a look. ¡°What? I should come and look for you?¡±

    I stalled in my response. Back home I told people where I was going as a matter of habit, because in the village, if you tripped in the woods and sprained your ankle, then they would break out the search parties to find you.

    Staring into Adrian¡¯s hard glare, I knew that wouldn¡¯t happen here.

    I packed my assignment scroll and my reserve of salt crackers into my new bag and left the room.

    I knew the route I¡¯d have to take to make it down the mountain, but my task would force me to leave the academy. I didn¡¯t know how I was going to convince the guards to let me out.

 4. Old wood calls for blood (4/5)

    Twin sheets of menacing black iron filigree made up the gates of Windshriek Academy. They were closed, but not locked. Against my expectations, there were no visible guards. It almost seemed too easy.

    The idea that I was allowed to leave the Academy was implicit my assignment. I couldn''t gather leaves from the swamp without leaving the grounds. But I still felt like it was a trap.

    I''d been brought here as a prisoner. I''d been transported as a prisoner. I was still afraid that I''d be punished for trying to run.

    On top of that was another fear. The gate was more than just the door of my prison. It was a threshold.

    Right now, here in the academy, I was a captive. If I left the academy and came back, what would I be then? A collaborator? A sworn Antorxian?

    Adrian¡¯s accusations came back to me. Had I already resigned myself to become what the Antorxians wanted to make me? Passing through those gates would force me to decide.

    Right now, the outside world scared me more than the prison at my back.

    I walked slowly to the gate. With every step, I expected guards to jump out and attack me, or for a crossbow bolt to appear in my chest. I made it there unchallenged.

    I could feel the magic radiating off it. My own maja felt like cool, dark water to me, but the magic coming off the gate felt sharp and violent, like jagged sawblades. It was a dagger¡¯s point resting against my throat and a wire brush scouring my skin.

    I stood perfectly still as it swept across me. After the first intense sensation it faded slightly, as if it had passed over and accepted me.

    There was a faint smell accompanying whatever spell was built into the gate. It tingled against my nose and throat like the air of a forge, smelling of blood, rot, and dry sand.

    I briefly considered trying to breathe the energy washing off the gate in and accumulate it into my core, but my mind veered violently away from the idea. I didn¡¯t want this sharp maja inside me.

    When I reached out to try the gate, I half expected the dull black iron to cut me. I didn¡¯t expect it to swing open at the lightest touch. It opened in a slow, casual arc. Beyond it, the rugged wind-swept mountainside of Windshriek stared back at me with stony indifference.

    I was going to leave the academy. And I was going to come back. Hopefully, I¡¯d be coming back with ginsberry tree leaves. And it wasn¡¯t because I was a traitor to my homeland, or because I was a collaborator, or even because I¡¯d given up. The choice of whether to run or come back was a false choice. There was no real choice. Surrounded by miles of swamp, and hundreds of miles of enemy territory beyond that, leaving was impossible. The academy might as well have been on an island at sea.

    I took a step forward.

    I was through the gate.

    I took another, and I was on the rocky road running down the mountain. I started walking.

    I felt a mounting thrill as the distance between me and the academy grew as the illusion of freedom descended on me. The swamp stretched out below me. It was damp, dangerous, and unwelcoming, but there were no walls between me and the horizon, and there was no one looking over my shoulder.

    The road down the mountain was steep in places. A past version of myself wouldn¡¯t even have been able to walk down it. I¡¯d have been reduced to trying to scoot down on my rear end, or simply sat at the top and refused to go. The me of today was beyond that. I didn¡¯t have time to cautiously slide down every incline. Instead, I ran down them, skidding and tripping, catching myself on whatever stunted tree or patch of grass I could reach, skinning my palms when the flat sandals they¡¯d given us lost their grip and I fell on my face.

    If I had any grace or agility it might not have been a bad walk at all, but I¡¯d never walked on mountains before.

    In the end, it took around two hours to make it down the slope. From the ache in my heels, I guessed the distance was about four miles. It would probably take twice as long to get back up it, and I¡¯d need to plan accordingly. If the journey had been dangerous in daylight, then at night it would be deadly. I needed to be sure I made it back before dark.

    I spotted a couple of places of interest on my way down. There was one large lake to the northwest, visible in the terrain as a long treeless patch of mist. To the south, there was another smaller lake, fed by what I thought was a river.

    According to the description on my scroll, the larger lake was where I needed to look.

    As the mountain road leveled out, the rocky slope gave way to a pleasant forest, and then to the soft ground and stagnant pools of the wetlands.

    Visibility was limited. Moisture rose up off the ground and pooling water, filling the space between the trees with cold mist. The trees themselves blocked my vision. They were low, twisted things that spread out as wide as they could and let their leaves fall to the ground in dense curtains.

    I was taken back to my first journey through the swamp, just over a week ago. It had been a place that inspired fear then, and it still was.

    I¡¯d heard screams in the night, when unseen monsters had pulled Antroxian soldiers into the trees. I¡¯d listened in on the guards¡¯ fireside conversations, where they talked about spirits that lured people to their deaths and beasts that fascinated their prey with colored lights. It wasn¡¯t a safe place for a soldier, let alone for me.

    I wanted to assume that the nearby swamp couldn''t be too dangerous, if they were willing to send novices out into it, alone and unequipped. I didn¡¯t want to believe they were willing to send students out to their deaths. I didn¡¯t want to, but I did. I already understood the rules the academy ran by.

    I stopped by the side of the road and pulled a fallen branch off the ground.

    At home in Kirkswill, they made a weapon called a cudsill by carving an oak root into a sturdy stick, brining it, buttering it, and smoking it. The end result would be a black, dense, heavy club that could brain a person with a single strike. Making one was a rite of passage for teenagers in the village, but I¡¯d avoided that chore.

    The best I could do now was to strip the twigs off my branch and break it into a rod short enough to swing.

    When I finished, I had a fairly useless club. It didn¡¯t even give me the illusion of being armed. I could imagine swinging it at something, but the truth was it wouldn¡¯t do any good even if it hit.

    I pressed on.

    After an hour of walking, I started seeing shapes moving between the trees. They were tall, translucent, insect-legged creatures, each between four and twelve feet long with bulbous horizontal bodies held high off the ground. They reminded me of misshapen ants or shrimp. The smallest ones were the size of bears, the larger ones three or four times bigger.

    Spirits, I realized. Their bodies were huge, while their legs were unnaturally thin. They didn''t look like they would work as real, physical creatures. Not that spirits were any less dangerous.

    Spirits were only fireside stories to me, but those stories involved terrifying beings that killed mortals as easily and remorselessly as a farmer swatting a fly.

    The shapes moving in the forest didn''t seem like they hated me. They didn''t even seem to be aware of me. They had the feeling of wildlife, like I¡¯d spotted a herd of deer passing alongside me.

    The sun moved into its zenith above me, turning the swamp into a humid broiler, then finally burning off the fog.

    I took off my robe, stuffing it in my bag, and went on in just my shirt and pants.

    After another half hour I came to a place where a track branched off the road to the right. The main dirt road through the swamp was paved haphazardly with large flat rocks resting in the earth, unevenly cut and dropped several inches apart. It was the bare minimum to stop wagon wheels from sinking into the soft ground. The side path hadn¡¯t even had that treatment.

    It was a foot track, at best. The ground was overgrown with the same grass and reeds that filled the space between the trees.

    The clearest evidence that it was an intentional trail rather than some kind of animal track was the tunnel of severed twigs and branches that passed above it, like someone had walked along swinging a sword at any plant that got in their way.

    I couldn''t be sure, but I thought I might be about parallel with the lake I''d seen from the mountainside.

    I only thought about it for a minute before stepping off the road.

    My first step was onto what I thought was solid ground, but I immediately found my foot plunging into waterlogged silt. It swallowed my leg up to the knee before I managed to catch myself on a branch.

    The silt tried to suck the sandal off my foot as I pulled it out, but I''d tightened the straps to stop them rubbing on the walk down, and it managed to stay on.

    The swamp was obviously dangerous. I couldn¡¯t even trust the ground under my feet. I continued on with more caution, poking the grass in front of me with every step.

    After a few hundred yards, the sound of insects intensified in the forest around me. Thet became a constant drone, endless chirping, high and low pitched at the same time. Flies started to show up, landing on me in clusters in places I couldn''t easily reach, and not moving even when I waved at them. A rhythmic creaking sound started up in the distance, like a taut rope moving in the wind.

    It was as if being on the road had protected me from the swamp, and now I was out among the trees, I was getting the full experience.

    I followed the trail, keeping to the ground that I was sure was solid.

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    The path went on for about two miles before the trees around me started to thin out and the ground to my right became wide open wetlands.

    Across the open terrain, I could make out a lake.

    The water was green, shining in the early afternoon sun. Woody reeds grew from the banks, as dense as wheat in a farmer¡¯s field. Lily pads floated in clumps out in the deeper water, and the surface of the water rippled with skimming insects and the fish that hunted them. As I approached, the croaking of frogs joined the insect hum, so many and so constant they became a single, constant sound.

    I could tell this was the lake I''d seen from the mountainside. Now that I was here, it was easy to spot what I''d come for.

    A single massive ginsberry tree sat on the lake bank, a few hundred feet away. Some roots anchored themselves into the soft earth, while others reached over into the lake to drink from it directly. The curling roots and low, arching branches were identical to the diagram on the scroll, and I got closer, I made out the same distinct star shape to the leaves as the sketch I carried.

    I increased my pace. I''d only been out of the academy for a few hours. I had time to collect the leaves and get back before dusk.

    As I came up to the tree, the odors of damp earth and dry wood prickled at my nose. It was the same tingling sensation I¡¯d felt from the gate; the air here was thick with maja. As I stepped under the branches of the tree, it became almost overpowering.

    If the tree itself was full of maja, that might be why someone in the academy would want its leaves.

    I didn''t waste any time. As soon as I was below a low-hanging branch, I reached up and started grabbing leaves by the handful.

    They snapped off the branch easily enough, and I started stuffing them in my bag.

    I''d just taken my fifth bunch when I took a step forward and felt something snap under my foot.

    Looking down, I saw a cluster of fine white bones half buried in the grass.

    I crouched, pulling the grass apart to try and get a better look.

    The bones were the fingers of a human hand. There was a skeletal arm next to them, half buried in the ground. There must be an entire skeleton here, under the earth.

    I was standing on someone''s grave.

    As I was crouching there, I caught movement at the edge of my vision.

    A human body was slowly descending from the branches of the tree, hanging at the end of a noose.

    It was the body of a young woman. Her hair was the red of rust, and her skin was deathly white, except where the rope had made a black-red band of bruised and torn flesh around her throat. She was dressed in a mold-ravaged robe which still had enough gray showing through the black and brown to tell me she''d been a student.

    She was lowered smoothly out of the branches, like a spider descending on a strand of silk.

    This had stopped being a simple chore. I was now scared for my life.

    It got worse a second later, when the corpse started taking.

    ¡°Thief.¡±

    Her voice was hollow and wheezing, like wind blowing through dry reeds.

    My mind whispered a single word over and over, like my thoughts were stuck on it and couldn''t get free. Spirit.

    My body wanted to run. As soon as I stopped thinking about my fear and let my body take control, I started moving.

    I turned and took a step. Immediately, a bony white hand appeared in the grass, clutching at my ankle. I stumbled and fell face-first onto the ground.

    Scrambling onto my hands and knees, I looked back at the tree.

    The corpse¡¯s head was hanging limp to one side, but her eyes were open, starkly white, and staring straight at me.

    ¡°Thief,¡± she repeated.

    ¡°I''m sorry,¡± I said reflexively. My heart was pounding in my ears, and my voice sounded too weak to possibly carry.

    ¡°You came to steal my skin and blood, my flesh and bones. My body is not yours to take.¡±

    ¡°I don''t want your skin, I promise,¡± I said, desperately.

    I got to my feet and tried to run again, only for more clutching skeletal hands to appear, three this time, grabbing my feet and pants legs. I stumbled again, but managed to stay on my feet.

    Whatever these were weren''t going to let me leave.

    I turned back to face the tree.

    Another body dropped out of the branches.

    This one was an overweight man in a dark gray robe. He fell quickly, his body jerking to a stop when the rope snapped taut. A second thud came a moment later, when his entrails spilled out of a gash in his stomach and slapped against the ground.

    ¡°You take my breath,¡± the new body said. His voice was deep and wet, like someone talking through mud. ¡°How am I to live without my breath?¡±

    My body was still screaming at me to run, but I knew if I took a single step I¡¯d be tripped again. My blood was pulsing in my eyes and hands, and I was thinking through a fog. It took all my self control to keep my feet on the ground.

    ¡°I haven''t taken your breath,¡± I said.

    ¡°Liar,¡± the woman wheezed.

    ¡°You hold my breath in your liar¡¯s purse,¡± the man''s body said.

    I looked from one corpse to the next, then down at the leaves on the ground around me. I''d dropped the ones I was holding, and now they lay scattered around my feet. More of them were my bag.

    I hadn''t taken anything but leaves.

    ¡°Are you the tree?¡± I asked, looking up at the woman.

    It was the man''s corpse that replied.

    ¡°I am Wild Century. I am Deep Drinker Dawn Dreamer Carrion Eater.¡±

    It was the tree. I was talking to the spirit of the tree, and both corpses were extensions of it.

    ¡°I''m sorry,¡± I said. ¡°I thought you were just a tree. I was sent... on threat of punishment...¡±

    I was prattling. I didn''t think what I was saying would calm a sympathetic person, let alone an angry tree spirit.

    ¡°A breath for a breath,¡± the woman whispered.

    An empty noose dropped out of the branches.

    ¡°No,¡± I called out.

    My foot moved, swinging out in an involuntary step towards the tree. My left foot swung out, another step. I was walking towards the noose.

    ¡°Stop,¡± I shouted. ¡°I was sent here by Master Korphus,¡± I tried ¡ª the name on my assignment.

    The spirit didn''t take any notice.

    I continued slowly walking toward the noose.

    ¡°My friends will burn you down if you kill me,¡± I shouted, lying desperately.

    Nobody knew where I was except the people who''d sent me here and Adrian, and neither would do anything about it.

    The tree spirit either knew I was lying, or thought everything I said was a lie, or didn''t have the kind of mind that could recognize and process a threat.

    ¡°I''m property of the Antorxian Empire,¡± I shouted, desperate now.

    The spirit didn''t seem to care about empires or ownership.

    My body continued to move without my permission, right up to the rope.

    I reached out and took hold of the noose, then lifted over my head.

    For some reason, my attention snagged on the knot.

    Scribe Bevin had kept a library of knots in a drawer in his study. The valley farmers had come by to consult it more often than they''d come to see his books. It had all kinds. Farmer''s knots, sailor¡¯s knots, rider''s knots, trick knots, puzzle knots. The knot of the noose wasn''t in any of them.

    It wasn''t a sliding knot, or a shrinking knot, or a trader''s hitch, or a wild dog¡¯s loop.

    It didn''t even seem to make sense as a knot. It was just an untidy bundle of overlapping cord, like a child might draw if they didn''t have any understanding of how knots worked.

    I placed the noose around my neck. The rope above me began to shorten. The noose pulled tighter as the slack disappeared. Pressure mounted on my throat.

    It didn''t make sense. The knot shouldn''t have worked. It shouldn''t have been shrinking.

    My throat closed. I couldn''t breathe.

    Now that I was helpless, the force controlling my body disappeared. I clawed at the rope around my neck, but I wasn''t strong enough to loosen it.

    I grabbed the rope above my head and tried to take weight off my throat, but I didn''t have the muscle to lift myself.

    The cord started to lift me off the ground. I kicked at the air, my feet desperately trying to find ground that wasn''t there any more.

    I reached up and grabbed the knot, feeling for a release. Nothing. I probed it with fingers that were going numb.

    The knot was nonsense. It didn''t make sense. There was no way it worked like this. It couldn''t be real.

    It wasn''t real.

    I was suddenly certain that the noose wasn''t real. The knot was a fantasy. It was a dream of a knot.

    ¡°This isn''t real,¡± I whispered. ¡°The knot is wrong. This isn''t real.¡±

    I woke up with my head jammed into a fork between two branches.

    My feet were on the ground. My head pounded and my throat ached from the pressure of the jagged bark.

    It looked like I''d been pressing myself into the wood, choking myself against the pinched angle of the branches.

    I pulled out of it and took a few steps back.

    Nothing grabbed at me from the ground.

    The tree stood placidly a few feet away. There were no hanging bodies. It looked as normal as when I''d arrived.

    Never mind taking its leaves, I was going to cut the whole thing down.

    If I hadn''t woken myself up...

    I''d have ended up as another set of bones, sunk into the mud beneath its branches.

    Whatever the tree spirit had put me through, I was free of it now.

    I could sense the maja the tree was giving off again. The tingling sensation from the air had disappeared when the first body had dropped. I''d been too shocked to notice. The dream had recreated everything except for the sense of maja.

    I walked to a low branch and tore off a handful of leaves.

    I turned to stare at the tree''s trunk, waiting for a body to drop, or a gurgling voice to threaten me, or for skeletal hands to appear in the grass. Nothing happened.

    ¡°I''m going to take your breath, but it won''t kill you,¡± I said. ¡°They''re only leaves. And I''m only taking a few. They''ll grow back.¡±

    I started ripping them down in batches, stuffing them into my improvised bag.

    ¡°You know, if you''d just introduced yourself and spoken with me, we could have worked something out.¡± I finished stripping one low branch and moved on to the next. ¡°I could have tried to find another ginsberry tree. Or we might have made a bargain, if you''d told me what you wanted.¡±

    The overweight man''s corpse suddenly dropped down out of the branches, bouncing at the end of his noose.

    ¡°Bones,¡± he gurgled. ¡°Ground and wetted. To soothe my toes.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I said bitterly. ¡°It''s too late. You already tried to kill me.¡±

    I squeezed my eyes closed and bit the inside of my cheek, trying to wake myself from the dream. I felt a flash of pain and the tingling smell of maja returned. When I opened my eyes, the corpse was gone.

    I continued to pick leaves until my bag was full.

    From the weight of it, it felt like more than the required pound of leaves. It felt more like three. It''d be harder to carry back up the mountain than strictly necessary, but I''d rather go back with more than I needed than less.

    I started walking away from the tree, but stopped when I heard something crack under my sandal.

    It was the half buried skeleton. That had been real, at least.

    I stared at the skeletal hand for a minute.

    Someone else had been sent out here, and they''d been less lucky than me. I wondered how many students had failed this stupid, deadly test. Had the bodies the tree spoke with really been academy students, once?

    I might never know. The bones weren''t answering any questions.

    I stopped by a clump of reeds as I was leaving. They were a thin, stiff, hollow variety, almost like wood. In my experience, a reed was just a pen that didn''t know it yet, so I collected a few lengths and stored them in my bag before I left.

    I walked away without looking back. The smell of maja faded as I put distance between me and the tree, and the smell of lake water faded after that.

    When I got back to the road, the flies that had taken up nearly permanent residence on the small of my back abandoned me, flying off into the swamp, and I was left to make my way back up the mountain on my own.

 5. Old wood calls for blood (5/5)

    The inside of the laboratory stank, to the point I felt like I was in danger. The air was sticky with toxic, alchemical fumes. Complex, confusing, sharp, and clinging.

    The smell reminded me of the village tannery back in Kirkswill. And the apothecary that Jeddia Rolan ran in the village square. And the dyers. And the charcoal smoker¡¯s hut. And the butcher¡¯s yard.

    The source of the foul air was an enormous glass jar at the center of the room, belching out smoke with what appeared to be the tacit approval of the students tending it.

    The liquid inside was multi-colored, with red, blue, and white components that swirled around each other, mixing without blending. There were hints of different textures within the jar, thicker fluids that congealed around the base, and even fragments of solid material that appeared briefly against the glass before being sucked away into the swirling chaos.

    The whole thing was resting on an iron stand held over a bed of glowing coals. A dozen different tingling maja smells billowed off the embers, and the iron shelf resting above them was lacerated with dozens of cantograms.

    I impressed myself by recognizing one of them, the canto for Bottled Heat, which I¡¯d seen listed in a book called The Toolmaker¡¯s Index. It could contain heat in the space above the cantogram like the sides of a clay-lined pot, with side effects I hadn¡¯t spent the time to memorize.

    The boiling liquid was only one process happening in the academy¡¯s laboratory. There were three or four installations on the same scale, like the giant tank made of crystal and brass where the corpse of a wolf bathed in rainbow-hued fluid, or the black iron helmet sized to fit a giant that was being painted in shining lacquer.

    The laboratory building was sized for its projects, with a roof was forty feet up, and vented in a way that maintained a constant downdraft. The main room was about three hundred feet across, with stone arches on each wall that led to smaller rooms populated with benches and free-standing appliances.

    It was one of the widest buildings in the academy complex, and I had the feeling that the projects inside it were of more than just academic interest.

    Outside, it was already hours past sunset, but despite the late hour there were still about thirty other students busy in the room, wearing robes of varying shades of gray.

    I couldn¡¯t see anyone in the black robe of a master.

    I¡¯d come straight from my expedition to the swamp, making it back just as the last dying rays of light had been visible over the horizon. I had my bag of leaves, and I wanted to deliver it to Master Korphus and complete my assignment as soon as possible.

    Which only worked if I could find them.

    Everyone seemed to be absorbed by their own tasks. Unless I wanted to wander around aimlessly looking for the master, I¡¯d need to ask someone. I approached a student who was working by the giant jar. He was standing on a stepladder, holding a flask by a long steel handle. Every few seconds he tipped the flask to pour a small amount of foaming orange liquid into the glass container.

    I waited until the flask was almost empty, then said, ¡°Excuse me, I¡¯m looking for Master Korphus.¡±

    The answer came quickly. ¡°In his office. Black door off the alembic hall.¡±

    I only vaguely knew what an alembic was, but I could see one of the adjoining chambers was full of copper distillation apparatus.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said.

    I hesitated to leave.

    The man had spoken with an East Edge accent. He was Losirisian like me, from one of the cities on Losiris¡¯ eastern border with Antorx. He must have been kidnapped the same as I was, maybe a year or more ago.

    ¡°What are you working on?¡± I asked, trying to strike up a conversation.

    ¡°A body reinforcement bath for the Count of Serrato,¡± he said.

    ¡°Body reinforcement?¡±

    ¡°To steel his flesh against physical attack. You know the Counts.¡±

    He finished emptying his flask and turned to glance at me over his shoulder. An aggrieved expression appeared on his face as he saw me, as if I¡¯d tricked him into answering. He climbed off the stepladder and left without another word.

    I set off for the chamber filled with alchemical equipment.

    The master¡¯s door stood out clearly along one wall, a heavy piece of black iron set in an arched doorway.

    I stepped up to it and knocked. The metal seemed to swallow the sound completely, but someone must have heard it. A heartbeat later, a voice called from inside.

    ¡°Enter.¡±

    I lifted the latch on the door and pushed it open.

    Master Korphus¡¯s office was like a smaller version of the lab outside. There were pieces of copper equipment standing freely around the room, glass beakers and bottles, a cauldron that was currently empty. There were also bookshelves full of books and scrolls, and a desk strewn with messy papers.

    At first glancethe room reminded me of Scribe Bevin¡¯s study, but the closer I looked the more I started to notice things that were off. Tucked away on one shelf, half hidden by books and scrolls, was a glass jar filled with mirky fluid. Floating inside it was a peeled human face. It looked young. Its eyes were closed, with only a scrap of hair visible at the top of the forehead. After that, more things started standing out.

    A painting on one wall that at first glance had looked like a peaceful forest scene was actually crowded with half-hidden monsters. Grotesque, impossible creatures leered out from behind trees, beckoning the viewer with clawed appendages, giving the moss-covered altar at the center of the forest clearing a sinister importance.

    The dagger mounted above the desk was brown with dried blood. The two-tined fork standing in a pen holder on the desk suddenly reminded me of the scar on the woman I¡¯d seen in the library. There was no direction I could look without seeing something that made me uncomfortable. Even the books, when I started to look closer, had titles like Modern Torture Aspects and The Alchemy of Souls.

    Master Korphus himself was a rotund man with a head that was mostly bald, except for streamers of gray hair that hung from his temples down to his shoulders. He wore the same black robe as the other masters, in addition to numerous gemmed rings.

    He turned in his chair to look at me as I opened the door.

    We stared at each other for a few seconds, before he spoke.

    ¡°Well?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here to hand in my assignment.¡±

    He waved his hand. ¡°Give me your scroll.¡±

    I¡¯d pulled everything except my scroll and the leaves out of my bag before I¡¯d entered the building, sticking my reeds in my waistband under my robe. Now, I pulled my assignment scroll out and handed it to the him.

    He unrolled it and passed his eyes over the text, pausing before pushing it back into my hands.

    ¡°Fine. Hand them over.¡±

    I pulled my bag off my shoulder and held it out for him.

    He snatched it away and pulled open the top, checking the contents. He looked up slowly. His eyes fell on my throat.

    ¡°Your neck is bruised,¡± he said slyly.

    The fact that he¡¯d commented on my throat all but confirmed that he knew about the tree spirit, and how it was likely to treat anyone coming for its leaves. My near-death experience had been, if not deliberately arranged, then carelessly ignored.

    ¡°I walked into a branch,¡± I said.

    He nodded benignly. ¡°It¡¯s ironic, how rarely the dreamer thinks to wonder if they¡¯re dreaming.¡±

    Is that supposed to be cryptic wisdom?

    ¡°It¡¯s more ironic that the academy didn¡¯t teach me how to deal with evil tree spirits before I left,¡± I said.

    The moment the words left my mouth I felt a flash of danger. I was too used to speaking with Scribe Bevin, and I hadn¡¯t fully processed the risk of speaking back to the academy masters.

    In this case, I seemed to get away with it.

    He turned and carried the bag to the edge of the room, speaking as he moved.

    ¡°You only feel that way because of your ignorance. You were told that this place is a school, and so you expect to be taught. The Antorxian Polity calls this site an academy, but before the advent of the Polity, places like this were called Acorridae.¡±

    ¡°A ¡®sharp passageway¡¯?¡± I asked.

    Korphus didn¡¯t even blink at the fact that I could speak Ancient Irisian. Instead, he was quick to correct me.

    ¡°A very literal translation. A more accurate name would be ¡®Corridor of Trials¡¯; places where a student could simply not proceed before they met a bar of excellence.¡±

    He tossed the sack of leaves into the bowl of a large set of scales. After a second of inspecting the gauge, he turned towards me.

    ¡°You failed your assignment,¡± he said.

    I could only stare for a long span of seconds.

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    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Your task was to bring me a pound of ginsberry tree leaves. Instead, you brought me one and four fifths of a pound. Four fifths more than requested. You ignored your instructions and you fail.¡±

    ¡°What? No!¡±

    I felt like he was trying to hang me on a technicality. The whole thing felt like a cruel joke. Were we being set up to fail?

    I thought about complaining ¡ª that I didn¡¯t have access to a scale, that the task was impossible ¡ª but I felt like that would be playing into the line he was taking. He seemed to want to talk about technicalities.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t failed,¡± I said. Keeping my voice steady was an effort. ¡°I did bring you a pound of leaves. They¡¯re just mixed in with some extra I collected for myself.¡±

    He took a step back, gesturing at the bag. ¡°Then unmix them. And hurry.¡±

    I darted to the scale. I pulled my bag out of the bowl and started tipping leaves back into it. I piled them up until the dial showed one pound, then moved back, hooking my bag back over my shoulder.

    ¡°One pound of ginsberry leaves,¡± I said.

    Korphus went over to the scale. He checked the dial and hummed, then returned to his desk.

    ¡°Fine. You passed your assignment and are due for a reward.¡±

    I watched his pudgy hands as he opened a desk drawer and reached inside. He pulled something out and offered it to me.

    A candle. It was a thin, off-white tallow candle, six inches long.

    I reached out my hand and took it. For a minute, all I could do was stare at it. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d expected the reward for completing an assignment would be. A lesson? A book? A magical tool? Something more useful than this.

    Korphus stared at me as I held it.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to thank me?¡± he asked.

    I almost thanked him on reflex, but instead I looked up and said, ¡°No.¡±

    Korphus cackled to himself.

    He waved a hand and I felt a wave of deep, cold maja wash towards me. It hit me like an avalanche and tossed me into the air.

    I flew backwards like leaf in a gale, passing through the open door before tumbling to the ground and skidding for six feet across the laboratory tiles.

    When I came to rest my hips were throbbing and there were shooting pains running up and down my back. I felt like I¡¯d fallen off a roof onto hard stone.

    I lay there for a minute, my back spasming in pain. Eventually, a face appeared above me, the boy I¡¯d asked for directions.

    ¡°That was Force aspect manipulation,¡± he said.

    ¡°Does he do that to everyone who hands in an assignment?¡± I asked dully.

    ¡°Only the ones he likes,¡± the boy answered. ¡°Exposure to Force aspect is one of the best ways to learn it.¡±

    I considered that in silence while staring at the vaulted ceiling. The book I¡¯d found in the library had told me I needed to be burned by fire to learn the Fire aspect. Now this random countryman was telling me that being tossed around by a teacher was a good thing. It had to be convenient for the staff that they could terrorize students and call it education.

    I really wanted to believe that there was a reason I was lying on my back with every bone between my skull and pelvis throbbing. If I could learn to do the same thing, then at least I could pretend I Korphus hadn¡¯t just attacked me on a whim.

    ¡°How do I learn it?¡± I asked.

    ¡°If you have a clear memory of what it felt like, then you have it. Make your maja become the memory. Make sure you push the maja out¡­ Internally directed force maja is an advanced skill.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re being more helpful than I expected,¡± I said flatly.

    The boy didn¡¯t reply straight away. When I angled my head to look at him, he was bending over, looking inside my makeshift bag. After a few seconds he lifted it up, hung the twine strap over his shoulder, and walked away. I watched my bag and my remaining leaves disappear into the main chamber.

    I hope you have a use for them. Godspeed.

    I let my head roll back onto the tiles.

    After another minute I started getting self-conscious and dragged myself to my feet.

    ~

    At the barracks, I was surprised to see the boy whose hand had been blasted off was back, sitting alone at one of the tables in the common room. He was wearing a numb expression on his face, opening and closing the hand he wasn¡¯t meant to have. The new hand was made of the same stone-gray flesh I¡¯d seen on some of the academy masters, but otherwise matched his other hand. He was flexing it, staring at it like it didn¡¯t belong to him.

    Was this what the medicine of sorcerers could do?

    I started walking towards him. As I got closer, I could hear him talking to himself.

    ¡°I can¡¯t feel it. Why can¡¯t I feel it?¡±

    He looked to be a year younger than me at most, but if I hadn¡¯t known better I would have thought it was the voice of a child.

    I forced myself to move closer. I sat on the bench across the table from him.

    He looked up as I sat down.

    ¡°They said they could give it back. But this isn¡¯t mine,¡± he said, looking at me with wide eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen a lot of the masters here with the same thing,¡± I said to him. ¡°I think this kind of healing must be normal for them.¡±

    ¡°Who do you think I speak to?¡± he asked.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°To get my real hand back? Who do you think I should speak to?¡±

    At my silent stare, he pulled up his sleeve and started picking at the ridged line where pink skin met gray.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you should do that,¡± I said.

    ¡°It isn¡¯t mine,¡± the boy insisted.

    I reached over and tried to stop him, but he waved the gray hand at me, brushing me away. In the moment we touched, I felt the texture of his new flesh; cold, smooth, and hard, like marble.

    I pulled my arm back. I couldn¡¯t think of a way to help him. I slid back off the bench and stood up, watching him as he picked at his forearm. I turned away and left the room quickly.

    Back in my room, Adrian was only slightly better off. He was sitting on the cell¡¯s stool, leaning back with his head against the wall, illuminated in shades of gray by moonlight shining through the cell¡¯s high window.

    He turned his head to look at me when I entered, giving me a long, flat stare. His eyes followed me as I went to my bed and sat down with my legs crossed.

    I held my candle in my lap. I didn¡¯t even have any way to light it.

    Bleakness washed over me like an oncoming storm. I¡¯d never been more alone. I¡¯d never felt so lost. My future was closing in front of me like a snare. Magic was my only way through, and if I couldn¡¯t learn that, then I¡¯d be trapped, or dead, or worse.

    I tried to center myself and felt for the dark pool of my maja, then began the torture that was trying to cast the Winter Hearth canto.

    Adrian watched me silently as I dragged my finger through the air again and again, each attempt no more successful than the last, until my whole arm was fever-hot and my veins were burning like acid.

    ¡°You¡¯re trying so hard, and you¡¯re not even any good at it,¡± Adrian said.

    I let my hand drop, turning a hard stare on him. I¡¯d been trying this for hours without making progress. Maybe it was time to try another approach.

    I thought back to when Master Korphus had thrown me out of his office. I focused on the feeling; his maja gripping me, the immense weight of it. Flying, briefly.

    I felt for thr maja of my core and pushed the feeling into it. The memory passed into the maja without hesitation, rushing through it, converting it, like blood mixing with water.

    The maja that the feeling touched was no longer a serene black pool. It was twisting and fire-red ¡ª a violent, frothing maelstrom.

    The aspect-shifted maja burst free from my core, flooding out through my body like a dam break.

    This was powerful. It was dangerous. It would tear me apart if I tried to contain it. I had to get rid of it.

    I threw out my hands and pushed the force maja out.

    I directed it out and at the floor hoping it would disappear into the ground, but it scattered and reflected off the stone somehow, splashing back up at Adrian.

    The spell hit him like a sack of grain. He was thrown violently back against the wall. His head hit the stone with a sound like a cracked egg, and he slumped, falling onto the floor. The stone behind where he¡¯d been was stained red.

    I jumped down from the bed and rushed to his side.

    ¡°Adrian?¡±

    I put my hand to his mouth to feel for breath. My palm only brushed his lips for a second before he was fending me off.

    He pushed me away and staggered to his feet. He seemed dazed. His eyes were roaming the room, one hand held to his head, the other touching the wall. Finally, his eyes fell on me.

    ¡°Or maybe you¡¯re already one of them,¡± he said.

    ¡°Adrian, I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    He shook his head and went for the door. I put a hand out to stop him, but stopped short of making contact.

    He pulled the door open and walked through, vanishing into the darkness of the corridor.

    He didn¡¯t come back that night, or any following night. I¡¯d frightened him away, and I had the room to myself.

 6. Secrets are carrion too (1/4)

    The soldiers came back to the barracks five days later. They marched in wearing their black brigandines with the silver star of Antorx sewn onto their chests. They carrried their swords unsheathed in one hand, as if to remind us that we were still prisoners, we still weren¡¯t trusted. The bare blades seemed to say, ¡®Try anything, and we¡¯ll run you through.¡¯

    The lead soldier was an officer who only looked older than me by a handful of years, but already wore a world-weary expression, with enough scars that he looked like he¡¯d already survived a war. He carried his sword in his right hand, but in his left was a tightly rolled scroll of cream-colored paper.

    He marched into the room, stopped by a table, and then started to unroll the scroll. He struggled to do it without letting go of his sword, eventually having to put the scoll down and roll it out before lifting it up to read.

    His eyes scanned along the text written on it before he started speaking.

    ¡°Silas Amberge,¡± he said. He looked around the room with the appearance of a teacher calling attendance. His eyes fell on a nervous-looking boy a year younger than me. ¡°You have failed your assignment. Fail again, and you will meet the Failure¡¯s Fate.¡±

    The boy called Silas¡¯s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He nodded tightly. He didn¡¯t seem brave enough to ask what the Failure¡¯s Fate was. Nobody had told us so far. Maybe we all just assumed it meant we¡¯d be killed. I was hoping it was expulsion.

    ¡°Domine Beatrix,¡± he said next. This time, his target was a woman a year older than me. She stared back at him with her arms folded and a belligerent expression on her face. ¡°You have failed your assignment. Fail again, and you will meet the Failure¡¯s Fate.¡±

    The woman lifted her fist and gestured at him with a raised little finger. It was a gesture I¡¯d seen traders make at locals on their visits to Kirkswill, and it had never gone down well with the target.

    The officer didn¡¯t react to it. I thought I saw a flash of pity on his face before he moved on to the next name.

    ¡°Olan Draxs, you have passed your assignment.¡±

    Draxs was one of the native Antorxian students among us, a six-foot tall man with a muscular frame and an outlaw¡¯s tattoo peeking out from the collar of his shirt. From the start, he¡¯d seemed more at home here than the rest of us conscripts. It didn¡¯t surprise me that he was the first in the list to have passed.

    He didn¡¯t seem happy or relieved to have succeeded. He looked like this was only what he¡¯d expected.

    The officer continued going through his list, reading one name after another. Not everylne he addressed was in the room. Some had already left the barracks for the day. It was possible that some were dead, if their task had been anywhere near as dangerous as mine.

    Through the officer¡¯s list, I got a second-hand introduction to the conscripts I¡¯d never spoken to.

    Sal Merchamp was a woman half a foot taller than me, with broad shoulders and a laborer¡¯s frame. She¡¯d had long hair when we¡¯d arrived, a dark brown braid that fell down to her waist, but she¡¯d cut it back into a severe soldier¡¯s cut at some point in the last week, as short as brush bristles.

    Sal had failed her first assignment, but her only reaction was to stare at the officer with a look of disgust on her face.

    Marienne Sedge was a short, thin-shouldered girl who wouldn¡¯t have looked out of place herding sheep in a mountain village or running a loom at a weavers cottage. She seemed utterly miserable to have it confirmed that she¡¯d failed her assignment.

    Jon Carrot was one of the few I¡¯d spoken to, a farmer¡¯s son from Cortiss, the plains nation north of Antorx. He¡¯d surprised me by passing.

    There were a few more passes and many more failures before I heard my name.

    ¡°Dorian Tisk,¡± the officer said next.

    I felt a shock run through me, and turned to look at him.

    His gaze found mine. ¡°You have passed your assignment.¡±

    I nodded, and the officer looked away.

    I hadn¡¯t been worried. Not at all. I¡¯d handed my required bag of leaves in to Master Korphus the same day I¡¯d received my assignment. It¡¯d turned out to be a dangerous task, having to deal with a murderous tree-spirit. I¡¯d almost been hypnotized into hanging myself, but it hadn¡¯t been particularly time-consuming.

    I recognized the next name the soldier read.

    ¡°Adrian Wheatfield, you have failed your assignment,¡± the officer said. He spent a few seconds looking around the room for Adrian, but didn¡¯t find him. I could have told him he wasn¡¯t present.

    Belatedly, half to himself, the officer added, ¡°Fail again, and you will meet the Failure¡¯s Fate.¡±

    I¡¯d already known that Adrian wasn¡¯t going to pass his assignment. His task had been to pray to some strange, dark god. I didn¡¯t know what his religious beliefs were coming in, but praying to an Antorxian god seemed like it would be beyond the pale for him. Losiris wasn¡¯t a devout nation as nations went. Observances in Kirkswill were mostly limited to private prayers and offerings, but the Abbey still had a presence in Losiris even decades after the Antorxian conquest, and the old gods of light and hearth they swore to cast a long shadow.

    Adrian¡¯s was the last name read. After that, the same messenger from the previous week stepped forward holding a dark wooden box. He set it down, opened it to reveal a stack of new assignment scrolls, and started handing them off to the soldiers to deliver.

    I accepted mine from the armed soldier without comment and took it to a table to read.

    The paper unrolled smoothly as I lay it flat on the table.

    Report to Master Antonyx in the tower Command Center for the details of your off-site mission.

    Just that. It was an assignment to go and collect an assignment.

    I looked up from the paper and scanned the other students. One of them was already leaving. Others were staring grimly at their scrolls. One of them, Sal Merchamp, was staring right at me.

    She stood a few feet away, her scroll in her hands, looking at me with an expression like I¡¯d just stolen her lunch. After a few seconds, she started marching toward me.

    I resisted the urge to get up and run away, comforting myself with the knowledge that I could throw a wave of force at a moment¡¯s notice.

    She reached the table and sat down, sliding onto the bench and putting her scroll down in front of me. She leaned forward, and spoke in a low, serious voice.

    ¡°You can use magic, can¡¯t you.¡±

    I considered being evasive about it, but I realized I was just happy that someone in my group had thrown off the Antorxian¡¯s welcome and was willing to talk to me.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I said. ¡°How¡¯d you know?¡±

    ¡°A guy called Adrian. He told me you were dangerous.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care. I need to know how to do it.¡±

    She leaned forward, staring at me intently, waiting for an answer.

    Her expression was stern, her soldier¡¯s haircut giving her an intensity that would have intimidated me if we¡¯d met 88 the street. She was taller than me, looked more athletic than me, with muscles that only years of physical labor or training could build. She¡¯d probably never had the same opportunity I¡¯d had to learn even the basics of accumulating maja.

    I toyed with the idea of turning her away, or asking for a favor in return, but the words of Master Korphus came back to me, ¡®It is not to receive, but to take¡¯. They were words I didn¡¯t believe. I didn¡¯t want to believe them, and I didn¡¯t want to embody them.

    ¡°How much do you know about maja?¡± I asked.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the energy used to cast magic.¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you just call it ¡®magic¡¯?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Because maja comes from the Old Irisian word majasa, meaning fluid. It¡¯s a¡ª¡±

    ¡°Maja is magic fluid?¡± Sal asked. ¡°Like magic juice?¡±

    ¡°No. Fluid as an adjective. As in changeable, or dynamic, with connotations of fitting itself to a vessel.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s an adjective?¡±

    I let out a short breath. Sal didn¡¯t even have the basics of maja. I didn¡¯t know what country she was from, but the Antorxians must have stamped down the free practice of magic there even more thoroughly than in Losiris.

    ¡°Have you ever tried accumulating maja?¡± I asked.

    She shook her head.

    If she¡¯d never even heard of maja, she probably wouldn¡¯t have any reserves. It took weeks of daily effort to accumulate enough to form a nascent core, and she probably didn¡¯t even have that.

    I closed my eyes and tried to feel for her presence. Feeling out the academy Masters was easy. They were blazing magical presences, giving off sharp or acidic maja like a bonfire gives off heat. The other students in my group were very muted by comparison.

    When I looked for her, I was surprised to find quite a strong magical presence. It was hard to gauge relative strength at such low levels, but she didn¡¯t feel substantially weaker than me.

    I opened my eyes, feeling suddenly suspicious.

    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯ve never accumulated?¡±

    ¡°Never even heard of it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a process where you meditate, drawing in energy and consolidating it inside your body.¡±

    She looked thoughtful for a second, then said, ¡°Huh. Sounds like Resting Stance.¡±

    It was my turn to feel confused. I¡¯d never heard of it. I couldn¡¯t even guess at its meaning by picking apart its roots. It didn¡¯t sound Irisian.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± I asked.

    ¡°The watchmaster back in Dorries made the town guard train in it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s some kind of martial art?¡±

    ¡°I guess so. It¡¯s got a other name that mean ¡®calm before the storm¡¯ or something. Deep breathing, keeping your head quiet, spreading your breath into your body.¡±

    That sounded similar to something I¡¯d read in The Opening Arts of Arrenshu.

    ¡°It sounds like a body reinforcement technique,¡± I said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. He never acted like it was magic. I always thought it was junk. Just tradition, you know.¡±

    It would have been funny if some village guard captain was openly training his troops in magic under the noses of the Antorxian authorities. I thought it was more likely that the captain didn¡¯t know anything about magic, and was just repeating something he didn¡¯t really understand.

    ¡°You have a quite well developed maja core,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Oh. Goodie. What do I do with that, then?¡±

    ¡°You need to learn an aspect.¡±

    She stared at me blankly. It was like she hadn¡¯t even visited the library yet.

    ¡°What have you been doing all week?¡± I asked.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to escape,¡± she said blankly. ¡°The gate isn¡¯t guarded, but there¡¯s some kind of magic on it. It attacks anyone who tries to leave.¡±

    She rolled up her sleeve, revealing an arm covered in scabbed-over cuts and deep black bruises. It looked like she¡¯d shoved her arm into a barrel of broken glass. It had to have been excruciating.

    I remembered the feeling I¡¯d had when walking through the gate, like my skin was being touched by wire brushes. It had been oppressive, but in the end the gate had let me pass.

    Did the magic protecting it have some way of knowing I was authorized to leave? Could it see the assignment scroll in my bag? For all I knew, the gate was possessed by a spirit that could read the intentions of anyone walking through. From what I¡¯d heard about Antorxian sorcery, anything was possible.

    ¡°I think it only lets us outside if we need to leave to complete our assignment,¡± I said.

    ¡°That would have been good to know three days ago,¡± she said.

    ¡°There are books in the library that talk about aspects,¡± I went on. ¡°Fire aspect, Weight aspect¡­¡±

    I could probably help her learn Force aspect, in the same way that it¡¯d been taught to me.

    ¡°Fire. Fire is good. How do I learn that?¡±

    I stared at her for a few seconds, then looked down at her battered hand. I couldn¡¯t bring myself to tell her. She might just do it.

    ¡°Maybe you should go read about it,¡± I said.

    ¡°You¡¯re clamming up on me now?¡± she asked. She pulled down her sleeve and leaned back in her chair.

    ¡°It¡¯s just, it¡¯s not going to be fun.¡±

    ¡°Oh no. And I was having so much fun this month.¡±

    ¡°You have to put your hand into a fire,¡± I said.

    She blinked at me. Her eyebrows crept up her face.

    ¡°You¡¯re not joking.¡±

    ¡°No. There¡¯s more to it. There¡¯s a ritual. I don¡¯t remember the details. You¡¯ll have to go read about it.¡±

    ¡°Great. So I have to read, on top of everything else.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t like to read?¡±

    She didn¡¯t reply, only giving me a baleful stare.

    ¡°There might be another way,¡± I started, hesitantly. ¡°Last week, Master Korphus threw me out of his office with Force maja. After that, I was able to use it. If you wanted, I could try teaching you.¡±

    ¡°You can throw me?¡± she asked.

    I hesitated. I actually wasn¡¯t sure. In my outburst back in my room, I¡¯d only thrown Adrian a few inches, the equivalent of a strong shove. I¡¯d played around with it in the days afterward, but I hadn¡¯t let it loose with it yet.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe.¡±

    She leaned forward, her expression suddenly serious. ¡°Do you think you could throw me over the wall?¡±

    ¡°The wall is twenty feet high,¡± I said.

    The expression left her face and she leaned back, blinking. ¡°Right. I guess that¡¯s a no.¡±

    ¡°Do you want to try to learn it?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Yeah. Worth a shot. Want to try it now?¡±

    ¡°I have to report to the tower,¡± I said. ¡°Let¡¯s make it after evening meal tonight?¡±

    Suspicion crept into her eyes. ¡°The tower? The big tower up there?¡±

    ¡°Yes. It¡¯s part of my assignment this week.¡±

    ¡°What are they getting you to do?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you if I can read yours,¡± I offered.

    She nodded and slid her scroll at me. I passed mine to her. Together, we un rolled them, and I read her assignment.

    Demonstrate your magical aptitude to Master Sectus at the academy infirmary.

    This was why she needed to learn magic. She¡¯d already failed one assignment. If she didn¡¯t have anything to demonstrate at the end of the week, she¡¯d find out first hand what happened to someone who failed two in a row.

    She was still reading my scroll when I passed hers back to her. Her face was scrunched up, eyes staring at a fixed point on the paper.

    When she noticed me looking, she tossed the scroll back to me.

    ¡°Right. After dinner, then,¡± she said.

    She slid off the bench and stood up, leaving the barracks by the front doors. I couldn¡¯t guess whether she was heading for the library, or if she was going to try escaping again.

    I packed up my own scroll and left after her. I had my assignment, and the tower was waiting.

    ~

    The tower didn¡¯t look like the wall. It wasn¡¯t built of clean-cut gray stone blocks laid together so precisely they almost merged. It also didn¡¯t match the smaller buildings of the academy, with their irregular stones that stayed standing with nothing but a bit of mortar and the insight of the architect. The tower barely looked like a human construction at all. It was a monolith, a single enormous rectangular slab of white stone, perfectly clean, perfectly smooth on every side, with a flat roof, no windows, and only one door. It loomed above the academy like a tombstone.

    Three hundred feet high and about a hundred wide, it was more like a monument than a place where people worked. I got the simultaneous contradictory impressions that it was both newer than the outer wall and older than the mountain it grew out of.

    It wasn¡¯t in the geographic center of the academy, instead being perched on one of the upper terraces, but it was clearly the center of the academy¡¯s operations. It was like seeing an Abbey-built cathedral rising out of a village of dirt huts.

    The door faced the downward slope of the mountain, a half circle of textured brass with no latch, no knocker, no peephole, no visible way of opening it, and no obvious way for it to even open.

    The area around the terrace was deserted. There were no guards to keep unwanted visitors out and nobody to ask how to get in.

    I gripped my scroll tighter in my hand and marched toward the door.

    With no obvious way of opening it, I did what came naturally.

    I reached up and pushed against the door.

    The world around me disappeared.

    I was suddenly in a sapphire blue void, with nothing but myself and the door in front of me suspended in an endless sky.

    The metal was still cold under my hand, but that was the only thing that was normal.

    I felt movement behind me, something huge shifting through the expanse. I started to turn my head. My body was sluggish in this altered space, but I was able to crane my neck enough to catch sight of enormous shape, something irregular and many-eyed that couldn¡¯t possibly exist.

    And then the world returned.

    There was a wooden floor under my feet, and stone walls around me. I could smell lamp oil and old leather.

    I turned, shaking. I was inside the tower.

    ¡°What was that?¡± I said aloud.

    The only other person in the small reception room, a young man in a formal clothing, answered, ¡°Your first trip through the Fold?¡±

    I could feel magic radiating off him, less strongly than the academy Masters, but more than I¡¯d felt from any student. His maja felt rigid and regular, like the grid of an iron gate. He was dressed differently from the other students. He wore a long white collarless shirt that ended in a diagonal slash across his thighs and loose charcoal-colored trousers that vanished behind the wall of a standing counter.

    Several books were spread across the desk. One of them was open and facing him, the top page covered in a list of handwritten notes.

    ¡°What was that thing?¡± I asked. My voice was breaking as if I¡¯d just spent a full minute screaming.

    ¡°You must have seen the Watcher,¡± the man said. ¡°Its just a little guardian spirit. It keeps out spies and other annoyances.¡±

    ¡°That thing wasn¡¯t little,¡± I protested.

    The man closed his eyes for a second, not much more than a long blink, and I picked up the maja scents of mud and dead moss, like the air from a dry well. After a moment, the smell receded, and he opened his eyes.

    ¡°Yes, well, you¡¯re only small yourself. How may I direct you?¡±

    I stared at him for a few seconds, then turned around to look at the door. I couldn¡¯t help but imagine that thing was still there, looming just a few feet behind me.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    ¡°I was in the Fold?¡± I asked.

    ¡°For less than a tenth of a tenth of a second,¡± he answered patiently.

    ¡°Does everyone who comes here go through that?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Though only those with the mage talent can see the watcher, or notice the Fold at all. Our political visitors pass through quite oblivious.¡±

    The man, who I was starting to realize was the entrance clerk, picked up an ink pen an started writing something in the book in front of him.

    ¡°How may I direct you?¡± he asked again.

    ¡°My assignment said to report to Master Antonyx,¡± I said.

    ¡°Right.¡± He pointed to one of six doors leading out of the square room. ¡°Third door to your right. Head down the spiral staircase to the bottom floor, then follow the circuit left until you see a door labeled Archives.¡±

    I looked from the clerk to the door, then started to edge towards it. I kept glancing back at him, waiting for the trap.

    I expected him to try to take something from me, or shoot lightning at me, but he just went back to making notes. He must not have been adhering to the academy¡¯s Sovereign¡¯s Path particularly closely.

    The longer I watched him quietly write down an account of my arrival and purpose in being there, the more I got the feeling that he wasn¡¯t even part of the academy. I could feel magic rolling off him, but he seemed more like a bureaucrat than a Reeve.

    I stopped in front of the door. It was made of heavy black wood, and after my experience at the entrance, I was afraid to touch it.

    ¡°It¡¯s just a normal door,¡± the clerk said, seeming to understand what I was thinking without looking up. ¡°The entrance is the only Fold gate here. In the public areas, anyway.¡±

    I nodded. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    The door opened easily, swinging out on the landing of a spiral staircase that wound down into the bare stone of the mountain.

    Unlike with the stairs down to the library, these were lit. A glass-shrouded oil lamp sat just beyond the door, and more yellow light shone up from below, fading up and down in intensity as its source burned inconsistently through its fuel.

    I stopped, leaning back into the entrance room to ask one more question.

    ¡°Is Master Antonyx violent?¡±

    The clerk looked up from his ledger. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Will he throw me around with Force maja?¡± I asked.

    ¡°If you¡¯re asking if he¡¯s a traditionalist, no.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Thank you.¡±

    The clerk didn¡¯t speak again, and I stepped onto the landing. The door quietly fell closed behind me.

    I followed the spiral stairs down three floors. I let my curiosity take control of me as I went down, stopping at each landing to open the door and spend a minute looking around.

    All three underground levels followed the same plan, a single long, wide stone corridor lined with doors on either side.

    The first level looked to be mostly made up of private suites. Two of the doors to the rooms were standing open, and I caught glimpses of curtained beds, oak writing desks, wash stands and bath tubs, fireplaces, dressers, wardrobes, heavy cloth drapes, rugs, and tapestries. To my eyes they looked like the rooms of nobles, but they might have just been the apartments for the academy staff. I froze when I saw a porter dressed in white, pushing a cart of cleaning supplies out of a room further down, but they seemed completely oblivious to me. He had the same blank expression as Ba, the woman I¡¯d seen in the library. He also had the same scar ¡ª a vertical line down the center of his forehead, flanked by two dimples.

    The second level down had the feel of a utility space. The corridor was wider and taller, and the doors that lined it were the size of barn doors. The floor was scuffed with wheel tracks, as if carts were regularly pulled up and down it, and I could hear a distant rumbling noise that reminded me of the inside of a windmill; wooden gears grinding against gears, the motion of heavy machinery.

    The third floor down was a mixture of storage spaces and smaller rooms. I followed the clerk¡¯s directions, turning left and following the corridor, checking doors as I went.

    I¡¯d passed twenty doors before I found Master Antonyx¡¯s office, slapped in the middle of a long stretch of unbroken wall. His name was burned into the wood of the door in a harsh, blocky script. Below it was the word Archives.

    I reached up and knocked.

    There was no sound from the other side for thirty seconds, then the door was flung open.

    Standing in the doorway was a man in his fifties, with short steel-gray hair and graying stubble that dusted his face and chin. His eyes were a natural gray, and his brown skin didn¡¯t show any of the silver patches I¡¯d noticed on some of the masters. He wore a dusty black robe over a white shirt and brown pants, as well as a silver star pinned to his collar and a small silver earring in his left ear.

    He stared at me like I¡¯d just woken him up.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I was told to report to you?¡± I said. I unrolled my scroll and held it up for him to read.

    He only glanced at it, before looking back at me. His nostrils flared, and I felt a wash of maja radiate out from him. His maja presence felt like ice water to me. Deep, flat, freezing, crushing. At the same time I picked up a maja scent, tingling in my nose and lungs. It smelled like smoke.

    ¡°You just got here?¡± he asked.

    I assumed he meant the academy, and not the tower.

    ¡°Just over a week ago,¡± I said.

    He seemed disgusted by my answer. He turned and marched back into the room.

    I was left in the corridor. I stood there for a few seconds before I followed him in.

    Past the door, the space opened up into a large storeroom. A small area near the entrance was set aside for a desk, a table, a cot, all lit by a standing oil lamp, but beyond that the room was filled with shelves and boxes. Books and scrolls dominated the space, stacked on shelves and on top of cabinets. Any free space on the walls was filled by charts, indexes, maps, and arcane diagrams. It put the academy¡¯s official library to shame. I felt at home there straight away.

    ¡°How old are you?¡± Master Antonyx asked.

    He was facing away from me, heading towards his desk.

    ¡°Nineteen.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯d you do before enrolling here?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t enroll,¡± I said. ¡°I was kidnapped.¡±

    ¡°Well, yes. I was trying to be polite.¡±

    He reached his desk and stooped down, rifling through papers.

    I let my gaze stray to the walls.

    The space above Antonyx¡¯s desk was covered by a huge map of the continent. It didn¡¯t look like the maps I was familiar with. The ones I¡¯d studied back in Kirkswill had shown the continent as a knife-shaped landmass with ice at the southern tip and desert in the north. In that layout, Losiris was a stretch of land bordered by the sea to the west, Lake Gorgion to the north, Antorx to the southeast, and the Hills Territories to the south.

    From my studies I knew Antorx itself was a relatively small nation, half the size of Losiris, though with an outsized presence thanks to its military.

    On Antonyx¡¯s map, Antorx was drawn as big as its reputation implied. Here, it sat at the center of a star-shaped continent, with every other nation stretched and narrowed the further it got from the center. It was clearly an abstraction or visualization, rather than a map someone could navigate by. The colors of the map indicated political groups, with large parts of it painted in reds signifying they were under the control of the Antorxian empire, even including countries like Cortiss to the north, which I didn¡¯t think was actually part of it.

    The capitals of each nation were marked by a small black square. Kirkswill didn¡¯t even merit a pinprick of ink, but I could see what must have been the marker for Windshriek academy; a black rectangle at the base of a mountain that sat alone in the middle of a swamp.

    I did my best to quickly memorize the land around the academy, thinking I could tell Sal about it if nothing else.

    Antonyx straightened up and turned towards me. He caught me looking at the map, and turned to follow my gaze.

    ¡°Planning an escape?¡± he asked. He turned back towards me. ¡°I don¡¯t recommend it. It never goes how we think.¡±

    ¡°You tried to escape?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Thirty years ago, we didn¡¯t even have the walls,¡± he answered. ¡°We lost more kids back then to the wild spirits than we did to the teachers. And you know we can¡¯t have that. If a student¡¯s going to be killed or horribly maimed, it better be by one of us.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t completely surprised that one of the masters had been brought here as a conscript. It seemed to be how the Antorxians did things. I was surprised he was willing to tell me so easily.

    ¡°I was attacked by a wild spirit,¡± I offered.

    ¡°Wild Century?¡± he asked, tipping his head at the bruises still faintly visible on my neck.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not a wild spirit. It¡¯s a pest. Practically tame, from all the soft meat we¡¯ve fed it. You¡¯ve never met a real wild spirit.¡± He raised his hand and put his knuckles to his lip, like he was used to biting on them. ¡°Which makes me think someone up there¡¯s laughing at me, sending a complete initiate to me for this job. You¡¯re not some kind of prodigy are you?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°What did you do before this?¡±

    ¡°I was a scribe¡¯s apprentice.¡±

    ¡°I thought it must be something like that. You¡¯ve got airs about you. Have you learned your languages?¡±

    He asked the question in Old Irisian, a language more famous for being written than spoken, and it took me a few seconds to work out what he was saying.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I answered in the same language. ¡°I read and write Old Irisian, Varian, and Hoghan script.¡±

    ¡°Jung nooug Oydajaric?¡±

    ¡°What is that?¡±

    ¡°Ajaric. The language of the ancient Reeves.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know it,¡± I said.

    ¡°There¡¯s no way you could,¡± Antonyx said, though he didn¡¯t sound sure of himself.

    ¡°I thought the Reeves were Antorxian,¡± I said.

    ¡°Yeah, but we¡¯re also a sect. The Reeves only got incorporated into the Antorxian military two hundred years ago. Before that we had our own laws and langauge.¡±

    I nodded sharply, filing the scrap of information away.

    It would be easy to lower my guard around Antonyx. He spoke casually, in an accent that was noticeably more coarse than the other academy masters. He let information slip conversationally, apparently without any respect for Master Cordaze¡¯s Sovereign¡¯s Path. He¡¯d even made a reference to trying to escape. He might have been in a similar position to me once. But that was why I couldn¡¯t trust it. I couldn¡¯t shake the fear that it was an act. If he was an adherent of the sorcerers¡¯ philosophy, then it could all be an elaborate trap or manipulation.

    While I was thinking, he¡¯d picked a cloth scroll up from his desk and handed it to me.

    I took it and unrolled it.

    It was a map, a real one this time, showing the academy, the mountain, and part of the swamp, with terrain and paths scratched out in lines of brown ink. The swamp held more secrets than I¡¯d guessed. The trees and bogs hid ruins, caves, caches, and outposts that¡¯d be completely hidden if I didn¡¯t know where to look.

    A bony finger crept down over the map and tapped on a tiny sketch of a castle on the other side of the mountain. It was labeled Fort Msiesetr.

    ¡°Did you learn how to handle yourself in the wild as a scribe¡¯s apprentice?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Not specifically,¡± I said.

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to figure it out. I need to get someone here to fort Msiesetr, and you¡¯re what they gave me.¡±

    ¡°So the assignments are chores,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s a way of getting free labor out of the conscripts.¡±

    ¡°In this case? Yes.¡±

    I looked at the map again. The fort he¡¯d pointed at was on the far side of the mountain. It was joined to the academy by a long, broad road that ran down the mountain, wound through the swamp like a coiled snake, and climbed up again on the other side.

    It would definitely be a multi-day journey. The map didn¡¯t have a scale, but extrapolating my trip to the ginsberry tree lake, it looked like it could be a four day round trip, even without delays or difficult terrain.

    For me it would be a multi-day journey. For a Reeve or one of the academy masters, it might only take hours. Or less. I couldn¡¯t forget the sight of Master Cordaze taking one step and appearing on a distant terrace. For all I knew, a sufficiently advanced sorcerer could just fly there.

    ¡°If it¡¯s important, why don¡¯t you do it?¡± I asked, only worrying afterwards that it might have been too bold.

    I needn¡¯t have worried.

    ¡°Because if I leave, Master Raphas will be down here desystematizing the archives before the door swings shut. Seen the library? Thank Raphas for that gift to the tradition. That¡¯s if he doesn¡¯t just decide to track me down on the road and kill me.¡±

    I was too stunned by trying to imagine the wrongheadedness of someone deliberately trying to make an archive harder to use, to process the second part. It took me a few more seconds to realize he wasn¡¯t joking about another master trying to kill him.

    ¡°The staff here kill each other?¡± I asked.

    Antonyx shrugged. ¡°I¡¯d kill him if I could. And I¡¯d take that sword of his. That¡¯s how the traditionalists do it. Ah, don¡¯t look at me like that. You¡¯ll get used to it.¡±

    I blinked at him slowly. The bleak feeling I¡¯d felt after scaring Adrian away was back, and growing. It suddenly felt very cold in this underground chamber.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. You¡¯ll survive this no problem. How¡¯s your memory?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s good,¡± I said. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I survive?¡±

    ¡°Fort Msiesetr¡¯s got a records room,¡± Antonyx went on, ignoring the question. ¡°When the military abandoned itthey left all the boring stuff behind, but now I need to find something in that boring stuff. Memorize this: Astronomical records, 1400 to 1760. The area between the constellations Kor, Vance, and Mephit is called the Vance Trigon. I want any record of changes to the stars in that region during those years.¡±

    Kor, Vance, Mephit. It helped that the star clusters had the same names in Losiris. The dates didn¡¯t mean much to me, except that it was currently 1810 by the Irisian calendar, so he didn¡¯t want anything from the last fifty years.

    ¡°Don¡¯t write that down. If anyone asks, you¡¯re there looking for a genealogy of Count Serrato.¡±

    ¡°Why do I have to lie?¡± I asked.

    He shrugged one shoulder. ¡°I don¡¯t want any of them upstairs to know what I¡¯m looking at.¡±

    ¡°Should I also look for the genealogy?¡±

    He pointed a bony finger at me. ¡°Yes. Good. Good thinking.¡±

    I looked at the map, at the route I¡¯d have to walk. I thought about my thin-soled sandals and my sad makeshift bag. I looked up at Master Antonyx¡¯s stern face. I thought about whether I could just ignore him. I¡¯d fail this week¡¯s task, but I¡¯d still have next week to make it up.

    But I couldn¡¯t be sure the next task would be any easier or more palatable.

    ¡°I¡¯d need some equipment,¡± I tried.

    ¡°Yeah? What?¡±

    ¡°A blanket. A tent. Some boots. A week¡¯s worth of rations. A cooking set¡­¡±

    Antonyx was already shaking his head.

    ¡°Not happening.¡± He turned and grabbed a torn scrap of paper and an inkpen, then started scribbling out a note. ¡°No one gets that much help.¡±

    Ater a second he stood and handed me the note.

    ¡°I can do this much for you. The basics.¡±

    I glanced at him and then took the note, looking down to read it.

    Give this novitiate a scout¡¯s pack - M. Antonyx. Tot Og Ibvuer Diesn.

    ¡°That¡¯s the best you¡¯ll get,¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯s your task. Get to Fort Msiesetr. Search the records for astronomical changes in the Vance Trigon. Don¡¯t write it down, and don¡¯t tell anyone. If anyone asks-¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m searching for Count Serrato¡¯s genealogy,¡± I finished.

    He pointed an approving finger at me.

    ¡°If you¡¯re not back by your deadline I¡¯m going to assume you¡¯re dead and send someone else. If you die, try and fall in an informative pose. Point at the danger or something. Give some warning for the next one.¡±

    ¡°Right¡­¡±

    ¡°And listen to me ¡ª don¡¯t run. There¡¯s worse things in the world than being a sorcerer, and worse things in the swamp than a pissed-off Reeve. You¡¯d be better off dead or gentled here than some monster¡¯s long meal out there.¡±

    He ushered me towards the door as he spoke, apparently tired of my presence.

    He waved his hand as we reached it, and I felt a surge of his icy maja.

    I tensed in anticipation of being thrown out, but he directed the wave of force maja at the door.

    The handle snapped down in the same moment that the door flew open.

    Anyonyx guided me to the door and out into the corridor.

    ¡°Go on, now. Get to work. It¡¯s not to receive but to take and all that.¡±

    He turned away before he¡¯d finished speaking and shut the door behind him.

    I stood there for a minute, trying to digest what had just happened. I¡¯d found an academy master who would answer questions without inflicting grievous bodily harm, and someone who disagreed with the apparently deliberate hiding of knowledge in the academy library. Under other circumstances, I¡¯d have been delighted. But that same master had given me a task that he thought was beyond me. He wasn¡¯t even confident that I¡¯d survive, and wouldn¡¯t care if I didn¡¯t.

    I still had the option for refusal. I could ignore this task so long as I succeeded at the next, but I already knew I wouldn¡¯t.

    I recognized Antonyx for what he was, my chance at answers, my chance at resources, and my chance at a reward more meaningful than a candle. Whether I was following the Antorxian doctrine or not, I couldn¡¯t expect anyone to just hand me another opportunity like this. It was up to me to take it.

    ~

    Sal was waiting for me by the time I got back to the barracks, an imposing figure in a gray with a dense brush of black hair.

    She was standing by a low, wind-shaped tree a little way off the path, stretching and swinging her arms like she was getting ready for a fight. She¡¯d managed to find a weapon from somewhere, or she¡¯d made it; a short staff of stripped white wood, long enough to come up to her ribs if she held it like a walking stick, and with a bump at one end. She was swinging it around in the air with some skill, rolling it across her hands and executing precise strikes against an imaginary enemy.

    When I¡¯d improvised a club on my way to the ginsberry tree lake it had looked and felt like a useless stick in my hands. The staff Sal held on the other hand looked like a real weapon.

    She saw me standing on the path and stopped, resting the end of her staff on the ground.

    ¡°Where did you get that?¡± I asked, eyeing the staff.

    ¡°From a tree. What was it like up there?¡± she asked, indicating the tower looming behind me with a look.

    ¡°Getting through the door was traumatic,¡± I answered. ¡°I didn¡¯t see much apart from that. I think it¡¯s some kind of administrative center.¡±

    Sal made a face, then settled into a relaxed stance. ¡°Are you ready to teach me some magic?¡±

    I felt for my core, and found it, a dark cavern filled with placid energy.

    I hadn¡¯t spent much time accumulating since I¡¯d arrived. I¡¯d been too busy trying to get the Winter Hearth canto working. But after years of quiet accumulation with no magical outlet, I had a reserve that it would be hard to put a dent in with just one of two uses of maja.

    ¡°I can try,¡± I said. ¡°Are you ready?¡±

    She turned and lowered herself into a different stance, with her legs apart and her knees bent, the staff held across her body.

    ¡°Ready.¡±

    I closed my eyes and turned my attention inward. My core was there, the inky darkness of an underground lake. I tore a scrap of maja free from the central store and let it slide down my arm.

    When it reached my hand, I thrust myself back into that moment in the laboratory. Master Korphus reaching out. The crashing wave of power. My brief, violent flight.

    I pushed the memory into the bundle in my hand and opened my eyes.

    Raising my arm, I pointed my open palm at Sal and let the energy fly.

    The grass rippled as the spell passed by, then it struck. Sal¡¯s robe whipped back like it had been blown by a strong gust of wind. Her eyes went wide, and she was forced to take a step back.

    She stood there for a second, tense, ready. Her robe settled, and she looked around.

    ¡°Was that it?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°That guy Adrian said you threw him into a wall.¡±

    I lowered my hand. That casting did seem weaker than it should have been. I¡¯d probably held back too much out of fear of hurting her.

    ¡°Did it work?¡± I asked her. ¡°Do you think you learned it?¡±

    She lowered her staff back to the ground and closed her eyes.

    ¡°Push the memory into your maja,¡± I said, repeating what the student in the laboratory had told me.

    She stood there for about a minute, not moving and not speaking. Then her maja surged.

    The glow of her magical presence felt sharp and hot against my skin, prickling like gravel rash and stinging nettles. Then the distinct sensations of her maja turned to pressure.

    It was like a wind had sprung up, blowing away from her in every direction. The grass rippled. The fabric of my robe swayed in a breeze of force maja. It wasn¡¯t strong, it would never have pushed me back even a step, but it was constant and unyielding.

    It was a completely different interpretation of force than I¡¯d learned from Master Korphus. Was that because I¡¯d only hit her with a gentle blast? Or was it tied to her nature, or her personality?

    The pressure died down and she opened her eyes.

    ¡°Did I do it?¡±

    ¡°Yes. You cast a spell,¡± I said.

    She leaned on her staff and some of the tension went out of her shoulders.

    ¡°Then I passed. This week.¡±

    ¡°Congratulations.¡±

    I waited to see if she¡¯d say anything else. Seconds passed by in silence. I considered telling her about the map I¡¯d seen in the tower, or that I was going to be leaving on my assignment tomorrow, but ultimately I didn¡¯t want to encourage her quest to escape. I just didn¡¯t think it was possible, yet. After a few seconds of silence I turned and started walking back towards the barracks. I had my own assignment this week, and it¡¯d be a lot harder than getting someone to teach me an aspect.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Sal called after me.

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± I called over my shoulder.

    I didn¡¯t have to leave it at that. I could feel the pressure to demand a favor, or ask for payment, or just to take something from her like the student in the laboratory had from me. I ignored it. I might eventually come to follow the Sovereign¡¯s Path, it would be naive to pretend the influence of the environment I¡¯d been placed in wouldn¡¯t push me in that direction, but I wasn¡¯t going to run gleefully down it at the first test.

 7. Secrets are carrion too (2/4)

    The sun was up, and I felt hot. Too hot. Unnaturally hot. My face felt warm and puffy and the skin of hands was bright pink. I felt like I was halfway to a fever.

    I might have taken off my cloak to try and cool down, if I hadn¡¯t remembered the campfire stories I¡¯d heard of winter hunters; men and women throwing off their clothes in the middle of winter, just before dying from the cold.

    I had to be in that state right now, dangerously cold and not thinking clearly.

    Worse still, I wasn¡¯t alone.

    A creature was sitting in my tree. It perched a few feet away from me, clawed feet wrapped around a branch, head craning over me. The smell coming off it was of old meat and curdled milk; a smell that tingled in my nose.

    The thing was the height of a young child, with a black feathered body that reminded me of a vulture. Its upper limbs were more like feathered arms than wings, each ending in a small human hand the color and texture of dead leaves. Its head was a small, bleached human skull.

    Spirit.

    Worse than just a spirit, it was a corporeal spirit. The most dangerous category. Strong enough to have a solid body in the mortal world.

    I needed to get down from my tree and run. Running would get me away, would get blood running back into my limbs, would warm me up.

    I tried to sit up, but I was so weak I only managed to shift slightly before slumping back down.

    The creature took a slow, halting step towards me, its clawed feet shuffling down the branch one at a time. It snapped its tiny teeth at me, and a wave of prickling power washed off it. More of the spoiled-meat maja smell.

    I nudged at my own energy, pushing and pulling the sluggish bundle of maja at my core.

    While my skin felt hot, my maja still felt serenely cool, a placid lake in quiet darkness. Acting on instinct, I pulled out threads of it, wiring them down and around my arms and legs.

    The fever heat slowly vanished from my limbs, replaced with tingling coolness. My body immediately started vibrating with desperate shivers, and the truth of how cold I was hit me. I had to be halfway to a corpse.

    The vulture spirit took a shuffling step backwards on its branch. It cocked its head, the empty eye sockets of the skull focused straight at me as if it were confused.

    Its mouth dropped open, and a single word emerged from the empty space between its jaws.

    ¡°Flesh?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I forced out through chattering teeth. ¡°No flesh for you.¡±

    ¡°Why no flesh?¡± the thing asked, its jaws never moving.

    ¡°I¡¯m not¡­ not dead yet.¡±

    The thing seemed to absorb that for a second, then stepped forward and craned down to try and take a bite out of my leg.

    I felt its jaws close around my calf, the spike of pain as its blunt infant teeth sank into my skin.

    I kicked weakly, then raised my arms and pushed Force aspect into the maja already permeating my hands.

    The blast of force rolled out of my palms, knocking the spirit away. It fluttered backwards through the air, flapping to srabilize itself before landing back on its branch.

    It leaned back, feathers ruffled, craning its neck back toto look down at me as if it were offended.

    ¡°I¡¯m not flesh for you to eat,¡± I said.

    It cocked its head again.

    ¡°Soon.¡±

    I shook my head.

    Keeping half my attention on the spirit, I leaned forward and inspected the wound it had given me.

    Beneath my pants leg two curved rows of red marks lacerated the skin where the thing¡¯s teeth had dug into me.

    The bleeding wasn¡¯t bad. Its teeth were blunt, and if the wound didn¡¯t go bad then it would probably close up within a few hours, and be healed in a few days. It wasn¡¯t deep. It wouldn¡¯t affect my walking. It was just weird, and unpleasant. The thing that worried me the most was the dark irregular blotch marking the skin between the two rows of teeth. It tingled, just beneath the surface, in the same way maja tingled.

    ¡°What did you do to me?¡± I asked, half to myself.

    The spirit just clacked its teeth a handful of times in response.

    Wonderful.

    I twisted in the tree, moving my legs over the edge. With an effort, I pushed myself off the platform formed by the branches and fell a few feet to the ground below.

    My legs gave out under me and I rolled on the mud.

    I was still weak. I needed to eat, I realized.

    The enormous gnawing hunger in my gut peeled away from the sensation of cold to take its place as its own independent suffering.

    I reached up to the tree and grabbed my scout¡¯s pack.

    I didn¡¯t have an easy way to cook the oats it had come with, but I blessed my past self for the decision to bring my hoard of oat cakes from the barracks.

    I pulled one out and stuffed it into my mouth. It was soft from the rain, but in that moment I wasn¡¯t going to complain.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    There was scrabbling in the tree above me. The vulture child¡¯s head appeared above me, peering down at the oat cake in my hand.

    I turned to put my body between the thing and my breakfast and started walking away.

    The ground was still muddy, though it was firmer than it had been the previous night. My legs were stiff and sore from sleeping in the tree, and every step was harder than it should have been.

    I was still holding maja I¡¯d threaded through my arms and legs. I could feel a gentle tugging on my core as I moved, as if walking with the energy extended into my limbs put a slight demand on my reserves.

    I was still shivering intermittently. From time to time a shudder started up in my shoulders and spread outwards, before receding.

    I experimentally tried withdrawing the maja from my arms and immediately regretted it, a wave of unnatural heat flushing my skin.

    I wasn¡¯t healing myself from the exposure by filling myself with maja. I was only suppressing the damage.

    I checked over my shoulder as I walked, keeping an eye out for the vulture spirit. It was following me a few dozen feet back, hopping from tree to tree, occasionally spreading its feathered arms and soaring across gaps as if it really had wings. After a few minutes, I stopped catching glimpses of it. I hoped that it¡¯d abandoned me as a potential meal.

    The map to Fort Msiesetr was damp when I pulled it out of my bag but the fabric was strong even soaking wet, and the waterproof dyes hadn¡¯t run. It was probably designed to survive any adverse conditions.

    It was still too cloudy to get my bearings by the sun, but I found where I was on the map easily enough. I had Windshriek Mountain as a reference, a huge dark shape in the mist to my left, indistinct but recognizable. I could match the shape of the track to the line on the map from that. Occasionally the track would fork or take a sharp bend, and each time I could use the distinctive shape the path took to update my awareness of where exactly I was.

    After a few hours of walking on the second day, I came across my first landmark.

    On the map it was a small sketch of a house labelled ¡®Drachon Stead¡¯. The reality was a ruin, an ancient stone cottage standing a few dozen feet off the side of the path.

    Building in the swamp had to have been a daunting prospect for anyone, but at some point someone had tried it, and been punished for it. The house¡¯s architect had built it on stilts, the stone walls supported by thick stone columns that held it a foot above the mud, but if the columns had ever rested on something more substantial than soft earth then those foundations had long given way. The house was sinking. The entire structure bent at an angle, with the north side a full two feet lower than the south edge.

    The doorway was a dark, hollow opening, with only the rotted remains of a door hanging from rusted hinges. The windows were a pair of square black eyes. The roof, once made from overlapping wooden planks, was now covered in mud and plant growth, as if the swamp itself had crawled up there to claim it as part of its own territory.

    I stopped to stare at it, wondering who built it and what could have possibly possessed them to want to live out here.

    After a few seconds I felt a chill. I noticed faces staring back at me from the windows.

    Pale figures stood inside the house, too tall and narrow to be human, too insubstantial to be real creatures.

    Incorporeal spirits.

    They watched me with bulging expressionless eyes as I backed away. I didn¡¯t relax until long after the house was out of sight.

    I¡¯d never imagined a place where spirits were so common ¡ª as common as animals it felt like.

    In Losiris, large and dangerous spirits were almost unheard of. They were the stuff of fireside stories. A favorite tavern tale in Kirkswill was that a cave a day¡¯s journey from the village was haunted by a spirit they called Feltskin Jon. And that one probably wasn¡¯t even true. Here, I hadn¡¯t even had to travel a day and spirits were floating out of the trees.

    The legend was that the Abbey had purged the land of dangerous spirits in Losiris centuries ago. True or not, my homeland was safe and settled. Nothing like that had happened in the swamp around Windshriek mountain.

    As the sun slid into the sky directly above me, I let the maja slowly drain from my arms and legs.

    The deathly fever had faded on my walk, my body warming up from the motion, and my muscles recovering from my night spent shivering.

    The maja-supported journey had noticeably drained my reserves. They felt like they were down to half of what they had been before I¡¯d set off. Half of a year¡¯s worth of slow, steady accumulation, spent in just a few hours. But if I hadn¡¯t discovered how to reinforce my body with it I might not have survived at all.

    The muddy ground firmed up in midday sun. The fog burned off, revealing the mountain looming to my left.

    I stopped at a tree whose leaves had cupped the rain to drink. I ate from my provisions. I took off my cloak and hung it on a branch to air out.

    I passed animals as I traveled. At a crossroads, a strangely calm boar stepped out from the undergrowth, paused to give me a long, knowing look, then disappeared into the forest on the other side of the road. By that point, I wasn¡¯t even sure I¡¯d be able to tell animal from spirit.

    It was getting close to the evening of the second day when I finally reached the fort.

    My first sight of it was a crown of moss-covered granite peeking over the canopy ahead of me. The stones were pitted by the rain, stained white and black with bird mess. Many of the stones around the top of the tower were missing, blown down by the wind or dropped by crumbling mortar.

    The road had been almost invisible up to this point, reclaimed by the swamp. Only the occasional mile markers had risen above the crawling vines and grass to reassure me that I hadn¡¯t wandered off into the forest. The final stretch was different. A few feet ahead of me,l the vegetation covering the old road grew thinner, and beyond that it was gone completely.

    The line of slightly stony mud I was used to, when I could see the road at all, became a proper track. Wide and flat, it was paved with irregularly shaped stones that were clean of mud and weeds.

    It might have been a welcome sight in other circumstances, but I knew how long the fort had been abandoned. And I knew there was no human presence here maintaining it.

    I stopped, dropped my pack to the ground, and went over what I knew about my task.

    Officially, I was here to look for the geneaology of Count Seratto.

    Unoficially, Master Antonyx wanted me to search for astronomical records.

    The area between the constellations Kor, Vance, and Mephit is called the Vance Trigon.

    Antonyx wanted any records of changes in those stars in a certain time period.

    It seemed obscure and irrelevant to me, but I could expect a better reward from Master Antonyx than I¡¯d got from Master Korphus.

    Though, now I thought back to my meeting with him, he¡¯d never actually promised me anything specific. Or even anything at all.

    I sagged slightly, then picked up my pack and threw it over my shoulder.

    A few hundred feet down the well-kept road the main fort came into view.

    Ruined, its gates broken, but clean and free from the growth that was everywhere in the swamp. Something was taking care of it, even if no human lived here. The best I could hope for was that it was protected by some kind of passive magic. Maybe a nice cantogram.

    I checked my maja reserves. They were lower than when I¡¯d arrived at the academy but workable. I kicked the worst of the mud off my sandals and headed for the front gate.

 8. Secrets are carrion too 3/4

    When I got to the gatehouse the portcullis gate was shut and the nearby wooden door was locked.

    It made sense that the departing Antorxians had wouldn¡¯t leave such a useful facility open behind them, but I wished Master Antonyx had had the foresight to tell me, or give me a key. If they even had a key. The relationship between the Antorxian military and the Reeves seemed cloudy at best.

    I rattled the gate and tried kicking the door, but even after years left alone in the swamp they both held firm.

    In the end I resorted to magic, raising my hand and hitting the door in with a ball of Force aspect maja. The energy rolled down my arm, shifted in my hand, the flew threw my fingers like a storm-tossed boulder.

    It hit the door with a crack, splintering the wood and caving in the lock.

    I moved forward and pushed the door, breaking it the rest if the way and forcing myself inside.

    It wasn¡¯t much more than a strong leg and a boot could do, but I was pleased with myself as I stepped inside.

    There was almost nothing of worth left in the main part of the fort. Broken furniture and rotting supplies littered the rooms. The scraps of curtains and drapes hung from the walls, stained black and green with mold. I couldn¡¯t help but imagine I was breathing in toxic spores the whole time.

    I came across one treasure in an abandoned guardroom. A sword. It was a short sword, fifteen inches long from pommel to tip, with a wooden handle and a blade half the width of my hand. It was rusty, with a chip in the blade just below the point.

    It was obvious why it¡¯d been left behind. It probably wasn¡¯t worth the time of a skilled smith to repair, but to me it was a priceless artifact.

    I picked it up before I left and kept it in my hand as I continued to explore.

    After a few minutes I started losing hope that the fort did still have an intact records room. I found one office filled with books so infested with mold and fungus I felt dirty just looking at them, and I spent the next hour certain I was going to have to go back and try and read them.

    Then I found the staircase. It was at the end of a corridor, behind a door that seemed to be made of solid lead. A wave of cool dry air rushed out as I opened it, revealing a stone staircase descending into darkness.

    The air flowing out from the passageway felt exactly the same as the air in the acacdemy library. I was sure I¡¯d found the fort¡¯s records room, and if there was magic maintaining the air down there, then it was more likely than not the books would still be intact.

    I improvised a light source from a broken table leg wrapped in a scrap torn banner and lit with the firebox from my scout¡¯s pack.

    With my flickering makeshift torch in one hand and the rusted sword in the other, I started down the steps.

    I found what I was looking for at the bottom of the staircase.

    My circle of dim torchlight fell on shelves that held scattered books and scrolls.

    It was clear that the place had been cleared out. Some shelves were completely bare, and the ones that still had books were disorganized.

    It would take some time to find the records I needed. But I had time. I had enough food to spend two days at the fort, and the building above was full of scrap would I could burn for light.

    Approaching one of the shelves that still had books I finally put the sword down, pulled down a book, and started reading.

    ~

    Spring 3, 1585

    Scout Averdun was late from his route around the southern tip of the mountain. He arrived back without his equipment, a dereliction for which he had no explanation. His words were halting when giving his report, and I found his gaze to have a hollow look to it. When the healers examined him they found him cold to the touch. They suggest he has been affected by some art of the sorcerers of the mountain. I do not consider that to be an excuse for his beheavior. I have sentenced him to the whip, which I will administer tomorrow. Our supplies from Onberron are late as usual, and without a report of the road I cannot guess when they will arrive.

    I leafed through the book, evidently the journal of a Commander Ewart from about three hundred years ago. The journal was written in modern Irisian, the common language of Losiris and Antorx, albeit an archaic variant, but I¡¯d found other documents written in Old Irisian and even some in the old Torxan alphabet.

    The fort was ancient, and its records stretched back for its entire life. It was a minor miracle to me that the records and even the structure were in such good condition.

    The fort itself had been kept in good repair over the years, but the survival of the documents downstairs had to be down to good materials and the magically maintained environment.

    I¡¯d spent the afternoon sitting in the filtered daylight of the fort¡¯s main hall, reading through two hundred years of daily logs. I was starting to get a picture of the daily working of the fort and the disposition of historic Antorx at the same time.

    Ewart¡¯s journal described a time before the sorcerers of Windshriek mountain had been under the control of the Antorx polity.

    The Antorxians clearly still had access to mages during this time, evidenced by the use of air-drying cantograms in the basement records room, but the sorcerers of the peak had been considered a separate, occasionally antagonistc, organization.

    During that time period, the fort¡¯s role had been to give the Antorxian government a fortified outpost as close to the academy as the Reeves had allowed.

    To the ancient Antorxian government the Reeves had been a powerful internal faction, useful during times of war, but always dangerous.

    Commander Ewart had been a mundane military man himself, with no magical skill, but I¡¯d picked up a little about the sorcerers¡¯ abilities through his second hand reports.

    The movement of a single Reeve was seen as cause for a alarm, triggering letters to the capitol and increased scout patrols. When several moved together, it was cause for armies to be moved elsewhere.

    Spring 4, 1585

    Scout Averdun made no sound during his punishment. At any other time I would have commended his discipline, but Averdun didn¡¯t seem to be feeling the pain that a man should feel. I confess I extended the punishment beyond what was reasonable, attempting to draw some reaction from him. He remained unmoved right up until the moment of his death. When the healers examined his body, they found a strange hollow space in his remains. His stomach and his gut were missing, they claimed, and in their place they found an empty silk sack. They fear some sorcery, but cannot elaborate on what. Our own mage Eurises is useless. He says he must consult his books, as always. I¡¯ve never known him to come to a conlusion on any question of magic. I suspect that he may be sympathetic to the sorcerers of the mountain. I haven¡¯t been able to prove it.

    I¡¯ve doubled the scout patrols of the area south of the mountain. It¡¯s possible Averdun¡¯s condition was related to something he encountered on his route. If the sorcerers are up to something, I will find out what.

    Something made a cracking noise in the undergrowth outside in the courtyard.

    I looked up from the book, then got up and shuffled over to the window.

    I couldn¡¯t see anything in the dappled light that made it through the trees or hear anything past the thudding of my own heartbeat.

    I grabbed the sword from the floor and slipped my legs over the windowsill, dropping down onto the overgrown grass.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    It only took me a few minutes to find the cause.

    The vulture spirit sat in a tree just outside the window.

    It cocked its infant¡¯s skull head at me and clacked two rows of perfectly white milk teeth. Its jaw fell open, and it spoke. ¡°Soon.¡±

    It must have been following me through the swamp. I was in a lot less trouble than when it¡¯d first tried to take a bite out of me, but apparently it was still hoping.

    ¡°Get lost!¡± I said.

    When it didn¡¯t move I raised my hand and launched a wave of Force maja at it.

    The spell knocked it off its perch. It flapped its feathered arms to stabilize in the air, then it turned and flew away, cresting the fort wall before disappearing.

    I held the sword out ahead of me as I backed up, returning to the window.

    I watched the sky for a few minutes, then climbed back through and went back to the journal.

    Spring 5, 1585

    More scouts are missing. Ilwen, Iron, Adara, and Flock. Flock hadn¡¯t even been out on a mission. A rock fall broke his leg in the winter and he was still in the care of the healers. Neither the custodian or quartermaster can explain their absence. The gatehouse guards haven¡¯t reported them passing out through the walls since their last mission. I suspect treachery. Even seemingly loyal soldiers can be bought for the currency a Reeve can offer. What were you promised, Ilewn? Power? What was your price, Adara? You were always fond of coin. If I ever see them again they can face my justice. But I doubt that I will.

    Spring 6, 1585

    The late watch reported a fell sight overnight. Two red stars appeared in the sky above the peak. Eurises claims not to know what it means, of course, but it can only be some kind of sorcery. To put stars in the sky, it must be a major working. Clerk Addikins can¡¯t find any record of such a thing in the Empire¡¯s histories. New stars. The thought upsets me.

    Our disappearances continue. Now Cook Jerol is missing, along with one of the healers and Addikins¡¯ sub-clerk. My feeling is no longer that we are being betrayed. Why would the sorcerers try to tempt away Jerol. He was useless. I don¡¯t know what to make of it. I¡¯ve implemented a curfew and put guards inside the fort itself. Whatever is happening, I will find out.

    I¡¯ve also sent a messenger to Fort Serakas, with orders to see how far the stars are visible. With luck they are only here. I can¡¯t imagine what sorcery could change the sky for the entire region.

    I looked up from the journal slowly.

    Was this it? The report didn¡¯t localize the change within the constellations of the Vance Trigon, but it certainly seemed significant.

    Ewart was wrong to pin the new stars on sorcery, I thought. It seemed more likely that they were comets. Shooting stars were common enough, and I¡¯d read accounts of comets that had hung in the sky for days.

    I didn¡¯t know how to interpret the commander¡¯s slow attrition of troops. That part did sound like sorcery, or maybe the actions of a spirit native to the swamp.

    It would have worried me if it weren¡¯t so long ago, with a stack of journals from more recent commanders sitting in front of me the prove the danger had passed.

    I had one example of an astronomical change, but the only way to know if it was the thing Antonyx wanted would be to read through everything.

    I pulled the blanket from my scout¡¯s pack and wrapped it around my legs before continuing to read.

    Spring 7, 1585

    Eurises claims we¡¯re under attack. A strange attack, where armed soldiers of the Empire vanish without sign of violence and where no assailant is to be found anywhere. Even a sorcerer doesn¡¯t kill without blood. No. I believe there is a simpler explanation. Desertion. They told me that this was an unpopular posting and now I see that the men they gave me lacked the discipline to see it through. I even learned that some of the missing men were posted here as a punishment for political misdemeanors. I can only hope they died before reaching civilization.

    I¡¯ve sent a report of the situation to Fort Serakas. I expect replacement troops to arrive within the fortnight.

    The devilry in the sky continues. The red stars are larger than before. My messenger hasn¡¯t yet returned with word of their extent, but I now believe it to be a widespread phenomenon. I am no scholar of the sky, but even my untrained eye can track a moving object from night to night. The stars are not merely in the sky above the mountain. They belong to the realm of stars.

    When I turned the next page, there was no sign of the commander¡¯s now familiar handwriting.

    There next log entry in a completely new script.

    Spring 11, 1585

    This is Mage Sergeant Donz Eurises taking command of Fort Msiesetr. Commander Ewart is gone, a victim of the same entity which has claimed most of the staff. I believe it to be a Dark Smoke Gut demon, planted among us by the sorcerers of Windshriek mountain.

    I don¡¯t know why they picked this moment to attack us. Unless it¡¯s related to the new stars in the Mephit constellation. They¡¯ve been growing larger by the night. I believe they¡¯re falling directly towards us, here, at Windshriek. Perhaps the sorcerers of the mountain don¡¯t want any witnesses here to see them arrive.

    They¡¯ll get their wish. I¡¯m taking the remaining staff and evacuating the fort. The Gut demon disguises itself as food, which means we can take no provisions with us. I¡¯ve ordered the fort¡¯s remaining supplies to be burned. We¡¯ll chance our hunger on the road.

    If we don¡¯t make it to Serakas then this will be the only account of what really happened here. For the Empire, always, Mage Sergeant Don Eurises.

    I turned the next page, and found it blank. That was the end of this particular journal.

    The next book on the pile was another logbook from another commander, a year later.

    By then whatever had happened with the red stars had resolved itself. No more mention was made of it. If there¡¯d been any more detailed speculation on the nature of the comets, then it wasn¡¯t recorded here. There were no more mysterious disappearences and relations with the academy slowly normalized in absence of any evidence or motive for what Eurises had seen as an attack.

    There was no mention of whether Eurises had made it to Fort Serakas.

    All of that was incidental to my mission. I had my answer. The Mephit constellation was one corner of the Vance Trigon. This had to be the astronomical event Master Antonyx wanted to hear about.

    I didn¡¯t have any paper to make notes, and Antonyx had expressly told me not to anyway.

    I memorized the relevant sections of the log and placed it back in the records room.

    Now I just needed to wade through the bookshelves to find some kind of genealogy for my cover story.

    ~

    It was night when I finally climbed out from the records room.

    I had the geneology of the Serrato family tucked under my arm, an extraordinarily dry account of the family¡¯s descent from the Torxan invaders that took over the country in Antorx¡¯s pre-imperial history. It was a long list of births, deaths, and marriages in narrative form, written without any mercy for the reader. The only interesting thing in it was that eleven generations ago a wild spirit had apparently crept its way into the Serrato family tree, thanks to the questionable behavior of Count Hugo Serrato.

    I wasn¡¯t sure that it would be particularly welcome information to the current Count, but I would carry it to Master Antonyx anyway.

    I didn¡¯t carry any notes about the red stars. Antonyx¡¯s paranoia had led him to tell me not to, but I¡¯d memorized what I needed.

    I packed up quickly. I still had food for the return trip, and I had the chipped short sword for protection, in addition to the Force aspect.

    I was actually looking forward to getting back to the academy. The slim luxuries of somewhere to wash and fresh food delivered daily sounded like paradise. Worse, it sounded like home. It worried me how quickly I¡¯d been bought by the Antorxians¡¯ meagre hospitality as I left the fory.

    The vulture spirit was waiting for me when I left. I found it sitting on a tree branch outside the gatehouse.

    It watched me silently as I strode past. It didn¡¯t move to follow me, but I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that it was with me all the way back to Windshriek academy.

 9. Secrets are carrion too 4/4

    The Fold was infinite and airless, more like the deep sea than the sky, but colored a blue more true than any I¡¯d seen in the normal world. I hung for a second in that perfect, infinite void, before tumbling forward.

    I fell through the Fold gate with barely more poise than I had the first time. Like before, I¡¯d felt something floating behind me. Something massive, and endlessly curious. Unlike last time, I hadn¡¯t turned to look. I didn¡¯t want to expose myself to the sight of that eye-covered abomination again if I didn¡¯t need to.

    I landed on the floor on the tower entrance hall with the tap of leather sandals on wood, and quickly got my bearings.

    The same clerk as before was standing behind the counter, looking at me expectantly. As soon as he realized I was just another student, and his junior at that, he relaxed.

    ¡°Hello there,¡± he said. ¡°Here for Antonyx?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s downstairs in the archives.¡±

    ¡°I remember. Thanks.¡±

    ¡°Did he send you somewhere?¡± the clerk asked as I passed him.

    I hesitated before answering. It struck me as strange that he was fishing for information. No other student had shown me this much interest since I¡¯d arrived, including the people I¡¯d traveled with.

    ¡°Out to a ruin in the swamp. He wanted the geneology of someone called Serrato,¡± I said, sticking to the cover story he¡¯d given me.

    ¡°Oh, interesting,¡± the clerk said. ¡°It must be a gift for Count Serrato. He¡¯s due to arrive tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°That must be it,¡± I said, looking away.

    I suddenly hoped that my name wouldn¡¯t make it to the man¡¯s ears. The wild spirit was a glaring presence in his family tree, and I didn¡¯t want to be associated with any embarassment he felt about that becoming public.

    I left the clerk behind, making my way downstairs and along the underground tunnels that elbowed their way to the unassuming door Antonyx spent his days behind.

    I reached the door and paused outside. O took a minute to go over my report in my mind.

    Once I¡¯d found the information he¡¯d wanted in the fort, the details had been fairly few and easy to remember. The dates, the location, a description of the stars.

    When I¡¯d decided what I was going to say, I took the geneology book out from under my arm and knocked on the door.

    This time I waited in the corridor for almost a minute before the latch clicked and the door was thrown open.

    Antonyx was nowhere in sight, but I there was someone moving behind a bookcase further into the room.

    ¡°Who is it,¡± Antonyx called.

    ¡°Dorian Tisk,¡± I shouted back, then, suddenly sure he¡¯d forgotten me, ¡°You sent me to Fort Msiesetr.¡±

    Antonyx came wandering out from between shelves. The silver dusting on his chin had grown out a little since I¡¯d last seen him, and his gray eyes presided over deep shadows that made them look sunken. His dark skin was hanging off his cheeks in jowels that made him look ten years older than he¡¯d seemed just a couple of days ago.

    ¡°Come in. Shut the door.¡±

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± I asked.

    Antonyx gestured at his face and body.

    ¡°Just a minor case of Soul Worm venom poisoning. I¡¯ll get over it in a week.¡±

    ¡°How were you poisoned?¡± I asked before I could stop myself, mainly out of a sense of self preservation.

    Instead of answering he went to a desk and picked up a scroll. He came over to me and held it out.

    I took it reluctantly and unfolded it. Inside was a drawing of a cantogram. The notes on the page claimed it to be a ¡®Heart¡¯s Memory¡¯ cantogram, though that didn¡¯t mean anything for me.

    I stared at it for a handful of pounding heartbeats. For a few seconds I thought he was offering me a gift, that this was my reward.

    ¡°A rare cantogram. But the paper was doused in contact poison,¡± Antonyx said.

    I let go of the paper. It drifted to the ground, while I stayed completely still.

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry. If it was still active you¡¯d be dead already. Soul Worm venom only affects the first person it touches.¡±

    Antonyx turned his back to me and headed back towards the shelves.

    My gaze fell on the dropped scroll.

    I considered the various merits of risking the venom, and risking Antonyx¡¯s wrath, then bent down and swiped it off the ground.

    ¡°I found the information you wanted,¡± I said, stuffing the scroll into my robe.

    ¡°Ah. The geneology. Yes. Leave it on my desk,¡± Antonyx said, absently.

    ¡°And the other information,¡± I added.

    ¡°You got the map of Serrato lands as well?¡± he called.

    ¡°I¡­¡±

    I hesitated before answering. Either Antonyx had developed memory issues over the last three days, or he was deliberately playing dumb.

    ¡°No, but I found the information about Count Serrato¡¯s spirit ancestor,¡± I said, pivoting away from talking about the stars.

    Antonyx¡¯s head appeared above the shelves.

    ¡°His what?¡±

    ¡°His spirit ancestor. You wanted me to look for any wild spirits in his family history.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Right,¡± Antonyx agreed. ¡°Good. Let¡¯s just keep that one quiet for now.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± I said.

    Antonyx went back to his work. I stood around for half a minute, waiting to see if he would bother with a reward.

    ¡°Wait, I¡¯ve gotta give you something,¡± he said eventually.

    He came bustling out of the shelves and went to his desk. He sorted through piles of papers before pulling out a slim book. He walked over to me and put it in my hands.

    ¡°Here, you should get some use out of this,¡± he said. ¡°If you can learn it quickly¡­¡±

    I turned the book and looked down at the cover.

    The title was, Adventures in Thought.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said uncertainly.

    I held out the book of geneology at the same time. Antonyx took it and tossed it absently onto his desk.

    He turned away and marched back into the shelves.

    If he¡¯d noticed the cantogram scroll was missing, and he really ought to have, then he didn¡¯t say anything. I decided that if anyone asked, I¡¯d say I assumed it was part of my reward. It was not to receive, but to take, after all.

    Antonyx didn¡¯t come back out of the shelves, and he didn¡¯t speak to me again.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    I took it as a silent dismissal and turned back to the door.

    My mind was spinning as I opened it and stepped back out into the corridor.

    Antonyx was being observed. Or he thought he was. It was the only explanation for his behavior. He was being observed, and he didn¡¯t want the observer to have the information from Fort Msiesetr. Which was only more confusing, because the astronomical observations were both old and completely benign.

    I briefly considered trying to slip the information to him quietly. I could write it into the margins of the geneology, or try and speak to him in code. In the end I decided against it. If he¡¯d wanted me to do that, he should have made any indication. Instead he¡¯d washed his hands of me.

    As I walked away, I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling I¡¯d been sent on a fool¡¯s errand.

    ~

    The rest of my afternoon was dedicated to washing up and trying to clean my clothes.

    I got rid of the stink that had been slowly accumulating on my body and I cleaned the leech bites that I started finding all over my feet and legs.

    I found that the bite mark from the vulture spirit was still on my leg. The dark blotch had shrunk slightly, but no amount of scrubbing would get it off. It might as well have been a tattoo.

    When it came to my clothes I had even less luck. Nothing I did seemed to be able to get the deep mud stains out. When I left the wash house the lower half of my robe was a full shade darker and as stiff as paper. I mentally added soap and a bucket to the list of luxuries I could only dream of.

    Nobody had told me to return my scout¡¯s pack to the garrison and so I¡¯d decided to keep it. Just the ability to start a fire would be a dramatic improvement in my situation.

    It violated every instinct to bring a naked flame down into the library, but I¡¯d do it, until told not to or otherwise punished for it. The danger of bringing a flame close to old, expensive books was very real, but if the Antorxians had a problem with it they shouldn¡¯t have decided to keep their library in darkness.

    I kept my scavenged sword hidden in my new pack. I was convinced that if any of the other students saw it, they¡¯d try to steal it, even if it was chipped and rusted.I knew how to sharpen a blade from maintaining my pen knife back in Kirkswill, and I had plans to clean it up if I could find the right kind of stone. But that was for another day.

    I was ravenous when the soldiers came by in the evening to drop off the evening meal.

    I took one of the plentiful loaves of round bread from the sack they left, and managed to grab one of the significantly less plentiful wedges of cheese before they all disappeared into the other students¡¯ private stashes.

    With my feast in hand I retreated to the corner of the room where I took out the book Master Antonyx had given me.

    The daylight was dying by that point, and the light in the barracks was even lower, but I opened the cover and, straining my eyes, started trying to read it.

    Adventures in Thought

    I, Master Lectuous, Reeve of Windshriek, Master of Twelve Disciplines, Lord of the Near Fold, Slayer of Four Great Spirits, Slayer of Princes, Swordsman and Archer, have delved were few have delved.

    In my meditations, long, deep, intense, revelatory and perfect, I have come to an understanding and mastery of the Thought aspect, the aspect which implies dominion over the thoughts, the perceptions, the beliefs, and the memories of the living mind.

    As I grow closer to my ascension, I have dispensed with those impurities that tie me to the mortal form. I have rid myself of pride, of covetousness, and the greed for power which, while admiral traits that serve mortal sorcerers well, would surely doom my apotheosis.

    In my new elevated form, I find myself willing to pass on my secrets to those few obesiant sorcerers I choose to reward. From my lips take this lesson: my glorious insights on how a sorcerer may gain access to the Thought aspect of maja.

    I made myself work through the text with difficulty. The handwriting was neat but dense, and the dusk light wasn¡¯t helping at all. The style made it even worse.

    The book that had told me about the ritual to get access to Fire aspect had been written in a similar way, a small amount of useful information packed along with crates worth of self-congratulatory padding.

    It took twenty pages before the author even explained what Thought maja was.

    When I read that it was primarily a way to communicate your thoughts to another person, I couldn¡¯t help but feel cheated by all the grand claims it had been making.

    The Thought aspect will not allow you to toss your enemies through the air as with the Force aspect, or reduce them to mud as with Decay, but do not underestimate the true power and subtlety of a projected thought.

    Those mundane sots without access to maja may oft interpret a transmitted thought as their own, and even a mage may fall prey to a projected dream if they are inexperienced and weak, as is the case with sorcerers who die in the illusions of otherwise powerless wild spirits.

    Perhaps the most subtle use of the aspect is when using its power for communication. A projected thought is a message that no spy may eavesdrop, and no spirit may corrupt. For any sorcerer seeking to live with subtlety, the Thought aspect will be a peerless boon.

    And so my students will see that the teaching of this aspect represents an unsurpassable gift, a gift so great that even the gifts of the gods to their followers pale in comparison, and I, soon to ascend to godhood myself, through my perfect purity and oneness, am shown to be more benevolent than any of the great spirits, to those I choose to reward.

    The book went on like that for a while, but I thought I had the gist of it. Thought aspect was about pushing the mage¡¯s thoughts out to another person¡¯s mind.

    I thought back to my experience with Wild Century. The illusion that spirit had put me under had probably been a working of Thought aspect maja, or something related. The fact that I¡¯d been able to shake it off without even knowing about the Thought aspect suggested that Lectuous was over-selling it a little, but the other applications seemed useful enough.

    I also thought I understand why Antonyx had given me this particular book as a reward.

    He thought he was being observed, and he¡¯d given me a manual on an aspect that allowed silent communication. It was easy to connect those two facts.

    I was still in the middle of a lengthy passage of self-congratulation when the light in the barracks finally got too low to read. I stood up, picked up my things, and left the barracks.

    A little way off there was a jagged boulder where I sat down on the grass.

    The waxing moon was out, flooding the mountainside with silvery light, and if I angled the book right it was just enough to read by.

    Just as Force maja is most easily cast from the hands, and the threads of a canto struggle to cohere unless a pen or brush is used, Thought aspect maja is only truly effective when cast in the manner of communication. For some this is a word, for others a gesture, but for all, Thought is most coherently cast from the eyes.

    I immediately forgot everything I¡¯d been reading about Thought aspect.

    Cantos struggle to cohere unless a pen is used?

    Nothing I¡¯d read in the library had told me that.

    I knew that cantos were most often sketched using maja-rich inks, but nowhere had said or implied that misting them by hand was a difficult or advanced technique.

    Now it seemed that even the way maja was projected into the world was significant. I¡¯d probably only been able to use Force aspect so easily because casting maja from the hands was such a natural thing to try.

    It was hard to concentrate on the book after that revelation.

    I wanted to rush off and work on my cantograms. But for now, I would have to wait. I didn¡¯t have any maja-infused ink, or a pen, or really any paper. I promised myself that I would, very soon.

    I forced myself to turn back to the book.

    And now I come to the most coveted secret. After many years of powerful meditation, I have gained my insight, fit only for the most loyal of my students, fit only for those true sorcerers who follow the Sovereign¡¯s Path with merciless exclusion. The secret to unlocking the Thought aspect is truly an immense gift to those who receive it. I, Master Lectuous of the Soveriegn Halls, gift this secret to my students, so that they may hold power over their enemies, and so that they may confer in freedom and secrecy always. And to gain access to this coveted aspect, the secret is this: to learn what I have learned, to tread where I have trod, and to uncover this truth which I have striven to unearth and in the end succeeded, the loyal obescient servant must only do this: to unlock the peerless Thought aspect, a sorcerer must only do one simple thing ¡ª gaining access to the Thought aspect is as straightforward as answering a single question, a single riddle, and the riddle is this: In a forest by a pool, Two figures crouch face to face. One knows the other¡¯s mind, The other knows nothing.

    I let out a long, slow breath and closed the book. I wanted to throw it off the edge of the mountain. With a big enough blast of force maja I was pretty sure I could get it to land in the swamp.

    A riddle.

    I knew riddles. I knew a hundred riddles. Kirkswill had an annual festival of riddles. I knew the form of a riddle, and this was not a riddle.

    Maybe it was some unique kind of Antorxian riddle designed to annoy people.

    There didn¡¯t even seem to be a question. I supposed the answer to the riddle was just working out what it even meant.

    Two figures in a forest? Was that some kind of metaphor?

    I suddenly felt exhausted. After the journey, and the effort of trying to grind the mud out of my clothes, and the weight of my pack and the sword being my constant companion for days, it was all finally catching up with me.

    Lectuous¡¯s riddle was the straw that tipped the hay bale. I was done.

    I put the book into my pack and stood up. I stretched, then turned back towards the barracks.

    I froze when I saw a familiar silhouette perched on the barracks roof.

    The vulture spirit.

    I couldn¡¯t make out any details in the moonlight, but I recognized the cast of its haunches, its spindly legs.

    I would have thought it was suicide for a wild spirit to come into a nest of sorcerers, but there it was.

    I kept a close watch on it as I rushed back to the barracks, where I shut the door behind me. I wished it had a lock.

    I was still exhausted, but I was quite as confident I¡¯d be able to sleep.

 10. The fate of failures 1/4

    A pebble from a mountain stream served as my sharpening stone. It wasn¡¯t a real whetstone. Those were the work of skilled crafters who sold them for a price that matched their worth. But my pebble had a tight grain, and it had a bite, and it was about what the ancient rusted sword deserved.

    Once I had an edge on the sword I used it to cut the tips of a dry reed, holding the blade across my lap with the reed in my hands. With a properly shaped tip, the reed became a pen, and then I only needed ink.

    On the simplest level an ink was made from a pigment, a liquid, and a glue. Scribe Bevin made his inks by burning linseed oil into soot, then mixing the soot with water and powdered pine sap. Burning anseltree oil made the finest soot, and thus the smoothest ink, but I was more limited in my materials. Not only did I not have any oil, or an oil lamp, or any space to work, but my ink would also need to be maja-infused. My pigment at least would need to have a magical source.

    The handfful ginsberry tree leaves I¡¯d spilled in my cell a week before had dried out completely. They¡¯d come from the spirit tree, Wild Century, and I was fairly sure they were full of maja.

    I started by crushing the dry leaves in my hands, turning them to fine fragments that I dropped into my tin cup.

    The sound of the mountain stream was pleasant background for my work.

    I was out on the upper terraces of the academy, where the other students didn¡¯t often come, and I had the stretch between the wooded area and the ledge mostly to myself.

    I lit a twig from my camp fire and touched the flame to the fragments in the cup.

    They went up almost before the flame could spread to the entire pile. I tipped ashes out onto the leather cover of Adventures in Thought to keep them in one place.

    I had easy access to water, but finding a binding agent had been harder. Tree sap gum would have been ideal, but I¡¯d realized that the water left over from boiling the oats from my scout¡¯s pack might work as well.

    I scooped up some stream water in my cup, sprinkled in some oats, and wedged it in my small fire. I lay back on the grass and waited for it to boil into paste, watching as the smoke from the burning wood drifted up into a gray sky.

    I thought back to the book¡¯s riddle as the water boiled.

    Two figures crouch face to facae. One knows the other¡¯s mind, the other knows nothing.

    Was one of the figures a mindless servant, like the person I¡¯d encountered in the library? But Ba hadn¡¯t been completely mindless. She¡¯d been given instructions to follow, so she couldn¡¯t know nothing.

    And how did one figure know the other¡¯s mind? Was that an aspect of Thought aspect maja that Lectuous hadn¡¯t spelled out, or was there another explanation?

    It couldn¡¯t be irrelevant that the scene was set by a forest pool. Riddles were so short. They didn¡¯t usually contain unnecessary information. Every line had to be significant.

    I tried to imagine the scene. Two figures facing each other. Leaves falling on the pond. What it would be like to stare at someone, face to face, and know their mind completely. It didn¡¯t seem possible, even metaphorically.

    Before I knew it, my cup was boiling dry. I had to quickly throw another handful of stream water into it to stop it burning.

    I poked at the mixture with a stick until it was a thick, gluey sludge, then I scraped out all of the solid oats and mixed my ashes in with the translucent slime left behind.

    From there I slowly mixed in water, grinding it with my stick, until I had a smooth glossy black liquid, with only a little scum floating on the surface.

    It wouldn¡¯t get me any credit with Scribe Bevin, in fact he¡¯d have probably disowned me as his apprentice, but I didn¡¯t need it to sell in a city market. All it had to do was flow from a pen and stay fast on paper.

    I spread out my last assignment scroll, blank side up. I dipped my pen into the ink, and the reed drank it up. Holding my breath, I sketched a slow, hesitant line. The first line of the Winter Hearth canto.

    The ink flowed smoothly from the pen. The cantogram came together, stroke by stroke.

    I could feel a prickling in the air as the diagram took shape. The smells of damp earth and dry wood tingled in my nose as Wild Century¡¯s trapped maja started escaping into the air.

    Pins and needles danced along my fingers as I drew the pen along the final line. The mark connected. I felt a swell of energy, and instead of fizzling out, the swell only grew.

    The light around me dimmed and heat flooded out from the paper.

    Within seconds it felt like a second campfire had sprung up in front of me. It was working. I¡¯d scribed my first successful cantogram.

    I lifted the paper off the ground and waved it around, experimenting with it and enjoying the novelty.

    It felt like I was waving around a burning torch from the heat on my face, except that the diagram dimmed light around it. Looking at it was like looking through a circle of oily smoke, or dark glass. It was a bizarre effect.

    While I was waving it around, I caught sight of someone moving across the terrace. They¡¯d come up the ramp, and were hurrying for the trees.

    I lowered the paper, staring at them.

    It took me a second to realise it was Adrian, my cellmate from the first day, the boy I¡¯d scared away with my first uncontrolled burst of magic.

    He¡¯d failed his first assignment. If he failed another he was going to be the first of our group to find out what the failure¡¯s fate really was. I didn¡¯t think he¡¯d even picked his scroll up from the barracks.

    I looked down at my camp fire then around at the terrace. I doubted anyone would show up to steal my little cup of ink. I grabbed my bag with all my other valuables and started hiking across the terrace after Adrian.

    I lost track of him as he disappeared into the trees, but I caught sight of him a minute later.

    He was standing in a makeshift camp of his own. He¡¯d stretched a blanket between three branches to create a shelter, and built a lean-to out of sticks beneath that. From the pile of dry grass underneath, it looked like he¡¯d been sleeping out here.

    There was no camp fire. There was no rain barrel. The blanket didn¡¯t look waterproof at all. It had to have been a miserabe place to sleep during the wet weather we¡¯d been having. I¡¯d know. I¡¯d spent a night out in it myself and it¡¯d nearly killed me.

    I stood still for half a minute, then started heading towards him.

    I wanted to know if he was ready to hear my apology. I wanted to try and convince him to move back to the barracks. If nothing else, I could give him some oat cakes.

    He heard me coming when I was still about forty feet away.

    He looked up, shocked, then grabbed a crude quarterstaff from where it was wedged against some branches. He held the weapon out towards me with one hand. I could see a rock held in his other. From the look on his face he was ready to throw it at me.

    ¡°Stay where you are,¡± he called.

    I came to a stop and put my hand against a tree, ready to duck to the side if he decided to throw the rock.

    Closer up, I could see he was in bad shape. His sandy blond hair was dirty, two shades darker from the grease sticking it to his head. His robe was even more rain-marked than mine. There were dark rings under his eyes, and there was a hollowness in his cheeks.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you,¡± I shouted back.

    He lifted the hand with the rock, but his heart didn¡¯t seem to be in it any more.

    The movement still forced me to run through what I¡¯d do if he did try and come at me.

    I pictured how a fight might go, and I was surprised to realise he didn¡¯t pose me any threat at all.

    Adrian was taller than me, stronger than me by far, and he moved like he knew how to fight. He was the kind of man I¡¯d feel an implicit threat from back in Kirkswell. And now he posed no danger to me at all.

    If he threw the rock, I could deflect it with a wave of Force almost as quickly as I could raise my hand. If he charged me with the staff, I could knock him down. Even without Force aspect, I could reinforce my body with maja to drown out sensations of pain.

    I was barely a sorcerer at all, and I already outclassed a superior fighter who couldn¡¯t use magic.

    I was starting to get a new appreciation for how far above everyone the Reeves really stood.

    ¡°Have you been living out here?¡± I asked.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    ¡°How did you find me?¡± he asked back.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t trying to find you,¡± I said. ¡°I ran into you by accident.¡±

    I could tell from his expression that he didn¡¯t believe me, which I thought was a little paranoid of him.

    After a few seconds of silence, I asked, ¡°Are you working on your new assignment?¡±

    ¡°Why would I? I¡¯m not one of you.¡±

    ¡°If you don¡¯t they¡¯re going to punish you.¡±

    He raised his arms in a shrug, still not putting his staff or stone down. ¡°What can they do? I¡¯m already a prisoner.¡±

    ¡°They might kill you,¡± I said.

    It was the worst possible answer I¡¯d come up with to the question of the failure¡¯s fate, but I thought it might get through to him.

    ¡°I¡¯ll die sooner or later anyway,¡± he said. ¡°I won¡¯t fight their enemies. I¡¯d die in my first battle either way.¡±

    It sounded like he¡¯d already given up hope.

    ¡°Can I come closer?¡± I asked. When he didn¡¯t immediately respond, I added, ¡°If you¡¯ve already decided to die, what¡¯s the harm?¡±

    He stared at me for few long breaths, then jammed his staff back against the tree and turned away.

    I took that as an invitation and started picking my way towards his camp

    The camp wasn¡¯t a well built. It looked like a campsite of desperation. The lean-to was full of holes and looked like it would fall down under a stiff breeze. The blanket strung over it was sagging, only held up by grass stalks used to tie it. The ground was muddy, and there was a cloud of flies buzzing around what had to be a trash pile.

    ¡°Have you been out here since you vanished from the barracks?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Since that night,¡± Adrian said.

    ¡°I really am sorry. I didn¡¯t meant to attack you, it was an accident.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± Adrian said. He was looking away. ¡°As soon as I stopped panicking, I realized. You looked more shocked than I felt.¡±

    ¡°Then why are you out here?¡±

    He shrugged one shoulder. ¡°It feels cleaner out here. I¡¯m not dependant on them.¡±

    ¡°Have you been eating?¡±

    ¡°What I can catch. What I can forage.¡±

    I didn¡¯t ask what exactly he was catching, or how he was cooking it. I knew some fish could be eaten raw, as well as wild fruit and vegetables. For the sake of my opinion of him I¡¯d assume that was what he meant.

    I hesitated for a second, then dropped my pack on a tangle of dry roots. I pulled out my stash of oat cakes, a short stack that was five cakes high, and held it out to him.

    ¡°Here,¡± I said.

    He looked at me then at my hand.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to eat their food,¡± he said.

    The look in his eyes conflicted with his words a little. He looked like he was about to snatch them out of my hand.

    ¡°It¡¯s not their food any more,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s mine, and I¡¯m giving it to you.¡±

    That was all the excuse he needed. He reached out and took the stack. Most of them went into a nook of his lean-to, but he broke one in half and put one half into his mouth.

    ¡°You should come back to the barracks,¡± I said. ¡°You can live there without endorsing the entire Antorxian empire.¡±

    Adrian shook his head slowly. ¡°I like it out here. It feels cleaner.¡±

    I didn¡¯t have any counterargument for that. If he was basing his decisions on feelings, no amount of logic would change his mind.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you get cold?¡± I tried.

    He gave me an unimpressed look.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get you a fire started,¡± I said. I went back to my pack and started looking through it for my fire box. ¡°If you keep it fed, you can keep it going for days.¡±

    He watched me as I searched my bag, found the little metal box, and took out tinder, flint, and a steel striker.

    After a minute of watching me grabbing at twigs he took off on a circuit around the camp, picking up bigger pieces of dead wood and piling them next to his sleeping spot.

    Within minutes there was a small fire burning in a ring of stones. Adrian crouched next to it warming his hands.

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    I sat with him for a minute, feeling the weight of the silence.

    ¡°You should work on your assignment,¡± I said. ¡°Do you want me to bring it to you?¡±

    Adrian shook his head.

    ¡°I feel like my course is set,¡± he said. ¡°They took me prisoner, and that¡¯s my fate. I won¡¯t become their soldier.¡±

    I still couldn¡¯t come up with an argument that would sway him. We sat in silence for a while.

    Eventually, more out of hope than judgement, I asked, ¡°How are you at riddles?¡±

    ¡°Not the best,¡± he said.

    I recited the Lectuous¡¯s riddle from memory.

    ¡°In a forest by a pool, two people crouch face to face. One knows the other¡¯s mind, The other knows nothing.¡±

    Adrian was shaking his head before I¡¯d even finished.

    ¡°Sounds like nonsense,¡± he said. ¡°Do you know any jokes instead?¡±

    ¡°How about a limerick?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t actually know any,¡± I confessed. ¡°I didn¡¯t really hang around with that type back home.¡±

    Adrian looked off into the distance for a second, then started, ¡°There was a young soldier from Calder, whose head was as big as a boulder. He challenged a knight to an arm wrestle fight and how his arm ends at the shoulder.¡±

    I stared at him in silence.

    ¡°Now you do hang around with that type,¡± he said.

    The silence grew, and I suddenly felt awkward.

    ¡°I should go,¡± I said. ¡°I left a project behind at the stream.¡±

    Adrian gestured at the woods, inviting me to leave.

    ¡°Thank you for the fire,¡± he said.

    I stood up and dusted dried leaves off my robe.

    ¡°I¡¯ll bring you your assignment,¡± I offered.

    ¡°No thank you. I don¡¯t want it.¡±

    His refusal put a knot in my stomach, but I couldn¡¯t do anything about it.

    As I walked back to my own small fire, I managed to convince myself that they really were going to kill him.

    When I got back to the stream the Winter Hearth cantogram was still going strong, putting out gentle heat, filling the air with what looked like a cloudy miasma but was really just the dimming effect of the magic.

    Antonyx hadn¡¯t spoken highly of Wild Century¡¯s power as a spirit, but the ink made from its leaves had to be potent to power the cantogram for so long.

    I kicked water over the remains of my fire, slipped the paper with the active Winter Hearth into my robe, and set back off down the mountain, carrying my cup of maja-infused ink carefully all the way.

    I tried to think about Lectuous¡¯s riddle as I walked, but I found myself trying to make up limerics for my next meeting with Adrian instead.

 11. The Fate of Failures 2/4

    Count Serrato arrived at the mountain a few days later, on the fifth day of my second week. I was practicing with the short sword from the fort when the ground started shaking like someone was pounding the earth with a giant hammer. It reminded me of being back in Kirkswill in logging season, when every giant tree felled would make the buildings shake half a mile away.

    The noise was quiet at first, getting gradually louder as whatever it was couldn¡¯t be ignored.

    I lowered my sword, the starting forms of Arrenshu forgotten, and ran out of the barracks towards the terrace ledge.

    The steep mountainside stretched out below me, and the hazy marsh beyond that. The clouds were sparse today, backed by blue, with the sun a few hours above the horizon. There was a light breeze hitting my face, bringing air scented with algae-choked water and the fresh green smell of the dense trees.

    There was movement beneath the trees, a mass of moving shadows with edges defined by where I knew the road lay, hidden by the foliage.

    The source of the thundering footsteps was obvious. It rose above the canopy, a bulbous black shape that swayed and bobbed along the road. At first glance I thought it was a spirit, a huge humanoid shape, coal-black in a way that glinted in the light, but after a minute of its steady approach I realized it was an enormous suit of armor. Black iron, sharp-edged, and moving apparently under its own power.

    I¡¯d seen something like it, I realized. A week before I¡¯d seen a pair of older students in the workshop lacquering a giant iron helmet, the twin of the one the thing was wearing.

    ¡°What is it?¡± I asked.

    I was speaking to myself, but the noise had attracted other students. One of them answered without taking his eyes off it.

    ¡°A war machine,¡± he said. He sounded awed and a little concerned. ¡°I think they call this kind a Titan.¡±

    The Titan broke cover at the base of the mountain and I got to see it in more detail.

    Its body reminded me of a stove, a huge black barrel, almost cylindrical, with a grated door on its front. Its legs were wider than a human¡¯s would be at the scale, as if they were a person wearing baggy pants, and in its right hand it held an enormous studded club. I couldn¡¯t help but think the weapon was redundant, a blow from the thing¡¯s fist could probably cave in a house.

    Small shapes moved around at its feet, and after a second I realised it was escorting a party of ordinary-sized people.

    ¡°Is there a spirit inside?¡± I asked him.

    I felt stupid asking such a basic question, but I didn¡¯t know what else could move something so large.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s a machine. They take a sorcerer and a dragoon to operate.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t the only one listening in to the older student¡¯s explanation. If there were places where the war machines were a common sight, it wasn¡¯t Losiris. From the number and age people eavesdropping, they couldn¡¯t be a common sight here, either.

    As the group of travelers made their way up the mountain, I saw the figure I thought must be Count Serrato himself. The crowd was mostly made up of soldiers in black and silver, and a few officials in elegant robes, but one figure looked different from the rest. He walked at the center of the group, dressed in white from head to toe. White robe, white shoes, and a broad-brimmed white hat. The hat supported a veil that enclosed him down to his knees, obscuring his face and most of his body.

    Some of the soldiers rode horse-like war beasts, and there was a large wagon rolling along at the back of the company, but the figure in white was walking on his own feet.

    ¡°Is the count a Reeve as well?¡± I asked no one in particular, hoping that the older student would answer.

    Instead he turned a withering gaze on me, and for the first time he seemed to notice the sword in my hand.

    His eyes lingered on it, and I was suddenly sure he was going to try and take it from me.

    I shoved it into my pack and moved away from the ledge.

    I saw the group again from the entrance to the barracks, as they made their way up the terraces. They¡¯d been joined by three academy masters, who were walking in a line with the figure in white, speaking in low voices.

    As they passed I got a better look at the count. He moved with ethereal grace, pacing slowly, but seeming to cover a lot of ground in a short time despite that. The mud didn¡¯t seem to be able to touch his clothes, which still looked pristine even after what had to have been several days spent in the swamp. I didn¡¯t know if it was the result of magic, training, or the man¡¯s spirit ancestry, but it was almost like watching a ghost walk through the academy grounds.

    They passed by quickly, some of the soldiers hanging back to join the academy-stationed guards by the ramp.

    The Titan wasn¡¯t with them by the time they passed. Walking cautiously back to the edge of the terrace, I saw it waiting below by the gate. Some students were trickling down through the grounds to go and look at it, but I didn¡¯t want to get any closer to it than I needed to.

    It had a sinister look to it, dangerous and practical, and it gave off the impression of being unstoppable. It was everything terrifying about the Antorxian Empire condensed into a single massive object.

    ¡°Attention, Windshriek students,¡± a voice suddenly echoed down across the mountain.

    The few robed students still standing on the terrace started looking around for the speaker. I craned my neck to look up at the next terrace, but I couldn¡¯t see where the words were coming from.

    ¡°All initiates are invited to attend a special lesson on aspect manipulation. The lesson will be delivered by Master Cordaze on the administrative level in ten minutes. Attendance is highly recommended.¡±

    The voice died out, and the students around me on the terrace all immediately started moving toward the ramp.

    I was an initiate, so the announcement must apply to me, but I wasn¡¯t in a hurry to meet Master Cordaze again. That woman had scared me. I¡¯d seen her blow off a student¡¯s hand purely for the shock value, and I didn¡¯t long to be her next example. Unfortunately, actual guided lessons at the academy were almost unheard of. I wasn¡¯t sure I could afford to pass it up, especially if everyone else would be attending.

    I glanced back at the barracks. I could either go back to ineptly waving my short sword around in imitation of forms out of a book, or I could go and risk learning some real magic.

    I started following the other students. It looked like there were enough of us at the initiate level that I¡¯d be able to hide at the back of the crowd.

    I caught sight of Cordaze as soon as I reached the level of the administrative tower.

    She was exactly as she¡¯d been on the first day. A tall woman with skin that was a patchwork of light brown and stone gray. The thick black braid hanging over her shoulder might as well have been stone for the amount it had moved since the welcome speech.

    She turned her gaze on the initiates as we approached, her right eye brown, the left a dazzling shade of blue, scrutinizing us with a look of distaste on her face.

    As we got closer, I started being able to sense the same familiar maja presence I had on the first day; a swirl of energy that felt sharp and cold, like a spur of flint caught under the skin.

    Cordaze wasn¡¯t alone on the terrace. A handful of soldiers stood near her, and a little way off, standing alone, was the white-clad figure I¡¯d guessed was Count Serrato.

    She was standing next to a big piece of equipment I hadn¡¯t seen before. It looked like the globe map Scribe Bevin had kept in his office, a smooth sphere suspended on a frame that would let it rotate. The difference was that this sphere was blank, about as tall as I was, and made entirely of dull gray metal.

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    Cordaze watched us gathering up impatiently, and started speaking before the group had even stopped arriving.

    ¡°Initiates, today you will learn how to harness the Wheel aspect. Wheel is one of the fundamental aspects of movement. It has many applications, and simply by mastering it today you will increase your value to the Antorxian Empire three-fold.¡±

    I caught Count Serrato¡¯s veiled head nodding to himself at her words, though she¡¯d made no mention him.

    ¡°This device is a Phinion wheel,¡± Cordaze said. She lifted a hand that was completely gray to indicate the sphere, then started moving her hand through the air in circular patterns. As she did so, the giant metal sphere began to turn on its frame. ¡°You will use this device to understand the nature of Wheel. Internalize what the Wheel aspect really means. Feel the weight of it. Feel the power of its rotation. A rotation that can stabilize structures along its axis. A rotation that can store large amounts of energy.¡±

    She continued to wave her hand, and the sphere continued to speed up. At first it was only rotating as fast as a wagon wheel, but within a minute it was moving so fast that the dimples of its surface dissappeared and a cool wind started blowing off it.

    I was now more afraid of the sphere than I was of Cordaze. I was sure it was going to fly off its frame at any second and crush us all.

    ¡°To demonstrate how to learn the aspect, I will enlist the help of an initiate,¡± she said. Her hand snapped out, pointing at one of the students in the front row. ¡°You will be the first to receive this lesson. Approach the Phinion.¡±

    The student she¡¯d pointed at, a man older than me in a light gray robe, sagged slightly. He hesitated for a few seconds, then stepped up to the sphere.

    ¡°Do you feel it? The power of its rotation?¡± she asked.

    The man hesitated again, then said, ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Excellent. Now use that feeling to tune your maja. Use it to speed the sphere.¡±

    The man haltingly lifted his hand, and began moving his hand through the air like Cordaze had done.

    After a few seconds, she snapped. ¡°No! You don¡¯t understand at all.¡±

    She reached out and gripped the air. The man lurched forward like he¡¯d been pushed. He stumbled, catching himself when his face was just inches from the spinning surface of the ball.

    ¡°Feel it,¡± Cordaze said.

    ¡°I feel it!¡± the man said.

    ¡°Then show me.¡±

    The man raised his hand, so close to the sphere it was almost touching, and closed his eyes.

    Cordaze watched him for a few seconds before shouting, ¡°No!¡±

    She jerked her hand, and the man fell forward. His hand made contact with the ball. His hand simply disappeared. Red mist filled the air, spreading around the ball in gradually expanding halo.

    The man was silent for span of seconds, then he fell to the ground screaming.

    The students around him shuffled backwards, putting distance between themselves and the ball, but also opening up gaps that let me see what was going on.

    I felt a little vindicated that my concern about Cordaze had been warranted. Another lesson, another needless mutilation.

    Master Cordaze crouched by him and spoke almost kindly.

    ¡°Now. Now you have it. Show me.¡±

    The man took a minute to get to his feet. He shakily held out his remaining hand towards the sphere. He didn¡¯t make any motions with it, he just stood there, arm outstretched.

    I didn¡¯t notice any change in the spin of the sphere, but after a minute Cordaze smiled.

    ¡°Yes. You understand. This is the power of the rolling boulder, of the whirlwind, and of the world beneath our feet. Now, reverse it. Slow the sphere.¡±

    The man changed the angle of his remaining hand slightly.

    ¡°You feel it?¡± Cordaze asked. ¡°The power? You¡¯re receiving the maja which was used to increase the spin. In time you could drain it to stillness, replenishing yourself in the process.¡±

    She stood there in silence, and then off to the side, Count Serrato began clapping politely.

    The wounded initiate swayed on his feet then fainted, collapsing into a heap. His robe was stained with blood all the way down to his feet.

    Cordaze lost interest in him, turning to the rest of the group.

    ¡°The Phinion will continue turning for four more hours. Anyone who wishes to learn the Wheel aspect may use it until the end of that time.¡±

    Cordaze left, walking to where Count Serrato stood and escorted him back towards the tower.

    I waited until she was a safe distance away before I risked joining the other students in approaching the sphere.

    I hadn¡¯t had any luck with Lectuous¡¯s riddle of the Thought aspect, but this seemed like a more straightforward lesson. Assuming I could learn it without being dismembered.

    The students left behind after Cordaze¡¯s lesson were crowding around the thing like villagers watching a visiting magician. Some raised their hands to try and repeat what Cordaze had done. One risked her fingertip to touch it, snapping her hand back after what was probably only a mild flaying.

    I hung back, waiting for them to get bored and move away.

    Most of them dispersed over the next hour, trickling away in twos and threes. From their expressions I assumed most of them had failed to learn the aspect.

    When a clear space appeared I moved forward.

    The Phinion only got more frightening up close.

    I could almost feel its weight. I held up a hand and felt it tugging at the hairs of my arm as air whipped around in its wake. The noise was terrifying on its own, a deep rumble almost too low to hear. The sight of the older man¡¯s hand disintigrating at its touch was in the front of my mind. I felt like the slightest stumble here could end my life.

    I put my own hand just a hair¡¯s breadth away from it.

    I didn¡¯t feel what Cordaze said I should feel. I didn¡¯t feel the rolling boulder, or the cyclone.

    What I felt was Antorx; an empire spinning in place, full of energy and barely restrained chaos, crushing anything that touched it without slowing, changing, or even noticing.

    I pulled a thread of maja from my core, down my arm, and into my hand. I pressed that mental image onto it, a visage of lumbering, spinning, crushing unstoppable dominion, and pushed it out at the sphere.

    My world lurched as the maja flew from my hand. For a second I was the one spinning. My arm spasmed and maja flowed back into me. Sharp, cold maja, like stone needles.

    I stumbled back, clutching my arm.

    It was outwardly unhurt, but felt cold.

    It was like Cordaze had said. I¡¯d slowed the sphere, and taken back some of the maja that she¡¯d invested in it.

    I flexed my hand, the flinty coldness turning to pins and needles as blood flowed through my arm and my own maja returned to it.

    I looked back at the sphere.

    Some of the other students were still trying. One of the students I¡¯d arrived with stood there with a shocked look on her faces. She¡¯d got it too.

    Cordaze had implied that someone who¡¯d learned the aspect could slow the sphere to a stop, absorbing all of the maja she¡¯d put into it. I wouldn¡¯t blame anyone who didn¡¯t want to. I¡¯d only had a taste of Cordaze¡¯s distinct energy, and I didn¡¯t want another drop.

    I left the Phinion wheel behind, heading back down to the dormitory. I didn¡¯t have long before the next assignment, and I wanted to be as prepared as I could.

 12. The Fate of Failures 3/4

    It was the last day of the second week, the deadline for our second assignments, and Adrian still hadn¡¯t even collected his scroll. He was going to fail, and he was going find out what it meant to fail here.

    I¡¯d been busy all week. I¡¯d finished my own assignment at Fort Msiesetr within three days. Master Antonyx hadn¡¯t wanted my report on the red stars, but he¡¯d signed off on my official task, the geneology. He¡¯d even given me an aspect manual as my reward.

    In my personal time I¡¯d been practicing my own magical path. I now had a Winter Hearth canto active in my cell wall at all times. The heat was a comfort in the night, even if the dimming effect made it harder to read during the day. A single cantogram drawn in Wild Century¡¯s ink would last over a day before the maja was spent, and it only took a small amount of ink to draw.

    So far none of the other students in the barracks had noticed it. I was sure that as soon as someone found it, they¡¯d try to get me to apply it to their cell as well.

    I¡¯d studied the design of the Heart¡¯s Memory cantogram I¡¯d all but stolen from Antonyx¡¯s office. It was a rare cantogram according to him, but without knowing what it did I didn¡¯t want to experiment with it.

    With my new sword I¡¯d been able to make halting studies of The Opening Arts of Arrenshu, practicing the strange stances and movements it recommended for fighting other sorerous sword wielders.

    Yesterday I¡¯d even learned the Wheel aspect, and I¡¯d been one of only a few to manage it, though I didn¡¯t know what it was good for.

    None of it had left much time for worrying about other people.

    Now I was worried.

    It was still morning, and Adrian might have enough time to complete his assignment if he got his scroll soon.

    He¡¯d asked me not to bring him it. He¡¯d given up on surviving here. But if he¡¯d already consoled himself to death then I didn¡¯t think I could do much damage by ignoring his wishes.

    I picked up the scroll and dropped it into my pack. I shoved my sword after it, wrapped in its birch bark sheath. The fact that I barely knew how to use the sword meant there was no point being able to get to it easily, but I didn¡¯t want to leave it where someone might steal it.

    With all my worldly possessions in my bag, I left for the barracks and headed for his camp on the upper terrace.

    I was forced to slow as I crossed the infirmary terrace.

    Count Serrato was there with Master Cordaze. Serrato was inspecting a pair of Antorxian warbeasts, magical monsters that the Antorxian army used to terrorize their enemies.

    Both beasts had bald gray skin, but otherwise looked completely different to each other. One had a long snakelike body, four weak vestigial-looking limbs, and an elongated wolf-like head. The other was swollen bipedal creature with disproportionately long arms, each ending in vicious claws.

    Both of them were magical creatures. I could feel their maja presences as sharply as I¡¯d felt any Reeve. One was heavy and dull, like a boulder rising out of a grassy plain, the other gave off the feeling of shivering needles, anxious and awkward.

    The only other things they had in common was their eyes, and their scars. Both had round, soulful eyes. The wolf-snake¡¯s eyes were green, the giant¡¯s brown. Both also had the same scar; a vertical line surrounded by a pair of tiny dimples in the center of their forehead, as if they¡¯d been sliced and then pricked by a fork. I¡¯d seen the scar before. Ba had had it, the near-mindless girl I¡¯d run into the library.

    The giant biped¡¯s eyes followed me as I passed. I couldn¡¯t help but read a deep, dull pain in them.

    I found Adrian¡¯s camp back in the woods on the upper terrace, but Adrian himself wasn¡¯t there. I wandered in, trying to suppress the feeling that I was intruding in someone¡¯s home.

    His small camp fire was still smouldering. I added some of the dry sticks he kept nearby to keep it alive. I pulled another few fern branches onto the bed under the lean-to. I pulled the cords holding the sagging blanket above his shelter tight.

    He¡¯d added a couple of things to camp since I¡¯d last been here. A skinned rabbit hung from a branch by its feet, smoking over the embers, and there was a small bucket sitting by the lean-to, filled to the brim with fresh water.

    I was still tightening the strings on his tarp when I heard footsteps behind me.

    ¡°You¡¯re a bit of a busybody, aren¡¯t you,¡± Adrian said, stepping into the camp.

    Instead of answering I unslung my pack and pulled out his assignment scroll.

    ¡°You never came for this.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t want it,¡± he said, moving past me to finish tying up the cords.

    ¡°You should at least look at it. What if it¡¯s something you don¡¯t mind doing? You could be failing for nothing.¡±

    ¡°I really don¡¯t expect you to understand. I¡¯m not playing their game. I¡¯m Losirisian. I was raised in the Abbey. I¡¯m here as a prisoner.¡±

    ¡°We all are,¡± I said. Adrian snorted, but I went on. ¡°How will failing on purpose help? What if they kill you? Wouldn¡¯t it be better to survive, no matter what?¡±

    ¡°Like I said, you wouldn¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be better to play their game for now and fight against them later?¡± I tried. ¡°You could do more damage to them from the inside than sitting here in the woods.¡±

    ¡°Compromising with them would do more harm to me than I could ever do to them, like that.¡±

    I stood there as he went about doing chores in his camp. My hand hurt with the pressure I was putting on his scroll.

    ¡°Well if you don¡¯t want it, I¡¯m going to open it.¡±

    ¡°I was sure you would.¡±

    I watched him for a few seconds, then turned and mached off into the woods.

    I unrolled the scroll as I went. I was wondering if it was something I could just do it for him, or whether he¡¯d need to hand it in himself to get credit.

    I rolled the paper back, revealing a single clear line on the page.

    Fight a duel with another student.

    I came to a stop.

    It wasn¡¯t something I could do for him, but it was something I could force him into.

    I turned around and headed back to the camp site. I pulled my pack down off my shoulder and drew my sword as I walked.

    Adrian looked surprised to see me when I broke back into the clearing around his camp. His eyes went to the sword in my hand, and back to my face. He looked amused more than worried.

    ¡°Get your quarterstaff,¡± I said.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re going to fight a duel,¡± I said.

    He thought for a second, then the tension went out of his muscles.

    ¡°Is that what they want me to do? Fight you?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s what I want,¡± I said.

    I looked around then grabbed his staff from where it leaned against a tree. I tossed it to him. He let it hit his hip and fall to the ground.

    ¡°Pick it up,¡± I said.

    Adrian shook his head slowly.

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    ¡°Look, all you have to do is fight. You don¡¯t even have to win. Just fight me. Knock the sword out of my hands. I won¡¯t use any magic.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± he said.

    He let his gaze fall down to where the camp fire was starting to consume the fresh twigs I¡¯d fed it, but otherwise didn¡¯t move.

    I stared at him, exasperated.

    ¡°What if they kill you?¡± I said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t really know why you care.¡±

    I let out a frustrated breath.

    ¡°I care because I¡¯m the reason you¡¯re out here,¡± I said. ¡°If I hadn¡¯t accidentally thrown you, you might not be refusing to do this one simple thing.¡±

    Adrian frowned, still not looking at me.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s really it,¡± he said.

    ¡°Oh? Then why do I care?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Because you¡¯re afraid I¡¯m right,¡± he said.

    My heart was beating in my ears, and I wasn¡¯t sure it was because of the prospect of getting into a fight.

    ¡°You¡¯re afraid if I stay true to myself, then I¡¯ll have proved it was possible to all along,¡± he said. ¡°That would make you the traitor. To yourself, if nobody else.¡±

    I thought about his words. I really considered them.

    I remembered my fears from the time I left the academy on my first assignment. That I was a collaborator. That by not running when I had the chance, I was complict in my imprisonment. But I¡¯d rejected those arguments. I¡¯d known then it was a choice between death and survival, and I¡¯d chosen survival. The fact that I was learning magic, reading ancient texts, discovering secrets, all clouded the issue for me, because they were things that rewarded my decision to stay. But I hadn¡¯t lost sight of the threat that hung over my head every day, and the pressure it exerted on my decisions.

    ¡°You¡¯re wrong, actually,¡± I said finally. ¡°I care because I can do something about this, and if I don¡¯t it¡¯s going to haunt me forever, whatever the punishment is.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve made my decision. You can¡¯t do anything about that,¡± Adrian said.

    In reply I stepped forward and slapped him with the flat of my sword.

    He grabbed his arm. ¡°Hey, that hurt.¡±

    I did it again.

    After looking like he was about to respond, he forced himself to stillness. He bowed his head, apparently ready to take whatever I would do to him.

    I swung the sword at the branch holding the rabbit, cutting the cord holding it there. The carcass fell into the fire.

    ¡°Hey!¡± Adrian snapped. His serentiy of a moment before was obviously taking him effort to maintain. He was completely unused to backing down.

    ¡°What does it matter?¡± I asked. ¡°You might be dead tomorrow.¡±

    He forced his gazed down.

    I slapped his other arm with the flat of the sword. He winced, but didn¡¯t respond.

    I thought furiously to try and come up with whatever I could that¡¯d annoy him. He liked limericks, didn¡¯t he? Where had he come from? His last name was Wheatfield. He was probably from one of the small farming towns.

    ¡°There was a young farmer from West Lance,¡± I started, ¡°who went to the harvest night square dance¡­¡±

    Adrian¡¯s eyes rose to meet mine.

    ¡°He had lots of courters, among farmer¡¯s daughters, but found that a sheep was his preference.¡±

    ¡°Is this supposed to make me angry?¡± he asked, exasperated. ¡°You know I¡¯m not a farmer? I was an orphan. I was raised in the Abbey.¡±

    Orphan¡­ I tried to remember the lists of Losirisian villages from Bevin¡¯s study.

    ¡°There was an old Abbot from Torfan,¡± I started, instead. ¡°Who found his bed empty too often-¡±

    Something dark passed over Adrian¡¯s face. I felt like I¡¯d hit a nerve.

    Without any more warning he threw himself at me. He didn¡¯t even bother with his staff, just coming at me with his hands out, like he was going to wring my neck.

    He hit me like a bag of sand and knocked me backwards onto the ground. He straddled me, with one hand knotted at the neck of my robe. I barely had chance to see his fist raised in the air before my face exploded in pain. My head banged against the ground and points of light burst against my closed eyelids.

    I tried pushing him off. He held on. He punched me again. I pushed maja from my core into my hands and colored it with Force aspect. I pushed it out, hoping to throw Adrian back, but it didn¡¯t hit him. The branches above us cracked and thrashed, but Adrian held on. He hit me again and I heard something crack.

    I tried to remember this was technically what I wanted.

    Adrian paused, his fist held up above my face. He seemed to realize what he was doing and let his arm drop. He got up, shifting over awkwardly to sit by my side.

    ¡°Well, you got me,¡± he said. ¡°I hope you¡¯re happy.¡±

    ¡°Delighted,¡± I said. It came out more like ¡®Bewited¡¯ thanks to the throbbing pain in my nose and lip.

    I got onto my hands and knees and crawled to his water bucket. I hung my head over it, looking at my reflection in the water.

    It was the first time I¡¯d seen myself since I arrived. It was a shock that took my mind off Adrian. Thin wispy hair covered my cheeks. I hadn¡¯t shaved in weeks. My eyes were sunken with dark rings under them. I hadn¡¯t been sleeping well. My hair was wild, the short sides slick with grease, the long top sticking up in every direction, and all of it dusted with dry mud and unidentifiable debris.

    I thought I¡¯d been getting clean in the wash house, but I hadn¡¯t quite managed it. My nose was sitting at an angle, broken in the fight.

    The face in the water looked exactly like the visage of a mad sorcerer. It was like looking at a stranger, right down to the wild glint in his eyes.

    I cupped my hands and lifted some water from the barrel, hissing at the sting as I washed my face.

    ¡°Did the scroll say I had to hurt someone?¡± Adrian asked while I was getting cleaned up.

    ¡°You had to fight a duel with another student,¡± I said.

    Adrian nodded and sighed. He seemed to think of something and looked at me.

    ¡°For the sake of our friendship, what were you going to end that rhyme with?¡±

    I thought for a few seconds, and continued the rhyme from before. ¡°He attracted a lady, who longed for a baby, on account that he¡¯d adopted an oprhan.¡±

    Adrian hummed. ¡°You¡¯re bad at these.¡±

    ¡°I just started,¡± I protested.

    When I was finished cleaning the blood from my face I put my sword back in its sheath and packed it away. Adrian picked his skinned rabbit from the fire and hung it back up, only a little dirtier than before.

    ¡°I think you should come back to the barracks,¡± I said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I can face it.¡±

    I waved at his lean-to shelter. ¡°You¡¯re not winning anything by staying out here. You¡¯re not keeping yourself pure, or whatever you think the point is. That¡¯s just another delusion. Refusing to try to survive is just another way of giving up in the face of a situation you don¡¯t like.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll think about it.¡±

    ¡°Also I¡¯m magically keeping our cell warm,¡± I added.

    He shook his head.

    I touched my nose again, flinching at the spike of pain that shot through my head. I needed to get it set.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to try the infirmary,¡± I said.

    Adrian didn¡¯t reply. He wasn¡¯t apologetic. He barely seemed to hear me.

    ¡°Come back to the barracks if you feel like it,¡± I said, getting up.

    I left Adrian and his camp behind.

    I hadn¡¯t been to the academy infirmary yet, and I sincerely hoped they had treatments that didn¡¯t involve giving me unfamiliar gray flesh.

 13. The Fate of Failures 4/4

    The thumping of iron-shod boots on stone summoned us from our cells like an Abbey bell calling the village to prayer.

    I joined the line of people leaving their own private cells and heading to the common area. There were a lot of grim faces among them. This wasn¡¯t a call to prayer as much as a call to judgement. I wondered how many had failed to finish their assignment this week.

    When I reached the common room, I found that a Reeve had accompanied the soldiers this time.

    An academy Master I didn¡¯t recognize was standing by the same captain who¡¯d delivered our results before.

    He was short, slight, with stripes of gray skin criss-crossing his face like he¡¯d been scarred by a whip. I didn¡¯t know if he was here in a ceremonial role, or as an enforcer. Or maybe he was here to deliver the failure¡¯s fate.

    The captain pulled out a scroll and started reading from it without preamble, like he was eager to get through it.

    ¡°Silas Amberge, you have failed your assignment for the second time, and you will meet the failure¡¯s fate. Go and stand behind Master Sectus.¡±

    Silas had failed last week¡¯s assignment, and now it looked like he¡¯d failed this one.

    He didn¡¯t protest. He stood still for a few seconds under the glare of the captain, then went to stand behind the Reeve. His movements were leaden as he crossed the hall, like a man on the way to the gallows.

    ¡°Domine Beatrix,¡± the captain said next. ¡°You have failed your assignment for the second time, and you will meet the failure¡¯s fate. Go and stand behind Master Sectus.¡±

    Domine moved quickly, starting to walk towards where Silas stood.

    As she passed Master Sectus she reached into her robe. There was a flash of silver, and she suddenly was ramming a knife into the Reeve¡¯s chest.

    She planted the blade in him up to the hilt, then stepped back, breathing heavily.

    Master Sectus looked down at the blade protruding from his chest with more curiosity than alarm.

    He pulled it out carefully then held it out for her to take back.

    Domine was staring at him, pale and out of breath. From the horror on her face I didn¡¯t think she¡¯d expected either of them to survive the attack.

    She didn¡¯t take the knife, instead walking numbly to a place next to Silas.

    Sectus dropped the knife on the ground like it was a piece of lint he¡¯d found on his robe.

    The captain turned away from the Reeve and looked back down at his scroll.

    ¡°Olan Draxs, you have passed your assignment.¡±

    The captain continued to read out names.

    Almost half of the other students had failed, most of them for the second time. By the time the soldier reached my name, a crowd of eight gray-clad figures stood behind Sectus.

    ¡°Dorian Tisk, you have passed your assignment.¡±

    I worked my aching jaw, forcing the muscles there to relax.

    I was sure that I had passed, but there¡¯d always been the faint possibility that Antonyx wasn¡¯t who he appeared, that he had failed me out of spite, or for not finding some way to deliver the information he wanted to him.

    ¡°Adrian Wheatfield, you have passed your assignment,¡± the captain went on.

    I let out a long breath. I didn¡¯t know how they knew I¡¯d fought with Adrian, but it seemed like they did, and it had counted as a duel.

    The captain didn¡¯t bother looking around for Adrian. He wouldn¡¯t have found him if he had. As far as I knew he was still staying up on the wooded terrace.

    The captain nodded to Sectus, and the Reeve turned to speak to the group of students behind him, the rest of us forgotten.

    ¡°All of you have failed to complete a simple assignment twice in a row,¡± he said. His voice was thin and reedy, not much more than a hiss. ¡°You are failures as sorcerers, failures as students, even failures as human beings. As such, you will forfeit your humanity. From here you will be taken to the infirmary, where you will be gentled, and after that, reshaped into forms that will serve the empire. This is the failure¡¯s fate. This is now your fate.¡±

    His words made my stomach do somersaults.

    I turned to look at the students he was condemning.

    Most of them didn¡¯t even understand what he was telling them. They hadn¡¯t met Ba. They hadn¡¯t seen the academy¡¯s warbeasts, or hadn¡¯t understood what they were. Products of sorcerous healing. The process of changing a useless student into a useful, obedient sorcererous beast. They weren¡¯t going to die. They were going to be raw materials.

    A couple of them looked like they had some inkling. Domine was standing with her teeth bared, crouched, as if she was going to try and tear the soldiers apart with her bare hands. Beside me, Olan Drax¡¯s skin had turned white with shock, and he hadn¡¯t even failed any assignments.

    Run, I thought at them desperately. But they couldn¡¯t hear me. I didn¡¯t know the magic to make them hear me. And even if I shouted it, they wouldn¡¯t be able to go anywhere.

    Stolen story; please report.

    The soldiers started moving towards the door. The students shambled after them, desolate, uncomprehending, or desperately looking for an escape route.

    Everyone left behind was so still, so calm and quiet. I couldn¡¯t stand it.

    ¡°Wait,¡± I said.

    The only person who listened was the Reeve, who turned to look at me. He stared at me with a cruel half smile.

    How could I live with myself, if I just stood here and let this happen? How could I do nothing and still be myself tomorrow? I couldn¡¯t.

    Adrian had been right, even if he hadn¡¯t said exactly what he¡¯d been feeling.

    Logically, I knew I was a prisoner, but in my heart I¡¯d been getting comfortable here. I¡¯d been starting to tolerate it.

    If I just watched them go without trying to change it, then I wouldn¡¯t be able to tolerate it any more. I wouldn¡¯t be able to tolerate myself.

    There were eight soldiers with the captain, but they weren¡¯t mages, and they weren¡¯t expecting an attack. Their swords were in their hands, but the ones with crossbows had them pointed at the ground. I was sure I could knock them all off their feet in one attack.

    The Reeve was a bigger threat. I¡¯d seen that a knife to the heart didn¡¯t even inconvenience him, but he had discounted us too. We were too weak and inexperienced to threaten him, but if Force aspect couldn¡¯t affect even a powerful Reeve, then why would they bother learning it? I thought I could at least distract him.

    I had one chance. I couldn¡¯t miss. With the soldiers knocked down and the Reeve distracted, the others might be able to run to the gate, find a way through, or get over the wall somehow. At worst they¡¯d have a fighting chance.

    I reached deep inside myself and found the humming energy of my core. Months and years of slowly accumulated maja sat in a dense ball at a point just below my heart, just above my stomach.

    It had always been a comfort to me, even before I could use it.

    Now I grabbed every drop it. I pulled at it, brought it bubbling and surging to the surface, where it prickled my skin like red hot needles.

    I pulled the energy into my arms, raised my hands, and stretched my fingers apart. When my arms felt like they were going to explode, I let the maja overflow into my body, filling my flesh with it, letting it permeate my blood, bones, and mind.

    My entire reserve of energy frothed up, racing along my skin, buzzing in my fingertips, leaking from my eyes.

    Master Sectus felt something. He started to turn. I had to do it now.

    I fixed the memory of Korphus throwing me through his door and pushed it into the maja. Then I let all of it go.

    I was sure until the last moment that somebody would stop me. That the Reeve would wave his hand and destroy me, or that one of the soldiers would get their crossbow up in time to shoot me. Maybe one of the native Antorxian students behind me would stab me in the back

    In the end, nobody did.

    The force flew out of my body in an invisible wave, forward and outward, a crescent moon of dense hurling destruction.

    It caught the soldiers closest to me first, throwing them off their feet, through the air, against the stone walls, where they broke apart into pieces.

    The soldiers further back were next, arms and legs gracefully divorcing from their bodies as they were caught in the hurricane gale of force.

    Swords were bent. Crossbows snapped like dry leaves. Helmets cracked and peeled apart.

    I had time to see the captain¡¯s world-weary face turn black then red as if his head were being crushed by an invisible bolder, and then he was dashed against the stone as well.

    The force reached the Reeve. He smiled. His robe swayed in the breeze. A wake seemed to form in the wave, which parted around him. The prisoners behind him cowered, but were unaffected.

    The wave hit the wall with the sound of a thundercrack, loosening stones and bringing down dust. Then it was over.

    A second after it started, the only movement was limbs and meat falling from the bones embedded in the ceiling.

    There was silence for a few seconds, then I heard the Reeve¡¯s reedy voice.

    ¡°An adequate display of the Force aspect,¡± he said, approvingly. He raised his hand, gesturing as if he were inviting me to sit down. ¡°Allow me to introduce you to its counter, Stillness.¡±

    He made the slightest flick of his fingers.

    An oily coldness settled over me.

    He turned to leave. The failed students ran before him, stunned and panicked, but he didn¡¯t seem to be worried about them getting away.

    I tried to take a step after him.

    I couldn¡¯t move.

    I strained at my invisible bonds, but I couldn¡¯t move a muscle. I couldn¡¯t even blink. I couldn¡¯t even breathe.

    I stood panicking as Sectus left, ignoring the mess of bodies behind him, corraling the students as the bent and broken doors swung shut behind him.

    I was left locked in place, feeling the desperate pressure to inhale but not being able to.

    I might have stood there for two minutes before I realized that despite the awful need to breathe, I wasn¡¯t suffocating.

    I was simply trapped, unable to move, unable to make a sound, unable to even black out from lack of air.

    One of the native Antorxian students stepped out from behind me, safe, given his position, from the wave of destruction. He gave me a severe look, maybe respectful, maybe even nervous, then left.

    I heard sandals on stone, doors opening and quickly closing, muttered conversation, but nobody else came into my field of view.

    I just stood there, more deeply still than a statue, with no idea when Sectus¡¯ spell would wear off, or if it even would, as the light failed, and the pitch blackness of the room swallowed me.

 Intermission 1

    Eldred Wells, called Master Antonyx by his peers, kept his eyes on the walls as he paced towards the hall of conferences.

    Channeling maja to his eyes, he rotated through several different perception aspects. Heat Seeing, Motion Seeing, Air Seeing, Spirit Sight. Each countered a different stealth technique, and he needed all of them to make sure Master Raphas hadn¡¯t planted another death trap on his way to the weekly Masters¡¯ conference.

    As far as he could see, there were none. No invisible spirit assassins, no concealed cantogram traps, no transparent Fold gates leading to sub-realms of infinite demons. But he wasn¡¯t reassured. It only meant the attempt would be somewhere else.

    Eldred reached the big double doors and bunched his sleeve around his hand. He reached out and turned the handle with the fabric protecting his skin.

    Protected from contact poison, and from Master Korphus¡¯s dirty hands.

    The door swung open. Inside, the space opened up into a vast room almost at the very top of the tower. Open arches lined every wall, looking out across the mountain and the swamp, letting cold air blow in from the peak. Tapestries and banners hung from the walls, showing scenes from the Reeves¡¯ history, images depicting lines from the Sovereign¡¯s Path, even a few banners with the arms of Antorx for appearances¡¯ sake.

    Thirty or so academy Masters stood around a hexagon formed of long wooden tables, each side lined with painful-looking iron stools.

    The tables were laden with food and drink; delicacies from across the empire, carted in and stored in magical stasis, and served up weekly both as a sign of status and a lure for Reeves who were otherwise difficult to wrangle.

    On one table alone, Eldred spotted whole-roast songbird, elk marrow pate, slices of gray meat from some fleshcrafted beast, unfamiliar purple roots, fresh tomatoes, and a carafe of a rich golden liquid, which had better be ale.

    He stared at a dusty bottle of wine with a label so faded he could barely read it. It all looked very inviting.

    How much did he want to risk being poisoned? And could the wine possibly be worth it?

    He shuffled over to the tables and stepped around one of the black stools.

    Just before he sat down, he caught sight of Master Raphas among the crowd.

    The younger Reeve turned to look directly at him. He smiled and raised his own glass to Eldred in a silent toast.

    Eldred was suddenly second guessing his stool choice. He moved away and picked another one at random, checking it with different aspects of Seeing, and feeling it out for maja, then checking for hidden blades and needles. Finally he sat on it. A minute later he was still alive.

    The other masters eventually stopped gossiping and congealed into a seated ring around the tables.

    Master Cordaze freed herself from whatever conversation she was having for long enough to bang the carved gavel sphere against the table, bringing the meeting to session.

    The doors to the hall opened right on cue, and Grandmaster Korn strode in.

    Korn was ancient. His body was fully fleshcrafted by this point, his skin a scarred gray suit, his eyes blue pinrpicks in deep pits of darkness. He had a pair of branching horns growing from his bald head, rumoured to be the result of a failed merger with a demon of his own creation.

    He emanated the stench of decay wherever he went, like he was a body someone had dredged up from a bog. His maja presence was even more stifling than his smell, a raging ice storm full of sharp shards and death-dealing winds, and everyone in the room felt it.

    No matter how strong they were in their own right, Korn dwarfed them all. He was almost too powerful for the world. No longer human. Barely corporeal. Closer to being a greater spirit himself than even to a Master.

    The fact that he still involved himself in the petty beaurocracy of the academy said something import and not particularly flattering about his personality, Eldred thought.

    ¡°Has the session been called?¡± Korn asked.

    His voice was disarmingly quiet, more like the voice of a librarian than an ancient near-immortal sorcerer.

    Master Cordaze stood up. ¡°It has, Grandmaster.¡±

    ¡°That is well. Then let us proceed with the security report. Master Bulldorus, what is the status of our academy?¡±

    Master Bulldorus was a woman who looked to be in her forties, round-bellied and wavy-haired, with almost no evidence of fleshcrafting on her skin. That was either a sign that a sorcerer stayed out of trouble, of that they were trouble. In Bulldorus¡¯s case it was the latter.

    ¡°There¡¯s a mid-tier spirit moving around the north inclines. I¡¯d say it was cresting the fourth peak. in terms of power. I recommend we keep the kiddies away from it, until we can assign a few potentiates to go deal with it.¡±

    ¡°Have you approached the spirit?¡± Korn asked.

    ¡°I have, Grandmaster. It says its name is Deep Fertile Ground Seeper, but I looked into its shadow and I think it¡¯s actually the spirit we know as Earthrot Sevenfold traveling in disguise. I don¡¯t know why it¡¯s here now, but it¡¯s better we deal with it before it can go off and cause another famine.¡±

    ¡°Agreed, Master Bulldorus. Were there any other issues to speak of?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s been some friction between our garrison and Count Serrato¡¯s personal guard,¡± Bulldorus said. ¡°Seems they don¡¯t like giving up control of security, and I think Serrato¡¯s encouraging them on the quiet.¡±

    Korn nodded to himself, while Bulldorus went on.

    ¡°There was also an incident in the last batch of initiates. One of the kiddies killed a squad of soldiers trying to stop a harvest.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Korn said. ¡°Does the attack indicate an intractible problem?¡±

    ¡°Time will tell. It¡¯s common enough for the new initiates to flex their power a little at the start. It¡¯s good for them to see what they can do.¡±

    ¡°Who was that initiate?¡± another of the Masters asked. It was the white haired one that nobody ever remembered the name of, Eldred thought.

    ¡°Name of Dorian Tisk,¡± Bulldorus answered. ¡°Just some village lad from Losiris,¡±

    Eldred frowned. The name seemed familiar. He pounded his memory for the next minute trying to recall where he¡¯d heard it, only to draw a blank.

    ¡°Perhaps a corresponding test for his next assignment?¡± the white-haired master asked.

    ¡°That is a matter for the Consignor of Initiates,¡± Korn said, nodding to Master Cordaze.

    The topic moved on from security to logistics, then planning, then the state of the war against Cortiss and the war against De Violas, the state of the empire, and half a dozen other topics. It was enough to make Eldred wish he¡¯d brought a book.

    Finally they reached the part of the meeting Eldred actually cared about.

    ¡°With matters of the academy seen to, we turn to personal matters. Are there any matters or motions that the esteemed Masters wish to raise?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I do,¡± Eldred said, lurching to his feet.

    Korn looked from Eldred to Master Cordaze. ¡°Does the assembly recognize Master Antonyx?¡±

    ¡°It does,¡± Cordaze replied.

    Korn gestured to Eldred, yielding the floor.

    Eldred reached out an pointed at Master Raphas. ¡°I move to strip Master Raphas of his mesitership and expel him from the academy.¡±

    A few of the gathered masters began muttering to their neighbors. Someone laughed. Raphas himself stood up and brushed invisible dust off his robe, prepared to defend himself.

    ¡°On what grounds?¡± Master Korn asked.

    ¡°On the grounds of incompetence,¡± Eldred announced. ¡°Raphas has tried and failed to murder me three times in the past two weeks. The first was when he adjusted a servant to leave a Void Egg in my sleeping chamber. The second when he arranged to have me ambushed by a mid-tier Mercenary spirit beyond the academy grounds. Finally he sent me the design for a cantogram drawn on paper laced with Soul Worm venom.¡±

    Across the room, a grin was spreading across Raphas¡¯s face.

    ¡°Don¡¯t smile. It was pathetic,¡± Eldred shouted. ¡°Three times he¡¯s tried, and three times he¡¯s failed. There¡¯s no excuse for such shoddy work.¡±

    Korn looked from Eldred to Raphas. ¡°What say you, Master Raphas? Did you make these attempts?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Master Korn,¡± Raphas answered.

    ¡°And how do you account for your repeated failures to accomplish a simple assassination?¡±

    ¡°I can make no defense, Master Korn. I only ask for this matter to be deferred until the resolution of my fourth attempt on Master Antonyx¡¯s life.¡±

    ¡°Fourth?¡± Eldred asked.

    Even as he spoke, he felt a sinking feeling in his gut.

    The iron chair beneath him was starting to give off the prickling warmth of a maja signature. It started off weak, but quickly grew to that of a third peak spirit.

    The sound of iron grating against iron accompanied the appearance of giant black insect limbs around the edges of his vision, and he felt the stool shift as more legs than a rational creature should have unfurled from its underside.

    The other masters around him carefully stood and backed away. A couple of people on the far side of the room passed money to a third, who counted it, nodding.

    ¡°Very well,¡± Master Korn said, ¡°We will suspend this meeting for the duration of this latest, final attempt.¡±

    Eldred stretched out knotted joints and let Enduring aspect maja flow into his limbs.

    He had one more job to do, then hopefully he¡¯d be able to get Raphas¡¯s chaotic traditionalist hands off his archives department.

    ~

    Silas Everly, called Master Raphas by the idiots who plagued him daily, watched as the third peak Vanity spirit unfurled itself from its disguise.

    It stretched out spear-like limbs like someone was emptying a crate of black needles onto the conference room floor. Disguised, it was no bigger than a normal seat, but now, fully unfurled, it stood more than eight feet tall and six wide.

    The spirit, which called itself Death Vision Very Sightly, was vaguely insectile in its physical form. It had elements of centipede, cockroach, and corpse fly in its body, with two long hairy antennae branching out from its head, and a pair of glittering vestigial butterfly wings sprouting from its back.

    Raphas had first made contact with Sightly when it was just an infant, barely bigger than a pillbug. He¡¯d engineered an insult from Antonyx to Sightly by placing the spirit in the corner of a corridor which Antonyx had then passed through without paying the proper respects.

    The lowborn sot hadn¡¯t even known Sightly was there, but the spirit had never forgotten the slight.

    Raphas had raised it, fed it, trained it, and nurtured its hate for ten years, and now it was time for that investment to be realized.

    Sightly had started in the perfect position for an ambush. The sot hadn¡¯t seen it coming. By the time he¡¯d even felt its maja signature, it had already had its pincers wrapped around its throat.

    Sightly clamped its claw shut, and Antonyx¡¯s black blood sprayed across the room.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Raphas narrowed his eyes. There hadn¡¯t been enough blood. He was still alive, for now.

    Antonyx threw out his hands and let out a radial blast of Force maja.

    Tables and stools went flying. Orderves and drinks decorated the high ceiling.

    The other masters either absorbed or deflected the magic, but Very Sightly was knocked back. The spirit lost its grip on Antonyx, skidding away.

    Antonyx immediately started waddling across the room, heading for the open space at the center of the fallen tables.

    Raphas watched him go with a smirk. Antonyx wasn¡¯t a Reeve who prioritized combat skills. The sot didn¡¯t even carry a blade. Against any number of mortals, a Reeve was a deadly enemy. Even against a third peak spirit, a Master would usually prevail. But Antonyx spent more time reading history than he did arcane secrets, and against a vicious spirit with a physical focus¡­ well, he would be like a worm in its jaws.

    Papers spilled from Antonyx¡¯s robe as he awkwardly ran, scattering across the tiled floor as if he¡¯d just emptied his Fold pouch.

    What a buffoon, Raphas thought.

    He caught himself a second later. The papers were giving off the feeling of maja; something sharp and biting that smelled to him like a chemist¡¯s workshop.

    Every sheet of paper was covered by an active cantogram, all of them spilling Corrosion aspect maja into the air above.

    Sightly pursued him in a straight line, right over the path of dropped papers.

    The second the spirit stepped over the first one it started wilting, and it didn¡¯t know enough about what was going on to take another route.

    ¡°Not over the papers!¡± Raphas called, but it was too late.

    Master Korn turned a disapproving look on him. ¡°This isn¡¯t a duel, Master Raphas. Allow this sincere attempt to run its course.¡±

    Antonyx arrived at the center of the room. He reached into a pocket of his robe and started throwing folded paper darts at the advancing spirit. Each dart unfurled when it hit, revealing another cantogram that immediately blazed to life.

    Raphas didn¡¯t even recognize most of them, but their effects on Sightly were dramatic. Some sizzled, others burned, some leeched energy away, forming holes in the spirit¡¯s corporeal body.

    Sightly charged on regardless. It had climbed the third peak. It may not have the versatility of a sorcerer, but it had power to spare; a vast well of maja that it could use to repair its body and inflict whatever exotic effects it had learned. And Raphas had taught it a few.

    When it was clear the spirit wasn¡¯t going to stop, Antonyx raised his hand and threw another wave of force.

    Sightly must have felt it coming. It hunkered down, stabbing needle limbs into the ground and weathering the force like a strong wind.

    Antonyx tried again, then again, timing the blast for when the spirit started to move, but Sightly anticipated it every time and wouldn¡¯t be pushed.

    Antonyx raised his hands and threw fire, which rolled off Sightly¡¯s shell. He threw a jet of maja that put an icy bite in the air, then a rolling ball of Corrosion, visible as a slow moving green sphere. Only the last had any effect, sizzling into the spirit¡¯s skin and causing shell plates to fall off its body.

    Apparently unhappy with the barrage, Sightly changed tactics. It stopped, bowed down, and spread the vestigial wings on its back.

    The patterns on its wings began to glow as they flapped slowly back and forth, the colors shifting and melting. A wave of exotic apected maja flowed off it.

    Raphas only recognized the aspect because he¡¯d been the one to teach it to the spirit. Delirium aspect.

    It was hard to learn without the right substances, or a fever so bad it was life threatening. There was also a risk in using it directly against a sorcerer. Only a few aspects could be picked up from exposure alone, usually limited to those simple forces that inflicted the understanding they required, but with an experienced Reeve there was always a chance.

    The wave of Delerium washed outward from Sightly, catching even some of the spectating masters in its effect.

    When it reached Antonyx he froze. His pupils grew large, his eyes fixed on something distant that only he could see.

    He was whispering something to himself.

    Raphas had to strain his ears and flush them with Flinch aspect just to make them out.

    ¡°No,¡± he whispered. ¡°It was all true. All true.¡±

    Raphas straigtened up. It was foolish to think he would let something important slip at the end. The man was just lost in his own private delusion.

    Very Sightly approached more casually now that Antonyx was incapacitated.

    The spirit stopped in front of him and wrapped both claws around his neck. It embraced him with its many legs, becoming an iron maiden of spear-sharp limbs, all pointing at his vital organs.

    Decapitation was usually final, even for a Reeve, and no amount of body reinforcement would stop a this third peak spirit from taking his head and making a pincushion of his body.

    With its victory assured, Sightly pulled its maja back, letting Antonyx¡¯s head clear.

    The man blinked as whatever dream he was locked into faded, and he found himself back in the conference room.

    He looked around, blinking tiredly. When he realized where he was, he began to laugh.

    ¡°It was just a delusion,¡± he said. He sounded grateful.

    ¡°You¡¯re about to die, you imbecile. Stop laughing,¡± Raphas shouted.

    Very Sightly seemed more confused than put off. It flexed its claws, prickling his body with its legs. A wave of blood ran down Antonyx¡¯s body, soaking through his robes.

    Antonyx turned his eyes up to look at Sightly¡¯s head.

    ¡°You. I remember you, your maja,¡± he said quietly. ¡°Years ago. You were hiding in the passageway. A lost little thing.¡±

    Sightly hissed, rattling its shell in an insect rebuke.

    ¡°But I ignored you back then, didn¡¯t I. I thought you were just a pest. I never thought you¡¯d turn into this. I don¡¯t know if it means much now, but I¡¯m sorry about that. If I¡¯d known what you¡¯d turn into, I¡¯d have picked you up myself.¡±

    Sightly hissed again, but this time it relaxed its claws.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Raphas shouted at it. ¡°He¡¯s not really sorry!¡±

    ¡°Some spirits are more powerful than me and I¡¯m okay with that. You¡¯re what, third peak? And you still bested me. That speaks to your skill, your speed, and your violence,¡± Antonyx said. ¡°And that hallucination trick was unique. I was ready for Thought and Dream when I saw those wings, but that was something else.¡±

    Sightly buzzed quietly, a noise that was closer to a purr than anything an insect would normally make. It slowly removed one of its claws from Antonyx¡¯s throat.

    ¡°You useless worm! We¡¯ve prepared for this moment a hundred times! Kill him already.¡±

    Sightly turned its head and hissed again, this time at Raphas.

    Antonyx twisted to look at him, their eyes meeting over the field of scattered chairs.

    There was a pulse of maja from Antonyx, not enough to be an attack, but it had Raphas flooding his body with defensive magics anyway.

    None of then stopped Antonyx¡¯s words bubbling into his head.

    <You sicked a fucking Vanity spirit on me. You know they don¡¯t have any loyalty, don¡¯t you?>

    Antonyx was projecting his thoughts with the Thought aspect. Raphas never did pick that one up. Damn Lectuous and his pretentious riddles.

    ¡°Maybe not, but their grudges are legendary!¡± Raphas shouted back.

    Another pulse of thought came from Antonyx.

    <Yeah. And in Antorxians legends the spirit always slays the person who pissed it off. You must have been counting on that. But in Losirisian legends, it goes differently. There, the hero always just apologises, and they go their separate ways. They¡¯re spirits, Raphas. Not people. Not animals. They work according to their nature.>

    Antonyx turned back to the spirit.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how he¡¯s been treating you, but I know it hasn¡¯t been half as well as you deserve. Why don¡¯t you come with me? I¡¯ll pay you the honor you¡¯re due.¡±

    The spirit began a low, contemplative hiss. It wasn¡¯t clear that it¡¯d accept. Raphas doubted it that it would, but it was clear the grudge of ten years was no longer ample to ensure the man¡¯s death.

    Raphas flexed his hand and released a glimmering mercury needle from his Fold pouch. With a flick, he sent the missile hurtling towards Antonyx¡¯s still immobilized head. Apologize to this.

    Korn was suddenly standing in the path of the weapon. It reached the point where it would have touched him, and simply vanished. Raphas had the vague impression of something vast and dragonlike opening its mouth and swallowing it.

    ¡°It seems as though your fourth attempt was also a failure,¡± Master Korn said. He looked around at the other Masters, seeking a silent consensus. When nobody objected, he went on. ¡°We find that Master Antonyx¡¯s charge has merit. You do not in truth possess the competence required of a Master at Windshriek Academy. We hereby strip you of your title of Master and dismiss you from your position at the Academy. Leave now, or stand in violation of my mandate.¡±

    Raphas looked around at the crowd of sorcerers.

    Some were smirking at him, others staring with open glee, some were even ignoring him.

    He shot Antonyx a final glare, who was also ignoring him, before he turned and marched out of the room.

    ~

    Private Raven Seawine, called Bendy by the other soldiers in her unit, grabbed the mop and bucket from the storage shed and set off down the mountain.

    It¡¯d happened again. Another teenage psychopath had been given the power of a god and decided to use it to mash her comrades to paste. Raven would be the first to admit they needed the sorcerers against the horrors De Violas could field, and they saved more soldiers on the battlefield than they cost off it, but the gods knew they were a sword without a hilt.

    She ran into Private Sommar on the way down the slopes towards the barracks.

    ¡°See you¡¯re on wheelbarrow duty,¡± she said.

    Sommar was pushing a wooden wheelbarrow, the shaft of a broad, flat snow shovel sticking out the top.

    ¡°I¡¯m to bring the bodies to Master Sectus,¡± Sommar said. ¡°Don¡¯t know what he wants with ¡¯em and I¡¯m sharp fearful to speculate.¡±

    ¡°Could be anything,¡± Raven said. ¡°Magic monsters. Magic potions. Could be he likes them in a soup.¡±

    ¡°I said I was sharp fearful. I don¡¯t want to think on it. Rough enough to sleep with what I¡¯ve seen. Don¡¯t need imaginings on top of it.¡±

    ¡°Well, this is going to be a rough one, I hear. This little shit took out a whole unit.¡±

    ¡°I heard. Captain Trenton. I heard he was all right.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t like him,¡± Raven said. ¡°Not that he deserved, well¡­¡±

    They continued down the mountain, past the infirmary and prisoner washhouse, to the fresh intake barracks.

    Raven knew something was wrong as soon as she opened the door.

    ¡°Where are the bodies?¡± she muttered.

    The only sign of violence left in the central hall was the red-black bloodstains covering the walls, floor, and ceiling.

    There were no bodies, no body parts, not even a severed finger. Just blood, and only that blood that had already soaked into the stone.

    The hall was empty except for one prisoner, a new intake initiate in a light gray robe. He had wild black hair, stuck up like it had been frozen in the middle of a gale. He glared out at them with crazed, bloodshot gray eyes, his mouth locked into a furious snarl.

    ¡°Hello there,¡± she tried, keeping the nerves out her voice. ¡°You¡¯re the one that did this, are you? Me and Sommar are just going to come in and clean up a bit. You¡¯re not going to splatter us, right?¡±

    The kid didn¡¯t reply. He didn¡¯t even move. Not a muscle. She looked into his eyes for some kind of response, but she couldn¡¯t see anything there but hate.

    Weirdo.

    She stepped inside, filled the bucket from the water barrel, and dropped a handful of caustics into it.

    With nothing to do, Sommar stood nearby, watching the kid for any homicidal moves while she mopped at the soaked-in blood.

    It took them most of the morning, and the crazy kid didn¡¯t move the whole time. He just stood there, staring his hateful stare straight at the door. He was still there when they left.

    ¡°Look on his face was worse than the blood, I think,¡± Sommar said as he lead them away.

    ¡°You had it lucky. No bodies¡­¡± Raven said, trailing off. ¡°Look, we¡¯ll have to report that there were no bodies there. That¡¯s not normal.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m havin¡¯ to believe it was something innocent, like some other crew cleaned it.¡±

    ¡°Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sommar,¡± Raven said.

 15. The Sovereigns Path 1/2

    The students who¡¯d been standing behind me left right after Master Sectus.

    I couldn¡¯t turn to see them, but I heard the side doors opening and closing, and the quiet shuffling of feet, and when they were gone I could sense that I was completely alone. It was a feeling so bitter I could taste it on my tongue.

    I was forced to stare at the red wreckage of what I¡¯d done.

    I¡¯d taken their lives with the carelessness of someone doing serious violence for the first time; without thought, without experience of the consequences, without even really believing it would do amything. I¡¯d been weak all my life, too weak to believe my resistance was worth anything.

    Now I had to face my own stupidity.

    If I wasn¡¯t stupid for acting when I didn¡¯t know the consequences, then I was stupid for losing control of my magic, and if not for that then for wasting my chance in a single act of blind desperation.

    If I was capable of this, then I was capable of doing something much smarter.

    How much more effective could my actions have been with thought and planning?

    But the failed students were gone. And my maja was gone. And it had been hours since they were taken, and I no longer had any hope they could be saved.

    I got to stare at the evidence of my stupidity until the sun went down.

    My feelings swung drunkenly between the greatest regret I¡¯d ever felt in my life and a sensation of vindictive triumph.

    The soldiers had been complicit in the capture and torment of innocents. Or, they were just ordinary soldiers who probably didn¡¯t even know what was happening. Or they were the gears that made the Antorxian machine possible. Or they were perhaps less culpable than I was.

    It was easier after it got dark, for a time. The shadows removed the gory details of the scene and reduced everything to monochrome silhouettes. I could pretend the bodies were piles of clothes, the jutting bones tree branches.

    A few hours after dark I noticed a new silhouette. An oddly-shaped body stood by the door. It was the height of a young child, with sides that bulged outwards, a smooth hairless head, and haunches that rose six inches above its shoulders.

    I didn¡¯t realize what it was until it turned its head and I saw the outline of a human skull. The vulture spirit.

    It clacked its teeth, making a dry noise that sounded intimate in the space.

    It picked its way across the floor, talons tapping against the ground, until it reached the nearest mangled corpse.

    Spreading its wings, it bowed low, and began to eat.

    It consumed the first guard in small bites. Every sound of tearing flesh was loud and close in the dark room. I learned the sound that tendons made when they snapped. I learned to recognise the sound of bones being crunched between blunt teeth.

    It ate everything. Flesh, sinew, and bone, eyes and teeth, tongues, toes, the soles of the feet, the hair, and nails, even the scabbing clothes. It ate the organs whole, swallowing them down like a gull with a fish. It lapped the blood. And when it was done with the first it moved on to the next.

    Over the course of the night I heard, and smelled, and saw dimly the remains of every person I¡¯d killed being consumed.

    When it was done with the the bodies on the floor it turned to the walls and the ceiling, using its talons and teeth to pry scraps from the stones, hopping up to grab the bones in the ceiling, using its wings for leverage.

    It never seemed to grow full. Its belly didn¡¯t swell. Its enthusiasm never waned. It was impossible that it had eaten so much flesh, hundreds of pounds of human remains, without every getting any larger. But even though it was corporeal it was still a spirit and existed according to its own rules.

    When it had eaten everything it could get to and worrying the stone stopped yielding even blood-soaked dust, it started picking its way over to me.

    It was, impossibly, still hungry.

    It stepped up to me, putting its infant¡¯s skull of a head an inch from my face. I could smell the soldiers¡¯ blood on it.

    If it decided to bite me, there was nothing I could do about it. It would eat me alive as slowly and surely as if I were a corpse.

    But it didn¡¯t bite me.

    It snapped its teeth and spoke.

    ¡°Soon.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t say anything back. I couldn¡¯t ask why it was following me. I couldn¡¯t even take a breath.

    The spirit shuffled away.

    I didn¡¯t see the exact moment it left. It seemed to fade into the shadows. When the sun rose an hour later it was already gone. The doors had never opened, either to let it in or to let it out.

    I was alone again, but the loneliness felt cleaner this time. Better alone than haunted.

    I strained at my invisible restraints all through the night, but they didn¡¯t show any signs of weakening.

    The thought occurred to me that I¡¯d been left here to die, not as a punishment for killing the soldiers, Sectus hadn¡¯t seem to care about those, but as punishment for attacking him.

    But the Stillness aspect could clearly stop me moving without killing me from lack of air. It was as if even dying would be too much movement. I wondered if even starvation would kill me.

    What if I was just trapped here now? Stuck here forever. A strange statue that current and future students would learn to live with.

    I didn¡¯t doubt that a Reeve had the power to make that happen.

    I didn¡¯t even know how long this kind of spell lasted in theory. Would the Stillness maja fixing me in place fade over time, or would it have to be removed?

    I strained at the Stillness again, hoping that I could wear it down by opposing it. It didn¡¯t seem to be doing anything. It wasn¡¯t like straining against ropes. My muscles weren¡¯t even moving. Except for my ability to think, I really might as well have been a statue. Paint me gray and there¡¯d have been no difference between my body and a piece of stone.

    Next I tried magic of my own. I gathered together what little maja I had left, a thimble-full of power drawn from a core that felt uncomfortably hollow. I tainted it with the memory of being thrown by Korphus, and pushed it outwards.

    Nothing. I couldn¡¯t even move the dust on the ground around me.

    Sectus had told me that Stillness was a counter to Force aspect, as if they opposed each other. If my use of Force maja wasn¡¯t doing anything, it could only be that Sectus¡¯s application of Stillness dwarfed any amount of Force I could create.

    So, I needed more power. I had none, but I¡¯d always had the ability to gather more.

    Accumulation was the core ability of any mage, the ability to accumulate the energy of the strange world that ran parallel to our own. It was what made a mage a mage. I¡¯d learned that it often first happened accidentally during childhood. Once trained, the ability would only get more efficient.

    Accumulation normally needed the other senses to be dulled in order to feel the Fold and actively draw from it.

    That would be a problem for me, now. I couldn¡¯t close my eyes to shut out sight. And I doubted I¡¯d ever be able to ignore the smell of so much blood.

    I still needed to try.

    I let my eyes glaze over, dropping my mental focus of what I was seeing. I¡¯d been staring at the same point for so long that was easier than I expected. With nothing changing, not even the direction of my eyes, I found my eyes wanted the world to fade into indistinct grayness.

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Hearing was easy. This early none of the other students were awake, and nobody was making noise. Even the sound of wind on the walls was quiet.

    The smell was impossible to ignore, especially considering with what it meant and what it reminded me of. I skipped that step, and looked inwards.

    I felt for the presence of my core. Normally it was a comforting ball of spinning energy. Now it yawned empty. All I could feel was a nagging hunger.

    I tried to shut out my physical senses, focusing on the spiritual.

    The first thing I sensed was the waxy cold of Master Sectus¡¯s maja, still hanging around me.

    Once I set that aside, I felt the Fold almost immediately.

    It was stronger than it had ever been before. Normally touching the Fold felt like watching a distant storm over violently clashing waves, but now I was among those waves. Every swell and movement carried me with it. I felt shapes moving beneath me, enormous and oblivious; the latent spirits of the near Fold. Its energy splashed me like sea spray, much more than I was used to. I welcomed it.

    Over the next few minutes I felt the energy of the other place trickling into my core. It wasn¡¯t a deluge. Replacing what I¡¯d spent would be a long road. But it was an order of magnitude more than I¡¯d been able to accumulate before. I might be back to where I¡¯d been in weeks, rather than a year.

    A while after dawn I heard voices outside.

    ¡°Who gets their stuff?¡± a man asked. A woman answered, ¡°Goes to the commander. He¡¯ll auction what he doesn¡¯t want.¡±

    The Fold slipped out of my grasp as my physical senses reasserted themselves, the crashing energy vanishing like a receding flood.

    The door rattled and swung open. Two soldiers stood outside, one with a bucket and a mop, the other pushing a wheelbarrow.

    They stood outside peering through the open door, then pushed inside.

    ¡°Where are the bodies?¡± the woman asked herself.

    They moved inside and started the work of cleaning up the blood. Most of the work had already been done for them.

    The woman kept shooting me looks as she worked. There was fear in her eyes, hate in the man¡¯s. I didn¡¯t know what they saw in mine.

    They finished as quickly as they could and left.

    Left in silence, I was able to feel my way back to the Fold. Soon the flow of energy resumed and I continued to accumulate.

    Outside, the sun kept climbing. Soldiers arrived to drop off the usual sack of oat cakes and left promptly afterwards, only briefly interrupting my motionless work.

    It reached the time the other students would normally come to drink water and collect breakfast, but none of them arrived. They must not have wanted to eat breakfast in this place of slaughter.

    It was another hour until I was proved wrong. One student was willing to come. Some time around mid-morning the door opened and Adrian crept in.

    He didn¡¯t see me at first. He closed the door quietly behind him before stalking towards the sack of oat cakes in one corner. He took four of them, stuffing them under his arms, then turned to go.

    He saw me as he was turning. He yelped, dropping one of the cakes, then caught himself when he recognized me.

    ¡°Dorian?¡±

    I couldn¡¯t reply. I couldn¡¯t even turn to face him.

    He put all of his oat cakes down on top of the sack and came up to me.

    ¡°Dorian, are you alright?¡±

    If I could speak, I¡¯d have given a sharp response to that. If I¡¯d mastered the Thought aspect already then I¡¯d have been able to.

    He waved a hand in front of my face.

    ¡°Dorian! Oh gods. Are you dead?¡±

    He put his hands on my shoulders and tried to shake me, only to find I was completely stuck in place. Even a statue would have moved more.

    He put his hand to my head.

    ¡°You¡¯re still warm.¡±

    His hand moved to my lips. ¡°But you¡¯re not breathing. What should I do?¡± He thought for a few seconds. ¡°I should fetch someone from the infirmary.¡±

    If I¡¯d been able to I would have screamed my refusal of that suggestion.

    ¡°No, they won¡¯t come. I¡¯ll take you to them instead.¡±

    He grabbed my shoulders and heaved, trying to move me as if I were a heavy piece of furnitre, instead of being locked in a field of magical Stillness.

    I didn¡¯t move, no matter how hard he pushed or pulled, but he didn¡¯t give up, and after half a minute of trying, something changed.

    He put his arms around my shoulders and pushed, then I felt the stirring of his maja. The sensation it gave off was warm and hard, like sun-baked stone, emanating directly from his chest.

    I shouldn¡¯t have been surprised he had any. Every student here had a maja store of some level. It was why we¡¯d been chosen. I just hadn¡¯t felt Adrian¡¯s before.

    Adrian pushed again, putting his entire weight into trying to move me. His face turned pink. I felt his maja surge and envelop me.

    The air trembled. I felt my muscles respond for the first time in hours. Something around me snapped with a sound like a breaking beam and I was suddenly falling.

    The back of my head hit the ground and I welcomed the pain. I opened my mouth and gasped, the first air I¡¯d tasted since the previous night. I blinked. My eyes were as dry and rough as stone and closing them was agony, but I blinked until tears started to well up.

    ¡°You¡¯re alive!¡± Adrian said.

    ¡°I¡¯m alive,¡± I agreed.

    I couldn¡¯t begin to process how I felt. Regret, horror, relief, joy, and anger all played a part, the feelings jostling for supremacy, none willing to cohabitate with the others. Eventually they all fled before the overpowering might of numbness, and I sank into a blank gray state. I didn¡¯t realise I was crying until Adrian wrapped his arms around me.

    He patted my back awkwardly.

    ¡°There there. Buck up. You¡¯re free from whatever it was, now.¡±

    He thought I was only recovering from a spell. He hadn¡¯t seen the bodies. He hadn¡¯t seen the vulture. He didn¡¯t know what I¡¯d done. As I considered telling him, I realized he¡¯d probably just congratulate me on getting a good hit in, if he knew, and the explanation died in my mouth.

    Eventually the situation got too awkward and he let me go, climbing to his feet and stepping back.

    ¡°How did you get like that?¡± he asked.

    I just shook my head.

    ¡°Do you still need me?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I said, then sincerely, ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Adrian stood there for a minute, trying to decide if he agreed with that assessment.

    ¡°Well, you know where I am if you need me,¡± he said. He collected his short stack of oat cakes then turned to go. He paused at the door, saying, ¡°Oh, I had an idea about your riddle.¡±

    It took me a minute to work out what he was talking about. My mind was a hundred miles away from being concerned with a riddle. He meant Master Lectuous¡¯s riddle, the key to the Thought aspect.

    ¡°What is it?¡± I forced myself to say.

    ¡°It¡¯s something I have to show you. Come find me when you¡¯re ready. You look like you need some rest.¡±

    He stood there for a few seconds then left, closing the doors behind him.

    I slumped back down to the floor. I did need some rest.

    I wanted to go back to my cell. I wanted to sleep, but before I could get to my feet another group of soldiers arrived.

    Two of them were carrying a dark wooden box between them.They were delivering this week¡¯s assignments.

    It wouldn¡¯t stop. They¡¯d already taken half of us, and it wouldn¡¯t stop.

    It would go on and on, week after week, year after year, until we¡¯d either failed, or become like them.

    I was walking that path, the Sovereign¡¯s path, and I couldn¡¯t see way to get off it.

 16. The Sovereigns Path 2/2

    I was dead on my feet as I hauled myself up the mountain. Being trapped in place by Sectus¡¯s magic had been the furthest thing from rest, and the numb state I¡¯d fallen into in the dark had been closer to madness than sleep. I should have been back in my cell trying to recover, but after the night trapped in Stillness I couldn¡¯t bring myself to stop moving. The only attempt I¡¯d made to lie on my thin straw mattress had ended with ceaseless tossing and turning, and when I¡¯d tried to sleep I kept imagining the vulture spirit moving around in the darkness of my closed eyes. I couldn¡¯t settle, and movement was my remedy. I¡¯d started walking aimlessly, after a few minutes I realized I was walking up to the wooded part of the highest terrace.

    Adrian was waiting for me, like he¡¯d known I¡¯d come. I found him sitting on a log in his little camp, plucking the feathers from a dead bird he¡¯d caught. The sun was out, shining through the leaves of the short trees, making pools of light and shadow that shifted as the wind pushed branches back and forth.

    It might have looked idyllic, except that the mountain peak was visible above the canopy; ice-crusted crags and angled peaks jutting up like the spikes of a torture device, reminding me exactly where I was.

    He heard me coming and looked up from the bird, watching me approach without moving.

    I had to step over mud pools to get into the camp, winding my way around stacked branches to sit next to him on the log.

    His fire was still lit, and his lean-to looked in better shape than before.

    He waited until I sat down, then went back to the bird. It was a ground bird, the Antorxian version of a pheasant, black with red tail feathers and a long pointed beak.

    ¡°Hi,¡± I said, watching him.

    ¡°You look like you need some sleep,¡± he said, not looking at me.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s going to happen.¡±

    ¡°Well, it beats being dead, which is what I thought had happened.¡±

    ¡°Not dead,¡± I said. ¡°Just frozen.¡±

    Adrian was quiet for a minute, with just the sound of feathers pulling free from the bird¡¯s skin to punctuate the silence. Over the seconds, the sound became the sound of tearing skin and cracking bones. My vision filled with black feathers.

    ¡°Are you going to tell me how you got that way?¡± he asked. ¡°If you leave me guessing, I¡¯m going to guess you got yourself stuck playing around with new magic.¡±

    I took a few seconds to put together an answer.

    ¡°Master Sectus left me like that. After I attacked him.¡±

    Adrian stopped working on the bird and looked up at me. His eyebrows were halfway up his forehead, and there was the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. ¡°Dorian! I didn¡¯t know you had it in you!¡±

    ¡°Not just him,¡± I said. ¡°The soldiers too. I killed them.¡±

    The expression froze on his face. He put the bird down in the dirt by the fire and turned towards me.

    ¡°What do you mean you killed the soldiers?¡±

    ¡°They were there to take the failed students,¡± I said, numbly. ¡°They were going to give them the Failure¡¯s Fate.¡±

    ¡°They were going to kill them?¡± he asked quietly.

    ¡°I thought I could stop it. If I pushed hard enough, fast enough, I thought I could distract him. Sectus, I mean. I thought it might be enough that they could run.¡±

    ¡°But it wasn¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    Adrian lowered his eyes, looking at the bird on the ground.

    ¡°So, I guess the other student¡¯s are already dead by now,¡± he said.

    ¡°That¡¯s not the Failure¡¯s Fate,¡± I said.

    ¡°Expulsion?¡± he asked, hopefully.

    ¡°They¡¯re going to be changed,¡± I said. ¡°Antorx uses war beasts. Monsters that can use magic¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen them,¡± Adrian cut in.

    ¡°They¡¯re fleshcrafted creatures. They make them out of failed sorcerers. They make us obedient somehow, then transform them into monsters.¡±

    Adrian went quiet. When I glanced up at him, he was staring at the fire. He looked ill. Pale, nauseous.

    ¡°That¡¯s awful,¡± he said quietly.

    I didn¡¯t need to voice my agreement. We were both on the same page.

    ¡°Did I fail my second task?¡± he asked.

    He tried to make the question light, but I could tell he was afraid.

    ¡°No. Yours was to fight a duel. You fought one.¡±

    He was quiet for a few seconds, then said, ¡°Thank you.¡±

    We watched the fire in silence for a few minutes, thinking our private thoughts. There were no sounds except the crack of burning wood and the rustling of wind.

    ¡°I guess attacking the Reeve didn¡¯t go well,¡± Adrian said eventually.

    ¡°I barely ruffled his robe.¡±

    ¡°And the soldiers? How did you kill them?¡±

    ¡°Force aspect,¡± I said flatly.

    ¡°Magic?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°The same thing you used on me?¡±

    ¡°That I used on you accidentally. Yes.¡±

    ¡°I should probably be glad you didn¡¯t kill me, then.¡±

    I twisted to look straight at him. ¡°Now that you know what will happen, are you going to start doing what they want?¡±

    Adrian avoided my gaze. He didn¡¯t reply straight away.

    ¡°Seriously?¡± I said after a minute. ¡°You won¡¯t do it, even now you know what¡¯s at stake? They won¡¯t only kill you if you fail.¡±

    ¡°It feels like playing into their hands,¡± he said.

    ¡°It is,¡± I confirmed. ¡°It absolutely is. That¡¯s what this whole punishment is about. It¡¯s worse than anything we could possibly imagine. It¡¯s meant to shock us. They know we¡¯ll do anything to avoid that. They know we¡¯ll even die to avoid it, but they¡¯re probably counting on us wanting to live. In my case, they¡¯re right. Because I do want to live.¡±

    He turned to face me. ¡°Why do you want to live? If it means working for them?¡±

    ¡°If I¡¯m alive I can stop it happening to anyone else,¡± I said.

    ¡°How are you going to do that? Fight a Reeve?¡±

    ¡°The assignments. I¡¯m going to help the others. We¡¯re going to help each other. Nobody else is going to fail their task, even if I have to do all of them myself.¡±

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    ¡°So your big heroic act is going to be doing their homework for them,¡± Adrian said.

    I didn¡¯t respond to that, and he turned away stiffly.

    ¡°So this is it,¡± he said after a minute. ¡°We serve them willingly, or they put us under some kind of mind control and we serve them anyway.¡±

    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s it.¡±

    He was silent for a while, then said, ¡°Let me think about it.¡±

    ¡°I could use your help with the others,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how much they¡¯ll trust me after what I did. It was a mess.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll think about it,¡± he repeated.

    The words were the same, but his voice was softer.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll come up tomorrow. I¡¯ll bring your new assignment, just in case you want it.¡±

    He didn¡¯t say anything to that, but he took a deep breath that came out as a long, tired sigh.

    He was lost in thought as I turned to go, and my mind was tumbling through dark alleys of thought as well.

    What I¡¯d said to him about the other students had been true. I wanted to help them, but I wasn¡¯t sure they¡¯d let me, not after what I¡¯d done to the soldiers. I would be lucky if they didn¡¯t run away screaming at the sight of me.

    A bitter part of myself told me they¡¯d be right to.

    How many people might I end up hurting by accident, in a fit of emotion, or experimentation, now that I had actual power?

    I was lucky that Adrian hadn¡¯t seen the results of what I¡¯d done. By then, the vulture spirit had cleaned up the evidence. The vulture spirit, which was somehow following me, even in this den of sorcerers, apparently able to come and go as it pleased. It was on me like a rash. How long would it be until I woke up to find it picking at my flesh?

    And I wouldn¡¯t be able to defend myself from it. Not anymore.

    I¡¯d spent every last drop of my maja in that one, mad moment of violence. I had barely enough left to throw a stone, and I had a long path of slow accumulation ahead of me just to get back to where I was.

    I was starting to realize I¡¯d been looking down on the other students for their undeveloped magical skills, but now I was lower than they were.

    And now I had to go back to the barracks, and eat in that room, and sleep in a cell alongside those people I¡¯d terrified. People who might react to fear in the way that people often reacted to fear.

    ¡°Dorian,¡± Adrian called from behind me.

    I stopped, turning to look at him.

    ¡°Your riddle,¡± he said.

    ¡°Yes?¡± I said.

    ¡°I had an idea about it.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Oh, that. ¡°Okay, what?¡±

    He jumped up off his log and walked to the edge of his little camp.

    ¡°Come and look, this way.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t imagine what he¡¯d found, unless he¡¯d found the answer to Lectuous¡¯s riddle chiseled on an obelisk somewhere. I followed him anyway.

    The wooded area on the upper terrace wasn¡¯t large, but it felt large as I walked through it. The trees grew together, meshing with thick bushes and undergrowth.

    We were following a kind of path, in that the worst of the twigs and thorns had been brushed down or to the side, but it was clear it wasn¡¯t any more than a path that Adrian had stamped out himself.

    After a couple of minutes of walking we broke through to another clearing, this one shadowed by a dense patch of foliage. At the center of the clearing was a muddy pool, about six feet across, surrounded by shrubs and messy with water reeds.

    ¡°In a forest, by a pool, two figures crouch face to face,¡± Adrian said, holding out his hand as if he¡¯d solved it.

    He gestured at the pool.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think it was meant to be this literal,¡± I said.

    Adrian stomped over to the pool and crouched down, facing me. He gesutured at the ground in front of him.

    Deciding to humor him, I followed, taking up a position in front of him and sinking onto my knees.

    We sat there, face to face, separated by inches, with damp earth soaking into the knees of my robe and insects landing on my hair and clothes.

    Adrian stared at me for a few seconds.

    ¡°Does this help?¡± he asked.

    I sat, looking into his eyes. I thought about the riddle.

    In a forest by a pool, Two figures crouch face to face. One knows the other¡¯s mind, The other knows nothing.

    I didn¡¯t know Adrian¡¯s mind, not really. I couldn¡¯t really even guess. And as critical as I might be about his decisionmaking, he didn¡¯t know nothing.

    ¡°Not really,¡± I said.

    We sat there for another minute, both thinking about the riddle, probably, before Adrian stood up and stretched.

    ¡°Well, it was an idea,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll see you at the cells.¡±

    He spoke casually, as if he hadn¡¯t just told me that he¡¯d made up his mind, that he was coming back to the barracks, that he¡¯d decided to join in, then he left the clearing, leaving me alone.

    I slumped down onto my rear end, shifting to face the pool. I put my face in my hands.

    I hadn¡¯t slept since my pointless act of rebellion, not through the frozen night or the long grisly morning. Even now, I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d be able to.

    I opened my eyes, staring down at the pool. My reflection stared back up at me.

    I was a mess. The infirmary staff had set the nose that Adrian had knocked sideways, no magic or fleshcrafting required, but my face was still a mass of bruises and scratches. My eyes were a pair of deep, horrified wells, set in the dark rings of sleep deprivation.

    If I¡¯d seen this face a month ago, I wouldn¡¯t have recognized it. Even knowing it was me, I couldn¡¯t recognize it. The person in the reflection had done things I¡¯d never imagined, things I didn¡¯t know if I could live with. It might as well have been a stranger.

    I felt a strange moment of detachment as I stared at the image; a sense of unreality, a complete feeling of disassociation from myself and my surroundings. For a moment I was looking at a stranger, and I had ceased to exist.

    And Lectuous¡¯s riddle clicked for me. It could have been describing this exact situation. A mirroring. Looking at someone and knowing they shared my thoughts, despite seeming to be a different person; my thoughts behind someone else¡¯s eyes. I knew my reflection¡¯s thoughts, but in reality it knew nothing for itself.

    I couldn¡¯t believe that this was the answer that Lectuous had intended his students to come to. It¡¯d come so specifically out of my situation, and my life over the last few weeks. I felt like maybe Lectuous had intended me to come to the realization that other people were just mindless images waiting for my thoughts to be pressed onto them, but even if it wasn¡¯t the answer, it was my answer, and that might be enough.

    I turned and looked at Adrian.

    He was a dozen feet away, picking his way through the woods.

    I pulled up the tiny amount of maja I had left, pushed that strange feeling of mirrored unreality onto it, and glared it out at Adrian¡¯s departing body.

    <Hey?>

    Adrian tripped, falling face-first into the undergrowth. He vanished into the shrubs with an alarmed cry.

    ¡°Did you hear me?¡± I called after him.

    He appeared above the undergrowth, looking around.

    ¡°You worked it out?¡± he called

    ¡°I worked it out,¡± I confirmed. ¡°Thank you. This helped.¡±

    He got up, rubbing his head.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad.¡±

    He didn¡¯t stop to congratulate me, just continuing on the path back to his camp.

    I turned back to the pool. I dipped my hands into it, cupping them, pulling out a handful of clear-looking water. I washed my face and pushed my hair back. The dappled sunlight on my neck felt warm, and the ground was soft. I could hear Adrian moving around in his camp, cracking branches for his fire. The ground was soft and suddenly felt inviting. I lay down with my head on my arm.

    The filtered sunlight was bright enough to shine dully pink through my eyelids, banishing any darkness. The swaying of the branches was enough to leave me with the impression of movement. Despite the damp ground and the open air, I fell asleep more easily than I had in any bed.

 17. Links/Chains 1/3

    The wooden beams of the ancient inn creaked around me as I stepped through the doorway.

    Inside, the structure was shot through with fetid life from the swamp. Dark green cords squeezed between the planks of the walls and swelled out, criss-crossing the floorboards until the floor was more green than black, strangling the legs of the rotting stools and tables, snaking along the walls in their search of anchor points and higher ground. Fungal growths crowded the corners of the common room, molds and mushrooms blooming out of the permenantly damp wood in a riot of earthy colors. The dark corners of the room were alive with crawling shapes, beetles and millipedes navigating shapes that it took me a minute to realize were bird bones.

    There were still a few bottles on the shelves behind the bar; cloudy, cracked and compromised, a few with something that might have been liquid inside of them. At the far side of the room a door rested open, the half circle of floor around it the only place really clear or debris.

    A curved sign above the counter still had the remains of the inn¡¯s name, The Archer.

    That matched up with my assignment.

    Five hours journey along the South-Southwestern road stands the ruins of an inn called The Archer. The property has previously been used as a shelter by apostate students. Those students are now dead, but their spirits have become disruptive to the area. Search the building for any signs of human spirit activity and purge any remnants found. Bring your report to Master Devaus.

    I didn¡¯t know who¡¯d tried to build an inn here, half a day¡¯s journey from the academy on a disused road, but whoever it was had abandoned it decades ago. Now it¡¯s only relevance was as a makeshift shelter out in the depths of the swamp, a place that past students had apparently tried to hide.

    Human spirits weren¡¯t a completely new idea to me. Losiris had its share of ghost stories. But from my research over the past week I knew that only people with the mage talent left spirits behind. That meant real human hauntings had to be vanishingly rare almost everywhere, except the swamp around Windshriek, where they were probably pretty common.

    As I stood looking around the room, the door at the far side swung closed. The ancient hinges squealed the whole way, and there was a bang as it slammed into the doorframe. There wasn¡¯t anything around that could have moved it, and the motion had been all wrong for being blown by a breeze.

    I reached down to my side and drew my short sword from its birch bark sheath.

    Gritting my teeth, I pulled the notched blade along the back of my forearm, drawing blood. I let the blood well up, then smeared it across the blade.

    This trick was the combination of two scraps of information I¡¯d picked up. The first was that intangible spirits, normally only vulnerable to maja, could be affected by maja-infused objects. The second was that the blood of a mage was weakly maja-infused, something accessible to every sorcerer as a reagent of last resort.

    The bare metal of my sword wouldn¡¯t even be able to touch an intangible spirit normally, but coated in my blood, it would work as a weapon against them, at least until the blood dried and the maja in it boiled away back to the Fold.

    Looking inward, I pulled a thread of maja from my struggling core and spun it through the skin of my arm. My maja was still almost completely gone, but this wouldn¡¯t use much if I kept it within my body.

    The bleeding grew sluggish. The blood on the skin started to clot. I had enough maja in my reserve to hold the wound until it scabbed over.

    The idea I¡¯d stumbled on of flooding my body with maja to stave off the cold was apparently a recognized technique, the simplest of the body reinforcement techniques. It didn¡¯t give increased strength or resilence, those techniques needed aspect manipulation of internal maja, but it reinforced the body¡¯s natural processes.

    In the extreme, it could even keep a powerful sorcerer¡¯s mind alive after the heart had stopped beating. Which was either useful, or horrifying, depending on their chances of being healed. In theory it was another incredible power, but I couldn¡¯t shake the image of a sorcerer dying and remaining conscious for as long as their maja lasted, locked inside a body that was decaying around them.

    I held my sword out ahead of me as I crept forwards, moving towards the door that had moved.

    I hesitated in front of it. I didn¡¯t really want to see what was on the other side.

    The door¡¯s latch looked rusted to scrap and then when I touched the handle the wood was soft with rot. I reached out and caught the edge with the tip of my sword instead, carefully prying it open. I grabbed the edge as soon as I¡¯d freed it, pulling it open the rest of the way.

    Past the door was an empty corridor, the same overgrown floorboards and mold-rashed wooden walls. It ran twenty feet through the building, passing doors on either side, before ending in a larger space where a staircase doubled back up in the other direction.

    ¡°It could take hours to find them all,¡± a male voice said to my right.

    I slowly turned my head to see an indistinct figure standing next to me.

    His body was light gray, his head an irregular lump of tanned skin. His face was nothing but two flat black eyes that seemed painted onto his head, and a slash for a mouth. Two rows of lumpy teeth jutted out from the edges of the slit, exposed by a lack of any lips. It was as if an artist had tried to make a human figure out of wet clay, but had forgotten what a human looked like and given up halfway through. The whole apparition was slightly translucent, dark enough to look solid at a glance, but with details of what was behind it showing through. Only the figure¡¯s voice was perfect, loud and close in the room, indistinguishable from the voice of a real person. He sounded younger than me, even though his body was a darker gray than my robe, which made me think he¡¯d been a more advanced student.

    I swallowed the lump that had forced itself into my throat and tried to breath around my thudding heart.

    ¡°Find- all of what?¡± I asked.

    ¡°You know,¡± the spirit said. ¡°You¡¯re here for them too. This place was a shelter for runaway students for years. They all found their way here, and they all died.¡±

    ¡°You were here for the spirits too,¡± I guessed. ¡°Except that something here killed you.¡±

    A real person would have noticed the tremor in my voice, but the figure didn¡¯t react to it.

    ¡°Nothing here is a threat to me,¡± the spirit said. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t have sent me if I lacked the strength to handle a few Initiates.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. They did. You died here.¡±

    The spirit was silent for a few seconds, then disappeared.

    It reappeared ahead of me, further down the corridor, then vanished again, then appeared in another position, five steps forward. It stuttered its way down the hallway, fading in and out of existence. When it reached the stairs it vanished and didn¡¯t reappear.

    I took a long, shuddering breath. These were things I was here to fight.

    I moved through the doorway and started heading down the corridor. I stopped at the first side door and pushed it open. It opened on a small dining room. A table sat against the far wall, still set with a pair of bowls and wooden utensils. The bowls had been left with the remains of food, but the swamp had come here too, and now they were overgrown with vibrant mushrooms and strange, colorful flowers.

    The fact that there was anything left of the food at all told me that it was more recent than the rest of the ruin. It must have been some pair of runaways¡¯ last meal.

    The next door led to a broom closet filled with more spiderwebs than anything else. I closed that one quickly. There was a small lounge room with moldering and overgrown couches, and an empty kitchen that had been been stripped of anything useful years or decades ago.

    I reached the end of the corridor and rounded on the stairs.

    The spirit from the common room appeared briefly at the top of the stairs, a beacon, leading me on. I eyed the steps warily and started climbing.

    The stairs led to a landing that opened out on a wide corridor, running the entire length of the building.

    I¡¯d only taken a single step when a new spirit appeared.

    This one was in much better shape than the one downstairs. There was definition to its body, a robe with drapes and folds, the outline of a pair of sandals beneath the hem. If not for its faint translucency I might have mistaken it for a living, physical person. It appeared facing away from me, and its long brown hair was tied back in the style I¡¯d seen on wealthy merchants.

    ¡°I won¡¯t go back,¡± the spirit said, still only presenting the back of its head.

    ¡°You¡¯re not going back,¡± I said. ¡°You died. You¡¯re a spirit.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re weak,¡± it said. ¡°You won¡¯t make me go back. They should have sent a Master.¡±

    The spirit raised its arms, and the figment of a sword came into view over its shoulder.

    My sword was short, no more than fifteen inches long, with a stabbing point and a blade wide enough to chop with. It was the sidearm for an archer or the like in the Antorxian military. The techniques in The Opening Arts of Arrenshu barely applied to it. I¡¯d had more luck training with the dagger form called Forsecare than the duelling art.

    The sword that the spirit held was a real sorcerer¡¯s weapon. The blade was three feet long, double-edged, thin enough to move quickly but thicker at the spine to give it strength. It was a weapon designed for duelling other sorcers, blocking arrows and blades, and acting as a vehicle for maja.

    If it had been a real weapon, I wouldn¡¯t have stood a chance. The fact that it was as insubstantial as the spirit who wielded it gave me the advantage.

    Without warning the spirit lunged. The spirit stabbed backwards without even turning their head, the ethereal blade striking out in the gap between their body and arm.

    The attack completely blindsided me. The blade was sinking into my chest before I¡¯d even realized what was happening.

    The figment of the sword passed through my heart, leaving what felt like a line of ice through my flesh.

    My heart skipped a beat.

    When I directed it internally, my own maja was a salve to my wounds, an anaesthetic, and a reinforcement to the natural functioning of my body. The spirit¡¯s felt like the opposite. It was a hard, cold, flinty presence, an invasion and a pollution, burning at my heart like frostbite.

    I stepped backwards off the blade and swept my own blood-soaked sword upward, trying to knock the longer sword away. The two blades met with the sound of steel on steel and the spirit¡¯s sword was knocked upwards.

    The spirit paused. It was still facing away from me.

    ¡°I won¡¯t go back,¡± it said.

    A second later the spirit sword was flashing towards me again and again, flicking around in an unyieldin onslaught of slashes and stabs.

    I swung my short sword around chaotically, up, down, left, desperately trying to deflect the blows. I forgot everything in The Opening Arts of Arrenshu. I was fighting like a farmer with a stick.

    The spirit never deigned to look at me as we fought. All of its attacks came around its body, over its shoulders, through the gaps beneath its arms, like it couldn¡¯t bear to show its face.

    The spirit¡¯s sword lunged towards my head. I swung to deflect, only for the spirit to pivot at the last second and slide the sword past my parry.

    The sword plunged directly through my eye, through my brain, and out the back of my skull.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    For a moment I was somewhere else, in a dark room at night, with rain pouring outside, and a feeble fire flickering in a metal pot by the window. Then the vision was gone, and the spirit was withdrawing its sword.

    ¡°Why won¡¯t you die?¡± it whispered. ¡°I won¡¯t go back. Just die.¡±

    The sword swung at my neck. This time I ignored it, weathering the blows as I rushed forward. I swung my sword at the spirit¡¯s body, brutal, artless swipes that no swordsman would be proud of. Its body parted before the blood-soaked blade like smoke.

    I switched my grip on the sword, moving it into the dagger grip described in Forsecare. From here I could strike down at it with fast, deadly stabs.

    Around the fourth stab the spirit started wailing, an inhuman sound closer to wind through trees than a scream.

    Over the next few seconds it fell apart, the substance of its body fragmenting and floating away like paper in a fire.

    I was left alone in the room, out of breath, feeling icy trails all through my body where the spirit¡¯s sword had cut.

    The bleeding on my forearm had stopped, so I pulled the maja away, circulating it through my body to touch the places that had turned to ice. Slowly the feeling faded, leaving me merely exhausted.

    A knocking on the door made me jump in place.

    I turned to look. The door wasn¡¯t even closed.

    The knocking came again, loud and insistent. I moved the door, looking behind it, then closed it.

    The knocking came again. I opened the door, and jumped back when I saw a pair of spirits standing outside.

    These were closer to the one I¡¯d seen downstairs. One was small, three feet high, shaped in a way that implied a robe without depicting any detail. The other was impossibly tall, wearing what was distinctly a gray Initiate¡¯s robe, but its face was blank.

    The tall one came at me before I¡¯d even raised my sword.

    Past the sleeves of its robes, its arms ended in four-fingered claws. It was on me in a second, striking at my face and throat.

    Ice flowed through my skin and I scrambled to get away from it.

    No part of the spirit had substance, so I was able to back away. I raised my sword in a reverse grip and stabbed out it, gouging its head and chest.

    It reeled back, revealing the shorter spirit standing behind it.

    The small spirit raised an arm and I felt a bubbling maja spike from its location. A moment later I was hit by a wave of Force.

    I stumbled backwards, almost overbalancing.

    The spirit was still able to use an echo of the powers the sorcerer had when it was alive. It followed up the wave of Force aspect with a swipe of its hand that sent me spinning to the ground.

    Spikes of cold appeared in my back, and I knew the clawed spirit was back on me.

    I thrust out blindly with my sword, stabbing between my body and arm, without even the feeling of resistance from hitting something to guide my aim.

    After a few thrusts the clawing cold stopped spreading, and I twisted to see the tall spirit breaking apart.

    The shorter one was holding a ghostly red flame between cupped hands. As soon as its partner was out of the way, it threw the flame.

    I caught the spell with the flat of my sword. The blood drying on the blade sizzled and flaked at the impact, but the flame was deflected away, vanishing to nothing a foot away from me.

    I didn¡¯t give the spirit time to muster up another ghost of a spell. I strode forward and stabbed it through the heart. It fell apart as easily as the others.

    As I stepped out of the room, I caught sight of the spirit from downstairs. It was standing by a door at the far end of the corridor, crouched with the side of its head to the door like it was listening to something on the other side.

    It turned to me and spoke.

    ¡°She¡¯s the last. If I kill her, I can go back and take my reward.¡±

    It faded away a second later.

    I checked the state of my sword. The blood was starting to get sticky, but it was still wet enough. I held the sword out and started walking down the corridor.

    I looked in each of the side rooms as I went. I didn¡¯t find anything but bones, overgrown by vines and covered in hip-high piles of fuzzy white mold.

    When I reached the door at the end I paused.

    The spirit I¡¯d been following had been playing out a scene from its life, like an actor in a play. The sorcerer who¡¯d left it had been alive when they reached this room, and they¡¯d died some time later. I couldn¡¯t shake the thought that whatever had killed them had been in this room.

    I put my hand on the handle and took a breath. I wouldn¡¯t fail the same way he had. I¡¯d fail in a different way. If I came across a spirit that I couldn¡¯t deal with, I was going to run.

    I turned the handle and threw the door open.

    The first thing I saw was another corpse. Bones and a little red matter, wrapped in dark gray cloth and covered in vines that had burst through the window. From the size of the remains and shade of the robe I thought it might have been the body of the spirit I¡¯d been following. The second thing I noticed was the woman.

    She wasn¡¯t a spirit. She was solid, as real as I was, lying on a pile of clothes in the far corner of the room. Her skin was pale, her hair was unwashed, and there was a smell of decay hanging in the air around her.

    The vines that had colonized the corpse were touching her as well, wrapping around the lower half of her right leg. The parts of the leg that were visible were withered, the flesh wrinkled and practically hugging the bone. I doubted that she¡¯d be able to walk on it.

    I was at a loss for what to do. I¡¯d been sent to destroy spirits. The scroll hadn¡¯t said anything about a living student.

    Her eyes snapped open while I was standing there. She spotted me, then grabbed the hilt of a long dagger laying at her side.

    I was injured by hostile maja and tired from fighting. I wasn¡¯t in any position to fight another living person, let alone a student in a darker robe than me. I was ready to run. I didn¡¯t get the chance to.

    She jerked her dagger and a wave of force caught me, dragging me into the room. Another twitch and she¡¯d slammed the door behind me. She pointed her dagger straight at me and a sheet of force slapped my body, throwing me against the back wall, pinning me, threatening to crush me. My sword flew out of my hand, clattering to the ground.

    ¡°Why are you here?¡± she asked, speaking in a thick native Antorxian accent. She sounded exhausted, like even drawing breath was an effort.

    I was instantly aware of the danger in telling a runaway student that I was here on orders from the academy, but I didn¡¯t think she¡¯d just take a lie on face value. I chose honesty.

    ¡°I¡¯m only here to get rid of the spirits,¡± I said quickly.

    ¡°You¡¯re here on assignment?¡±

    ¡°Yes. But just to deal with the spirits. I had no idea there was someone alive out here.¡±

    She peered at me, suspicion jostling with weariness on her face.

    ¡°What are you, an Initiate?¡±

    ¡°Yes. In my first year.¡±

    She stared at me for a few seconds.

    ¡°If they sent you, they must think I am dead.¡±

    ¡°I think they do. My assignment only mentioned spirits.¡±

    She nodded, satisfied.

    ¡°Let¡¯s keep it that way.¡±

    She twisted the dagger in the air and the pressure on my chest doubled, then tripled, like she was turning a giant screw. The force squeezed all the air out of my lungs. I felt it hissing out through my throat, powerless to stop it. The same pressure dug into my throat, constricting my veins and windpipe. The sound of my heartbeat was deafening in my ears, and unlike with Master Sectus¡¯s Stillness spell the lack of breath was already making my head pound.

    The woman¡¯s maja was raging in her body the whole time, an energy that felt like rushing cold water. She looked halfway to dead and she still felt more powerful than I¡¯d ever been.

    My vision started to darken at the edges. She¡¯d killed the person who¡¯d left the spirit, and now she was going to kill me.

    As my vision started to grow dark, I saw a new figure appear in the room. The misshapen Initiate spirit flickered into existence behind the woman. She didn¡¯t seem to notice. It crouched down and a glint of silver appeared in its hand, then it was drawing the figment of a blade across the woman¡¯s throat.

    The pressure vanished from my chest. I dropped to the ground, gasping.

    My head was pounding. I felt dizzy enough to faint.

    Looking up, I saw the woman choking, grasping at the phantom blade sinking into her throat. The spirit pulled its ghostly dagger back and stabbed it into the side of her head.

    ¡°Come on,¡± it said. ¡°We can kill her together.¡±

    I knew from experience what she was feeling; icy trails her through her flesh, the painful effects of hostile maja on her body.

    I recovered enough to get on my knees. I grabbed my sword from where it¡¯d fallen at the edge of the room.

    I twisted to face them. This spirit was clearly more dangerous than the ones I¡¯d fought. The woman was struggling to hit it. Every punch just glanced off, moving the misshapen spirit, but not damaging it. Its own strikes on the other hand were landing, and she was getting weaker. She swung her dagger, but it was only steel. She blasted it away with a punch of Force aspect, but it only vanished and reappeared on top of her, bringing its dagger down into her chest.

    I stepped forward and swung my sword at the spirit¡¯s neck.

    The blood-coated steel made contact with the translucent figure. The spirit¡¯s misshapen head drifted away from its body like mist. The two parts of it hung in the air for a few seconds, moving slowly apart, before they both disintegrated into smoke and embers.

    I had a moment of looking into the woman¡¯s startled eyes, then I ran.

    Maybe saving her would have convinced her I didn¡¯t mean her any harm, that I was closer to being on her side than the academy¡¯s, but with my life on the line I couldn¡¯t count on it. I¡¯d done the job I¡¯d been sent for, and I certainly didn¡¯t need any more blood on my hands.

    I slammed the door behind me, throwing myself down the stairs, then around the corner. Within seconds I was back in the common room, swaying drunkenly as the dizziness caught up with me. I made it to the main door and ran out into the swamp.

    I didn¡¯t stop running until I couldn¡¯t run any more, sinking to the soft ground fifty feet from the inn, putting a wide tree between myself and its dark, overgrown windows.

    When I was getting my breath back, I heard the woman¡¯s voice again, shouting from the room¡¯s window.

    ¡°Where did you go, Initiate? Come back. I won¡¯t hurt you.¡±

    I stayed hidden. As much as I would have liked to believe her, I wouldn¡¯t stake my life on it.

    After a few seconds she shouted again.

    ¡°What are you going to tell them? Nothing! It would be pointless. I¡¯ll be gone by the time they send anyone, and you¡¯ll be punished for filing a false report.¡± She was quiet for a few seconds, then called, ¡°You can come out. I have no reason to hurt you.¡±

    I slipped away without letting her see me, sneaking away through the undergrowth until I could double back to the road.

    Part of me felt guilty for abandoning her, she could probably use my help, but I was afraid how much she¡¯d already absorbed of the Sovereign¡¯s Path. I was afraid that she wouldn¡¯t risk leaving me alive.

    I¡¯d be back at the academy before dusk. I¡¯d worry about what I was going to tell Master Devaus when I faced them.

 18. Links/Chains 2/3

    The entrance clerk of the tower told me to climb ten flights of stairs and knock on a door made of frosted glass to find Master Devaus. The stairs were a chore after I¡¯d already walked through seven miles of swamp, but I did have a deadline. I forced myself to climb them, using trickles of maja to suppress the aching.

    When I reached the doors he¡¯d described they were already open.

    The room beyond them was high up in the tower, with a long open arch in the outer wall that looked out over the mountain. Wooden arches criss-crossed the vaulted ceiling, with red banners hangings hanging between the pillars. Each banner depicted the same symbol, a hollow circle crossed by a black vertical bar. The bar could have been a staff, or an obelisk, or the pupil of a reptillian eye. It wasn¡¯t the first time I¡¯d seen the symbol of the Reeves. It wasn¡¯t prominent down in the academy, but I¡¯d seen it a few times within the tower.

    Positioned around the room were odd items of furniture, stone plinths, large crystal bowls, brass and silver braziers, lecturns supporting oversized books, even a small wooden gallows with a noose.

    As I stepped into the room a giant bird flew in through the archway and landed in a shallow copper tub full of clear water. It was some kind of parrot, not at all at home in the cold slopes of Windshriek, with white and purple plumage and a curved beak that looked like it had been dipped in blood.

    It turned after landing, the water at its feet sloshing as it paced in a half circle. It stopped when it saw me, peering at me with a round yellow eye before turning away. It could only be some kind of corporeal spirit.

    The only person in the room, an androdgynous black-robed Master with gray skin and long white hair, moved over to the bird and began to speak with it. The Master said something, then the bird¡¯s beak opened a fraction for a few seconds, then the Master spoke again.

    I stood quietly by the door. I strained my ears to hear what they were talking about, but the wind blowing in through the open side of the building was too loud.

    After a few minutes the spirit had finished giving its report. The Master bowed to it, and it turned away, stretched its wings, and took off. It seemed to fly out through the arch without ever flapping its wings, as if it moved by the mere idea of flight.

    The black-robed Master turned to me and gestured for me to approach.

    ¡°Master Devaus?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he or she replied. I couldn¡¯t tell from their voice. ¡°Are you Dorian Tisk?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°How did you get on with the spirits?¡±

    ¡°I dispelled them,¡± I said. was pretty sure dispelled was the right word. ¡°Three were the spirits of runaways, one of an initiate sent to hunt them.¡±

    ¡°You dispelled them? How?¡±

    ¡°I used a sword coated in my blood.¡±

    Devaus considered that for a few seconds before shaking their head. ¡°Foolish. Destroying a spirit is the act of a brute.¡±

    I grimaced. It was the first time in my life I¡¯d ever been called a brute.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure how else to handle them,¡± I said.

    ¡°It would have been more productive to recruit or dominate them,¡± Devaus said, becoming animated. ¡°The spirits of human mages are powerful, flexible, and quite easily molded. You could have ended this task with three new spiritual servants or soldiers, instead of merely passing the assignment.¡±

    ¡°They weren¡¯t really in the mood to talk,¡± I said.

    Devaus was quiet for a second. They looked off around the room, as if they¡¯d lost focus.

    ¡°Then you should have forced your will upon them. Put them at your mercy, until they break and submit! Spear them with your maja, and control them from within! To simply destroy a spirit is disgustingly wasteful.¡± Devaus trailed off, seeming to calm down. ¡°Still, you have accomplished the task, in your own way. What would you like for a reward?¡±

    It took a second for the question to register. I was used to just accepting whatever the academy Master wanted to pass off as a reward. Now I was being asked what I wanted? I wasn¡¯t prepared. I hadn¡¯t even imagined what I¡¯d ask for in principle.

    What would be too much to ask for? What would be too little? I didn¡¯t imagine I could ask to go home, but I didn¡¯t want to waste this chance.

    What would most benefit me today? Knowledge? Equipment? Training?

    ¡°I could pick something, if you prefer¡­¡± Devaus said flatly into the silence. I realized I was taking too long.

    My empty core had to be the top of my priorities. Without a maja reserve, I was barely a mage at all.

    ¡°I recently lost my accumulated maja¡­¡± I started, hoping Devaus would jump in with a suggestion.

    ¡°Oh yes, I heard,¡± Devaus said. ¡°Master Sectus was laughing about it all afternoon.¡±

    In dropped my eyes to the floor. A pain in my teeth made me realize I was clenching my jaw.

    ¡°The best treatment for depleted maja would be to accumulate directly from a concentrated source,¡± Devaus went on. They rubbed their dry, gray hands together. When they pulled them apart a small steel disk was sitting between them.

    Devaus held it out to me. I took it carefully.

    The disk was about the size of my palm, etched with a strange cantogram shaped like a spiked circle, broken by straight lines in eight places, each leading to a more complicated sub-diagram.

    ¡°This trinket is a spirit siphon. If a spirit is placed within the circle, the device will slowly its maja, cleansing it and releasing it for accumulation. This particular siphon is quite low quality. It will only work on very minor spirits, those no larger than the disk itself. But from the feeling of your presence, that may be enough.¡±

    I ran my thumb along the lines of the cantogram, trying to memorize it then and there, as if it would suddenly be snatched away.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said.

    It might have been the first time one of the Masters had ever been genuinely helpful to me.

    ¡°It¡¯s your due,¡± Devaus said.

    A few seconds later a new spirit arrived at the window. This one was incorporeal, faintly translucent, in the shape of a swollen four-armed humanoid with an elongated head.

    Devaus abandoned me completely, heading straight for where the spirit was settling down on a woven rug at one of the room¡¯s station.

    Thankful that I was getting out without being exposed to any unhinged Reeve behaviour, I left quickly, heading for the tower¡¯s exit.

    I was just passing through the main ground floor corridor when I caught sight of Master Antonyx.

    He was fifty feet away and had his back to me, but his dusty robe with scrolls bulging out of the pockets couldn¡¯t belong to anyone else.

    He passed out of sight a moment later, rounding a corner at the far end of the corridor.

    I hadn¡¯t seen him since he¡¯d given me the book Adventures in Thought. After solving the author¡¯s riddle and picking up the Thought aspect I¡¯d gone back to try and deliver the real results of my search at Fort Msiesetr. But he hadn¡¯t been there. Or at least, he hadn¡¯t answered my knock at his door. At least now I knew he was still alive.

    I rushed after him.

    By the time I reached the corner he¡¯d disappeared, but I headed for stairs down and then towards his office.

    This time when I knocked on his door I got an answer.

    He didn¡¯t open the door for me, just shouting a clipped ¡°Enter.¡±

    I opened the door and stepped inside.

    Antonyx was there, standing towards the back of the room.

    He was inspecting a row of identical incorporeal spirits, six tall human-shaped shades, with cowled silhouettes and bodies that billowed out like wind-blown robes. They each had distinct arms and hands, with long claw-tipped fingers, but no other features.

    The sight of them standing amongst the shelves was almost enough to have be bolting back through the door. Only the fact that Antonyx was standing right next to one, his hand buried in the shadow-stuff of its flesh, kept me in the room. If he was aware of them and invited me in anyway, there had to be a limit to how dangerous they were.

    ¡°Master Antonyx?¡± I said cautiously, as much to announce myself as get his attention.

    ¡°Come in, scribe¡¯s apprentice,¡± he said, not looking away from the spirit. ¡°I¡¯ll get to you in a minute.¡±

    I took a few steps deeper into the room.

    Antonyx was moving his hand through the spirit, from its head, to its heart, then its hands. I could feel his maja working through the process. It gave off a quiet fluttering sensation, like papers blowing around in a wind.

    While I waited, I took Adventures in Thought out of my bag. I¡¯d got everything I could from it, and most of it wasn¡¯t worth much anyway, just the rambling of its author. The entire thing could have been condensed into a two-paragraph scroll as far as I was concerned.

    ¡°I brought back your book,¡± I said.

    ¡°Yeah. Give me a minute.¡±

    He gestured within the body of the spirit, turning his hand like he was tying a knot, then withdrew his hand. He brushed it against his robe as he turned.

    ¡°Alright little scribe, tell me what you found.¡±

    I took a breath and thought back to Lectuou¡¯s riddle, and my personal answer to it.

    Thought aspect didn¡¯t take much maja to use, which was lucky, because I had almost none.

    I gathered up what I had, the product of several evenings of accumulation, and brought it into my gaze.

    I fixed the answer to Lectuous¡¯s riddle in my mind, the image of my reflection staring back at me in the pool. The trick wasn¡¯t just looking at my reflection. The memory was also colored by the riddle. It was a moment of looking at myself and seeing a stranger, of looking at a stranger, and knowing that my thoughts ran behind their eyes.

    I pushed the feeling onto the maja and pushed it out with a thought.

    <I found the records I think you were looking for,> I thought at him.

    The effort all but drained my maja. I might have another sentence in me, but I hoped he didn¡¯t want to try and carry on a conversation this way.

    He just waved his hand at me.

    ¡°No need for that any more. I dealt with the watcher. Just tell me. What did you find in the records?¡±

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    I let the book fall limply at my side. I let out a sigh before I answered.

    ¡°You just want me to come out and say it?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Yeah. Good job learning Thought aspect though. Not everyone can. Even some Masters never manage it.¡±

    ¡°Why did I need to learn it in the first place?¡± I asked.

    ¡°I had a rival spying on me. I had to take a hand off my personal projects. But he¡¯s gone, you¡¯re free to speak.¡±

    ¡°There was an astronomical event, like you thought,¡± I said. ¡°Two red stars in the sky above the mountain.¡±

    ¡°When?¡± Antonyx asked, suddenly focused.

    ¡°The spring of 1585, two hundred and twenty-five years ago,¡± I started.

    Antonyx turned away and paced towards the bookcase next to his desk and started hunting along a row of books. He waved his hand for me to continue.

    ¡°An Antorxian officer called Ewart was in command of the fort at the time. On the sixth day of spring that year, his guards reported the appearance of two red stars in the sky above the academy, in the Mephit constellation.¡±

    ¡°In Mephit?¡± Antonyx said. ¡°How long were they there?¡±

    ¡°From the sixth to the eleventh,¡± I said, poking my memories of the commander¡¯s log with a mental stick until they yielded more information.

    ¡°Five days,¡± he said to himself.

    He found the book he was looking for and took it off the shelf. He opened the cover and started paging through it. I shifted to the side so I could read the spine. The Geography of the Near Stars.

    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure the academy attacked the fort around the same time,¡± I added, taking a step closer. ¡°The mage officer there thought it was a Dark Smoke Gut demon. All the surviving troops left for Fort Serakas.¡±

    Antonyx was ignoring me, reading through the book. I tool another step closer and caught a glimpse of an annotated diagram. A set of concentric circles surrounded a black dot. Each circle was marked with a character from an unfamiliar script and annotated with words and numbers in Old Irisian.

    ¡°What were the stars?¡± I asked,

    Antonyx stared at the book for a few seconds before snapping it shut.

    ¡°Conventional wisdom would say that they were comets, but normal comets wouldn¡¯t be red.¡±

    ¡°So they were unusual comets?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Very unusual,¡± Antonyx said, half to himself. He dropped the book on his desk and snapped his gaze to me. ¡°Keep this one to yourself. There¡¯s more knowledge that can get an Initiate killed than there is that can¡¯t, and this is the former. Don¡¯t tell anyone what you read, and don¡¯t tell anyone I was asking for it. Especially don¡¯t tell any of the other Masters.¡±

    I nodded.

    Antonyx let out a tight breath, then turned back to his spirits.

    He made no mention of any additional reward. He¡¯d already given me access to Adventures in Thought, but I kind of thought my unofficial work warranted something more.

    Maybe by not banishing me from the room he was giving me an opportunity to pry information out of him.

    ¡°What are those spirits?¡± I asked, looking over the shadowy figures he was working on.

    Antonyx did something with his hand, making a circular motion, then waggling a finger as if he were writing in the air.

    ¡°My servitors,¡± he said, not turning from the figure. ¡°They¡¯re artificial spirits. Hand made. These ones are going to be my librarians.¡±

    ¡°For the archives?¡± I asked, looking around at the messy, chaotic shelves that filled the chamber.

    ¡°For the library!¡± he answered. ¡°Raphas is out. Now it¡¯s my turn. I¡¯m taking it over. It¡¯s going to be something new. Organized.¡±

    He said the last word almost reverently.

    ¡°Maybe some lights?¡± I asked, thinking of the perpetual darkness down there.

    ¡°No,¡± Antonyx said bluntly.

    Oh. ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°The shadows force students to learn to see in the dark. To a sorcerer, darkness is an old friend, not a barrier. Its only a problem for the unskilled, and they really shouldn¡¯t be getting into the deeper sections in there anyway.¡±

    ¡°How does someone learn to see in the dark?¡± I asked.

    Antonyx had been surprisingly free with his answers so far, and I didn¡¯t know if it was an implicit reward for my report, or whether he was just distracted by whatever he was doing with the servitor. Either way, I felt like I was pushing my luck.

    ¡°Fleshcrafting of the eyes is one way. Internal manipulation of the Sift aspect is another. There are cantograms that can do it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d very much like to see one of those cantograms,¡± I said.

    ¡°Try the library,¡± he replied, without humour.

    I decided I had to just come out and say it.

    ¡°Am I going to get anything for my report?¡± I asked.

    Without pausing his work, Antonyx flicked his hand behind him. I felt his maja surge, and a whip of force tore one of the sheets of paper from his desk and slapped it into my face.

    I reached up and pulled it away, finding that it was one of the notes detailing a filing system.

    ¡°Take an index. It¡¯ll help you navigate the library, after the changes.¡±

    I didn¡¯t bother suppressing my sigh.

    I folded the paper slowly and slipped it into my pack.

    I stood there in silence, watching him work, building the courage to bring up the other thing I wanted to ask.

    After a couple of minutes he noticed that I hadn¡¯t scurried off with my reward and spoke over his shoulder.

    ¡°Still here?¡±

    ¡°There was something else,¡± I said. ¡°I wanted to ask about the failure¡¯s fate.¡±

    He must have noticed the edge in my voice because he paused then withdrew his hand from his spirit. He pulsed his maja, shaking his hand as if flicking water off it then turned to face me directly.

    ¡°So you found out about that already,¡± he said.

    ¡°Last week,¡± I said.

    Antonyx didn¡¯t follow up. He turned awkwardly back to his spirit, continuing to poke at it.

    ¡°They took eight of us. To be turned into monsters.¡±

    Antonyx waved a hand at my dismissively. ¡°They¡¯re gentled. They¡¯ll enjoy being monsters.¡±

    His words were flippant, but his tone was grim.

    ¡°They shouldn¡¯t have been gentled at all,¡± I said.

    I could feel my cheeks getting warm. I forced myself to relax, leveling out my thoughts. Having a temper was a completely new experience to me and I didn¡¯t like losing it.

    ¡°I agree. They should have passed their tests,¡± Antonyx said.

    ¡°They didn¡¯t even know what was going to happen if they failed.¡±

    ¡°They knew our reputation. They probably thought they were going to get killed. It turns out what they get was a little bit better than that.¡±

    ¡°Better?¡± I said. ¡°Is it better to be turned into a monster?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Antonyx replied without hesitation.

    ¡°And you¡¯re okay with it?¡± I asked.

    I¡¯d obviously misjudged Antonyx. The impression I¡¯d got of him being halfway to a normal person was clearly wrong. It must have been that the Reeves were all so awful that the first one to seem merely unpleasant looked like a hero.

    ¡°It¡¯s one small evil in the world,¡± he said. ¡°I didn¡¯t start it. I can¡¯t stop it. It just is. I¡¯ve never run a warbeast project, but that¡¯s as far as my conscience goes.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you to be able to stop it,¡± I said. ¡°Could anyone?¡±

    Antonyx at least did me the favor of humoring me. He thought for a second.

    ¡°Grandmaster Korn. He¡¯s the academy head. He¡¯s powerful. He could stop it by edict. Master Sectus could refuse to cooperate, that¡¯d stop it in practice, until his apprentice killed him or got promoted over him. There¡¯s a few legal scholars around here who might be able to litigate it.¡±

    ¡°Litigate it?¡±

    ¡°The Reeves are a society of laws,¡± Antonyx said. ¡°We have a code. If one of them demonstrated that gentling was against the code, it¡¯d be stopped.¡±

    ¡°The code? You mean the Sovereign¡¯s Path?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the core of it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t even know all of it,¡± I said.

    ¡°It is not to receive, but to take.¡±

    ¡°I know that part.¡±

    ¡°What we take adds to our strength,¡± Antonyx added.

    That part was new to me. The next line.

    ¡°That seems like a code designed to let anyone do absolutely anything,¡± I said.

    ¡°Not really,¡± Antonyx said. ¡°There¡¯s a lot I could take from you. Your sandals, your bag, that little sword you¡¯ve got hidden in there. But none of it would make me stronger. It wouldn¡¯t be protected by the code.¡±

    ¡°So if you did, I could complain to someone?¡±

    ¡°Great spirits, no. But it wouldn¡¯t be protected by the code. It¡¯d be a personal dispute. And I¡¯d be looked down on for it. If it was a big enough disparity, someone could call me on it and accuse me of straying from the Path. They might even get me stripped of my rank.¡±

    ¡°How does the failure¡¯s fate fit into the code?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Gentling them takes their free will, but turning useless recruits into fighters makes the order stronger. What we take adds to our strength.¡±

    ¡°So if the gentled students couldn¡¯t be used, they wouldn¡¯t add to your strength, and gentling them would be against the code?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Well¡­ I¡¯m not a legal scholar,¡± Antonyx said.

    He finished his work with the servitor and withdrew his hand. The spirt shuddered in place for a few seconds, then turned and started floating towards a nearby pile of books. It bent down, picked the top one off the pile, and moved to sort it into a nearby shelf.

    I thought for a minute about what Antonyx was saying. To me the code of the Soveriegn¡¯s Path just sounded like a convenient fiction, a self-aggrandizing justification for theft, murder, and whatever else they wanted to do. The idea that any kind of legal principle could get the Reeves to stop doing something they otherwise wanted to do was ridiculous. It was another hollow hope. It was probably just another method of control. Unfortunately, now I knew about it, it wouldn¡¯t stop nagging me.

    ¡°What¡¯s the rest of the Soveriegn¡¯s Path?¡± I asked.

    Antonyx screwed up his face. ¡°You don¡¯t get to know it yet. Steps on the Path are rewards for different milestones. You¡¯re due the second step for passing your first fortnight, but the rest has to wait.¡±

    ¡°So we don¡¯t even get to know the laws we¡¯re living under?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    I had no good response to that. Antonyx had told me more than anyone else at the academy so far, but now that he was clamming up I didn¡¯t have any way to pressure him.

    He seemed to realize I was at a loss, since he turned away and started working on the next spirit along the row.

 19. Links/Chains 3/3

    Flames flickered, and the smell of pine and scorched wood filled the common room. Seven people sat around the torch, looking at each other nervously, trying to tell friend from foe.

    I''d thought that it would be hard to get the others to come together against the threat of gentling. I''d expected to be met with distrust, if not fear. I''d been wrong. I was starting to think I didn¡¯t know that much about people.

    I¡¯d gone to each of them with the suggestion that we help each other, and the ones who weren¡¯t completely closed off had been almost desperate to accept.

    It didn¡¯t matter that they¡¯d seen me kill a squad of soldiers. It didn¡¯t matter that they might have been afraid of me, or afraid of being associated with me, or afraid of just everyone and everything in this place.

    There was a need in them to connect, and the academy hadn¡¯t yet managed to burn it out. I''d offered them a connection, and they''d taken it.

    The seven of us were gathering on the sixth day of the week. The eve of deadline day. We¡¯d each had ample time to attempt our assignments, and now we had a day to work together, to accomplish as a group what we might have failed to do alone.

    Everyone seemed shocked at what the failure¡¯s fate really was. Master Antonyx had been right. We¡¯d all secretly expected the punishment to be death, and against the bleak backdrop we were numb to the idea. The threat of death had seemed distract and abstract, but gentling was immediate and concrete. We¡¯d had uncertainty, but now we had certainty. Now we had clarity. The reality was much worse than death, and we were all quietly terrified of it. More terrified of it than we were of each other.

    I¡¯d wanted the group to check in early and often, but the others had wanted as much time as possible to work on their own assignments. So we¡¯d set the weekly meeting to happen on the sixth day of the week; enough time for us to complete our own tasks, while leaving a day for cooperation.

    We met in the barracks common room, the seven of us gathering just after dusk, sitting down in a circle at the center of the room like children on a camping trip.

    Now we were here, it seemed like we were all reluctant to speak.

    The common room was lit, for once. A woman called Terese had put together some torches out of split sticks and resin-coated pinecones. They were apprently a traditional craft in the hill kingdom of Durrin, where she¡¯d lived before the Reeves came for her. In her village they were common midwinter gifts. Here, they were our light and hearth.

    Adrian checked outside the barracks doors, then came back to John us.

    He was looking better since he¡¯d moved back to the barracks. He was washing more regularly. He was sleeping better, partly thanks to the heating cantograms I was maintaining in our cell.

    At some point over the last week he¡¯d picked up a piece of armor; just a battered steel breastplate with a hole burned over the heart, but he wore it like an Errant¡¯s regalia.

    Some of the others showed signs of progress as well. I¡¯d last spoken with Sal Merchamp when I was teaching her the Force aspect. Now she carried one of Adrian¡¯s quarterstaffs, and one of her hands was red and from the scabbing burn on her left hand I guessed she¡¯d tried to learn the Fire aspect. I didn¡¯t know if she¡¯d succeeded.

    Olan Draxs had surprised me by joining the group. He was one of our cohort¡¯s native Antorxians, a tall man with short black hair and a muscular frame. He looked like he could have been a soldier before the academy. Natural born Antorxians were only supposed to be here voluntarily, but I got the feeling it wasn¡¯t that way with him. I didn¡¯t know for sure.

    Four weeks ago, he hadn¡¯t been any better prepared than the rest of us. Now, he had an improvised weapon made from a short spear made from a stick tipped with the razor-sharp shell of some swamp shellfish.

    Jason Isarion was a man a couple of years older than me. He¡¯d kept his hair long despite it looking increasingly ragged over the last few weeks. He wasn¡¯t carrying any new equipment or bearing any new scars, but his bearing was subtly different to how it¡¯d been when we arrived. He¡¯d been as lost as the rest of us at the start, but now he seemed like someone trying to make the best of it.

    He¡¯d been the son of a mayor in Cortiss, the contested nation north of Antorx, but when the Antorxian army rolled in he¡¯d been handed over as quickly as any of us. He was the only other Initiate in the group who¡¯d had something like a formal education, though where mine had focused on the scribe¡¯s arts, his had been preparing him for a life in Cortissian society.

    The last two members had been the hardest to get on board.

    Tom Carrot was a farmer¡¯s son from some minor Antorxian tributary kingdom, and Alexa was wiry nineteen year old woman from a coastal city-state called Kon-Perel.

    Out of all of us, Tom seemed most out of his depth. He¡¯d looked like he wanted to run when I¡¯d first approached him. Alexa had been innately distrustful, and even now she was looking around at the rest of us like we were about to pull a knife on her.

    ¡°I think this is everyone. Let¡¯s begin,¡± Jason said. ¡°Unless there are any objections, we¡¯ll pass around the circle reading our assignments in order, starting with myself and moving clockwise. After that we¡¯ll go around a second time, saying how we completed them, or what help we need, if we didn¡¯t.¡±

    I listened carefully as Jason established what sounded like a system he¡¯d thought out in advance.

    ¡°Are there any objections?¡± he asked, looking around at us.

    I looked at Jason, then around at the others. I¡¯d sat in on enough farmer¡¯s councils to recognize when someone was trying to take charge.

    ¡°We should start with Adrian,¡± I said. ¡°He helped put the group together and we all know him.¡±

    The study group was my idea, but I had no desire to lead it. I didn¡¯t object to someone taking charge in principle, but I didn¡¯t trust the instincts of someone who¡¯d jump at the opportunity the way Jason had seemed to. Adrian was a little crude but otherwise pretty benign.

    There was a momentary change in the expression around Jason¡¯s eyes, but then he gestured at me.

    ¡°Of course, starting with Adrian.¡±

    Adrian gave me a sideways glance, then started speaking.

    ¡°I had to fight one of the soldiers,¡± Adrian said.

    A few of the others exchanged glances. I met Adrian¡¯s eyes. He¡¯d told me about it already.

    ¡°What, the other soldiers just let you beat one of them up?¡± Sal asked.

    Sal had been a town guard before the Reeves got hold of her, so she probably had a unique insight into how they felt about that.

    ¡°He was being punished for something,¡± Adrian said. ¡°They¡¯d already stripped him of his rank and sentenced him to death. They left him with his sword and his shield and set us against each other in a rock garden on the south side of the grounds. I had my staff. We fought.¡±

    ¡°Did you kill him?¡± Sal asked.

    Adrain shook his head. ¡°That wasn¡¯t on the scroll. I just had to punish him. So I knocked him down and gave him a caning. I don¡¯t know what happened after that. They probably killed him.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to interrupt, but this is breaking with the protocol,¡± Jason said. ¡°Can we please stick to simply giving our task to begin with?¡±

    Adrian shot me a look, but stopped talking.

    Going around clockwise, it was my turn next.

    ¡°I had to clear a ruined inn of spirits,¡± I said.

    To my left, Alexa asked, ¡°What kind of spirits?¡±

    I looked at her, then at Jason. ¡°They were the spirits of dead students,¡± I said to her. ¡°Runaways who¡¯d died in the swamp, and left incorporeal spirits behind.¡±

    ¡°And you killed them?¡± Sal asked me from across the circle.

    ¡°They were already dead. I just distroyed the spirits they left behind.¡±

    ¡°Still, it¡¯s kind of like turning against your own, isn¡¯t it?¡± she asked. ¡°I¡¯d run if I got the chance, and I wouldn¡¯t want you coming to kill me, even if I was only a ghost.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think they had enough of a mind left to know I was on their side,¡± I said. ¡°They were just blurry shapes, really. Most of them didn¡¯t even have faces. I tried to talk one of them down, but he didn¡¯t listen.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯d you kill them?¡± Alexa asked, sitting next to me on my left.

    ¡°I coated my sword in blood,¡± I said, resting my hand on the birchbark scabbard at my side. ¡°The blood of a mage is a maja-infused substance, so it can affect incorporeal spirits.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯d you get the sword?¡± she asked.

    ¡°In a ruined fort two days from here.¡±

    ¡°Any more of them there?¡±

    ¡°No. There wasn¡¯t anything else useful there, just junk.¡±

    Her eyes stayed on my sword for a few seconds, then she looked away, chewing her lip.

    I knew Alexa was from Kon-Perel, a busy port city. She seemed quick on her feet, but I didn¡¯t know anything about her beyond that. I forced myself to take my hand off the sword. I told myself she wasn¡¯t going to try and take it.

    ¡°Your turn, Alexa,¡± Jason said.

    ¡°I had to draw blood from an older student,¡± she said. ¡°Didn¡¯t get into a fight or anything. Just traded for it, in the end. A lad up the hill let me cut him for a weird rock I found, and that was that.¡±

    ¡°What was the rock?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Dunno. Black shiny rock, fell off the back of a wagon when that big metal fella was coming in.¡±

    ¡°The Titan?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that.¡±

    Tom was leaning forward to Alexa¡¯s left, his hands on his legs. He looked desperate to speak.

    ¡°Tom, what was your assignment?¡± Jason asked.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got to get an ¡®human fingerbone¡¯ for Master Sectus an¡¯ I¡¯ve got no idea how to go about it,¡± he said. He sounded tense, like he barely had any breath to speak with.

    Jason looked slowly around at the rest of us. ¡°Well, I¡¯m sure we can work that out together,¡± he said. ¡°Does anyone have any ideas?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve got ten at the end of your hands, haven¡¯t you?¡± Alexa said. ¡°Dorian can lend you his sword.¡±

    I shared a look with Tom. He looked like he thought I was going to jump up and cut his finger off right that second.

    Jason went on to describe his own task, sounding pleased with himself. ¡°I had to collect a variety of plants from the cliffs above the academy. The hike was a little difficult, and one of the plants irritated my skin somehwat, but I was able to find all the varieties listed and hand them off to Master Vodkus without issue.¡±

    ¡°Did you have any samples left over?¡± I asked.

    I¡¯d been sent on my own plant collection chore, and I still had some Ginsberry leaves slowly drying out in my cell.

    ¡°I did have a few, yes,¡± Jason said.

    Terese was up next. She spoke quietly, twisting a fold of her robe between tanned hands.

    ¡°I had to kill an animal,¡± she said. ¡°I killed a bird.¡±

    There was a few seconds of silence. Sal broke it with an exclamation.

    ¡°Saints blood. What¡¯s the point of these?¡± She looked from me to Adrian, then around the group. ¡°Killing spirits and collecting plants, alright, those are jobs. That¡¯s just us working as mercs. Beating up a soldier and drawing blood, fine, we can call that combat training. What¡¯s the point in killing an animal? I killed ten birds a month back in Dorries. It¡¯s not hard. It doesn¡¯t teach you anything, and it¡¯s not useful to anyone, unless you eat it.¡±

    ¡°Terese seems to have a delicate disposition,¡± Jason said. ¡°I wonder if they¡¯re trying to toughen her up.¡±

    ¡°You reckon they¡¯re paying that much attention to us? Seriously?¡± Sal asked.

    ¡°None of my tasks have been personalized,¡± I said.

    ¡°Two of mine focused on fighting,¡± Adrian said, ¡°But another was¡­ something else.¡±

    I looked at him, then away. His first task had been to pray to a dark god called Ixilthan. Knowing that Adrian was raised in the Abbey, that would have been a particularly heretical act. Maybe they were trying to test us. Or break us.

    Everyone was quiet for a half a minute, probably looking inwards to see what their tasks might say about them.

    Into the silence, Olan Draxs said, ¡°I have to kill one of you.¡±

    Everyone slowly turned to look at him.

    ¡°I am not going to do it,¡± he added.

    After a few seconds of silence, Jason cleared his throat.

    ¡°No, of course not. I¡¯m sure you wouldn¡¯t have told us if you were planning on doing it¡­¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Olan confirmed.

    ¡°You completed your last assignment, so you¡¯ll be safe this week,¡± I said to him.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    ¡°What if you weren¡¯t safe?¡± Sal asked, turning to look at the man beside her. ¡°Would you do it? If not doing it would get you the failure¡¯s fate?¡±

    Olan looked around us slowly, probably thinking about which of us he¡¯d be willing to kill.

    ¡°I think some of you would do it, if it were you,¡± he said. ¡°And one day, it might be you.¡±

    ¡°Not me,¡± Sal said. ¡°I¡¯m leaving. As soon as I get an assignment outside the wall.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think running has a high survival rate,¡± I said quietly.

    ¡°Well half of the people we arrived with are as good as dead, so staying doesn¡¯t seem that safe either.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your task, Sal?¡± Adrian asked.

    ¡°Got to show two types of magic to Master Cordaze,¡± she said. She held out her burned hand and focused on it. After a few seconds, a blue flame appeared, dancing across her fingers without ever really touching them. She held it for a moment, then clenched her fist, snuffing it out. ¡°I¡¯ve got Fire and Force, thanks to Dorian.¡±

    ¡°Watch your hands around Cordaze,¡± Adrian said, still staring at the hand that had held the flame. ¡°She¡¯s the one who zapped off Ordan¡¯s hand on the first day.¡±

    ¡°And someone else¡¯s, when she was teaching the Wheel aspect last week,¡± I said.

    ¡°Sounds like she¡¯s got an obsession,¡± Adrian said.

    ¡°Say,¡± Jason said casually. ¡°I wonder if any of poor Ordan¡¯s hand bones are left in the field where she made that speech.¡±

    Tom had the expression of a drowning man who¡¯d just been thrown a rope.

    ¡°What? I didn¡¯t think of that!¡±

    He jumped up and immediately started hurrying towards the door.

    ¡°Take a torch,¡± Jason suggested, calling after him.

    Tom pivoted and picked up one of the pinecone torches from the edge of the room, before pulling open a door and stepping out into the night.

    ¡°Well, the first meeting of this group has been a success,¡± Jason said.

    ¡°For most of you,¡± Olan said.

    ¡°I propose we continue to hold regular meetings on the sixth day of the week, just enough time for emergency interventions,¡± Jason suggested.

    Nobody disagreed and he nodded, satisfied.

    ¡°Then perhaps we should name our association along those lines,¡± he said. ¡°The Sixth Day group?¡±

    Again, nobody objected, but this time it seemed to be because nobody really cared.

    As far as I was concerned, this was a desperate act of survival, not any kind of official group. I still wasn¡¯t sure we¡¯d even live long enough for a name to be necessary.

    Alexa was the first to leave when the meeting was over, getting up and heading off to the cells. The others left one by one after that, some going to the cells, others sitting around the edge of the room, taking advantage of the light and heat from the torches.

    Adrian got up towards the end, heading back to the cells. I followed after him.

    After last week, a lot of the cells had been left empty, and some of those left behind had spread out to fill them. Adrian and I had chosen to stay roommates, since while we weren¡¯t exactly fast friends, we knew that we at least wouldn¡¯t try to kill or steal from each other in our sleep, and we could at least rely on each other for protection if anyone else tried something.

    After the meeting tonight, I wasn¡¯t so worried about any of them trying to hurt us. I hadn¡¯t felt any real danger from them. Even Alexa, who was I pretty sure had designs on my sword. Even Olan, who¡¯d apparently been explicitly told to murder one of us. Him just telling us that was an almost unbelievable act of trust. He could have and probably should have just lied about it.

    There were others in the barracks who hadn¡¯t chosen to join our group.

    Marie Hyndeston and Faux Juris, the other two native Antorxian students, had declined to join. Not that they seemed to be having any trouble completing their tasks.

    Unlike us, they were here by choice; sent by their familities to attend what was to the Antorxians a prestigious magical academy.

    The other initiate not to join us was a scarred man called Crewe from one of the Antorxian tributary nations. He was taller than even Sal, and had an outlaw¡¯s tattoo on his collarbone. Of all the other initiates in the barracks, he was the one I¡¯d heard from least, and the one I was worried about most.

    I followed Adrian into the room. He shut the door behind me and immediately wedged a large rock against it.

    It was dark in the room, especially after being around the torches in the common room, but it was warm thanks to the Winter Hearth cantogram on the wall. We were as close to comfortable and secure in there as it got at Windshriek.

    I¡¯d learned that after initially painting the cantograms, I could refresh them by misting maja over the lines, even if I¡¯d never managed to mist a cantogram directly. I¡¯d had to teach Adrian how to do it, since I was still mostly wiped out.

    Adrian went to his bed on one side and I went to mine on the other. There was no other comfortable furniture, here or anywhere in the barracks.

    I sat on my mattress, just sackcloth densely packed with dry grass, and crossed my legs.

    I had three hours or so before I¡¯d be able to sleep, and I needed every minute of it for accumulation.

    I listened to Adrian¡¯s breathing as I tried to shut out the details of my senses. I breathed deeply, feeling for the chaotic roil of the Fold.

    The process got infinitely harder when Adrian started talking.

    ¡°Why would they tell Olan to kill one of us?¡± he asked. ¡°I can¡¯t work it out. They go to all this trouble to sniff us out and drag us here from across the nations, only to throw our lives away like they¡¯re nothing.¡±

    I took a deep breath, trying to maintain my meditation.

    ¡°Is it some kind of sick game?¡± he went on. ¡°Do they enjoy pitting us against each other?¡±

    He seemed to expect a response.

    ¡°A single Reeve is probably worth about a thousand soldiers,¡± I said. ¡°If they get a single Reeve from our group, maybe that¡¯s enough to make it worth it to them.¡±

    ¡°But how did they know Olan wouldn¡¯t kill that one person?¡±

    ¡°Because if he were going to do it, he would have targeted the weakest among us,¡± I said.

    Adrian was silent, for a few seconds at least.

    ¡°That¡¯s probably Tom or Terese,¡± he said quietly. ¡°Should we watch them, to make sure he doesn¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think Olan is the one we have to worry about. Jason was right. If he was going to do it, he wouldn¡¯t have told us. He¡¯d have just done it. And we¡¯d probably never have known what happened.¡±

    Adrian finally went quiet after that.

    I sank back into meditation. Sight, sound, and discomfort faded away. The room smelled of the dry grass of the mattresses and the mountain air coming through the window. I filtered those out as well. Soon I was sensing more with my spiritual senses than my phyiscal ones.

    In this state I could feel the maja sources around me.

    Adrian¡¯s was the most prominent, a bundle of energy that felt solid and warm, like a sun-baked brick, or a metal pot cooling over the embers of a fire.

    A few cells to my right, two more signatures hummed in my senses. One of them gave off the hot prickling feeling of a rope burn or nettle sting. I recognized that as Sal Merchamp. The other was a cold crushing weight that made me feel like I was being buried alive. One of the other students. I let my attention linger on them, looking for signs of trouble, but they were as separate and motionless as Adrian and I were.

    I felt the presences of the other students in the building, then let my attention spread out.

    Finally I sensed the Fold; a crashing, roiling layer of maja, seemingly infinite. I started to draw it in like clear fresh water from a lake.

    My accumulation was interrupted after a couple of hours by a knock on our door.

    Adrian jerked awake.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± he said, disoriented.

    Letting out a long breath, I opened my eyes and stretched out my legs. My accumulation had been more efficient than it¡¯d ever been before coming to the academy. I didn¡¯t know if it was because of the environment at the academy, or if an empty core was easier to fill than a full one, but in one session I¡¯d managed to accumulate enough maja to enough to throw whoever had disturbed me down the corridor.

    ¡°Someone¡¯s at the door,¡± I said.

    The quiet knock came again.

    Adrian got up and went to the door. He lifted the rock blocking it back a few inches and cracked it open.

    ¡°Hello, Adrian,¡± Jason¡¯s voice said from outside. ¡°I wondered if I could speak to Dorian.¡±

    Adrian dragged the rock away from the door as I got up and opened it.

    ¡°Hi,¡± I said, blinking the crust out of my eyes.

    ¡°Hello, Dorian,¡± Jason said. He was standing in the corridor with his hands cupped together, like a shy farm hand about to ask for a pay rise. ¡°I heard that you¡¯ve been looking for a small spirit. You need it for some kind of magical training?¡±

    ¡°I mentioned it to Sal,¡± I said.

    Master Devaus in the tower had rewarded me for my assignment with a spirit siphon, which could apparently drain small spirits of maja to improve my accumulation. I¡¯d mentioned it to Sal, but I hadn¡¯t asked anyone to find one for me.

    ¡°And when I mentioned I¡¯d seen a nest of spirits, she passed the information on to me. I happen to have found one.¡±

    He lifted his hands and cracked them open. The corridor was only lit by moonlight from the window behind me, but I still caught a flash of movement inside his clasped hands before he snapped them shut again.

    ¡°I¡¯m willing to give it to you,¡± he went on.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said, cautiously. ¡°That¡¯d be useful.¡±

    Jason didn¡¯t immediately hand the spirit over. He looked in through the doorway and his eyes fell on the cantogram sketched on the wall.

    ¡°Your room seems warmer than the others,¡± he said. ¡°Is it some kind of warming magic?¡±

    ¡°Yes. A Winter Hearth canto,¡± I said.

    ¡°Would you be willing to apply it to my room?¡±

    I looked down at Jason¡¯s clasped hands, then back at his face.

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Wonderful.¡±

    He held out his hands and started slowly opening them. I held out mine, ready to catch whatever was inside.

    The spirit flashed out through his fingers and into my waiting hands, which I closed around it.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said.

    ¡°We have to help each other, from now on,¡± Jason said.

    ¡°I can apply your cantogram tomorrow,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll need light to do it properly.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Jason said.

    He said farewell, then left. Adrian re-barricaded the door and came to sit next to me on my bed.

    He looked down at my hands. ¡°What is it?¡±

    I cracked my hands open to peer inside, and the thing darted out.

    It flitted around my head, then through the air around me, before settling on my bed.

    It was faint, translucent, but clearly recognizable as a small spider.

    ¡°A spider, wonderful,¡± Adrian said, stepping away. ¡°Just what I wanted to share my cell with.¡±

    I crouched on the floor and dug through my bag. My hand closed around the metal disk and I pulled it out. The cantogram on the surface was hard to make out in the low light, but I could see well enough to orient it upwards.

    I turned and crept towards the spirit.

    The spider spirit skittered on the spot as I got close, turning to waggle a pair of forelimbs at me.

    I placed the disk down on the bed next to it and slowly slid it underneath it.

    The effect was instantaneous. The spirit froze, locked in place by a sub-section of the cantogram. It started to shake, emitting a high-pitched whining sound, and I felt maja start to roll off it, thick and scented like burning dust.

    ¡°What¡¯s the noise?¡± Adrian asked.

    He came across the room and crouched next to me.

    The spider spirit was waggling its many legs at the walls of its invisible cage, shaking and screeching as maja flowed off it.

    ¡°The disk is siphoning its maja,¡± I said. ¡°In theory, I can accumulate directly from it.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t spirits only made of maja?¡± Adrian asked.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°So this is kind of like draining its blood, for power.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    We watched it shaking and screaming for a few more seconds. I shifted, putting my hand next to it on the bed. Maja was blowing off it like a summer breeze, filling the room.

    ¡°It¡¯s only an incorporeal spirit,¡± I said. ¡°It probably doesn¡¯t even have the intelligence of a real spider.¡±

    ¡°No, probably not,¡± Adrian said. He didn¡¯t move away.

    I watched the thing shaking for a few more seconds, before pulling the disk away and releasing it.

    It immediately darted away, scuttling up the wall and disappearing through the window.

    I tossed the spirit siphon back into my bag.

    ¡°The sound was pretty annoying,¡± Adrian said, moving back to his bed.

    ¡°There¡¯s no way I would have been able to accumulate with that going on,¡± I agreed quickly.

    Adrian lay back down and rolled over, seeming determined to go back to sleep.

    I turned crossed my legs again.

    Sinking into a meditative state, I drank up the maja that had been loosed from the spirit in just the brief time it¡¯d been on the siphon. When I was finished, my reserves were back to a tenth what they had been when I¡¯d arrived.

 20. In the wound and in the blood 1/4

    Diverse, bloated, stretched, clawed, winged, spined, and envenomed, the latest batch of warbeasts moved down through the academy terraces like a pack of dogs, crawling, flopping, slithering, and loping their way towards the gate.

    It was like a parade; twenty grotesque living weapons, as deformed in body as their creators were in soul. Led by a Reeve I didn¡¯t know, they moved without coercion. They didn¡¯t need the rod or whip. They didn¡¯t even need leashes. They understood their instructions and followed them.

    The person responsible for making them stood watching from the edge of an upper terrace. Master Sectus. Short, slender, with skin that was criss-crossed with gray, like he¡¯d had the color caned out of him with a birch branch.

    He looked so small and insignificant from down here. He could have been a merchant¡¯s bookkeeper, or a village healer. His face could have been capable of wearing a kind expression, if he¡¯d been anyone else. Here, now, at the end of the path Antorx had laid out for him, the path he had taken, he was the monster behind the monsters. He¡¯d worked on the war beasts with the academy¡¯s blessing and the help of others, but he was the one most directly responsible.

    It would have been justice for him to die, I thought. For him to fall off the mountain, or be mortally wounded by an experiment gone wrong, or assassinated by an ambitious student.

    I¡¯d never thought dispassionately about another person¡¯s death before. Not even when the other boys in Kirkswill were tipping wood shavings down my shirt. It had always been beyond the pale. But after a month at the academy I was finally starting to get there. I was finally starting to hate Antorx.

    When I¡¯d been an innocent scribe¡¯s apprentice in my home village of Kirkswill, I¡¯d had different feelings. The Antorxians had been a distant threat. I¡¯d heard the war stories from elders about the monsters they unleashed in battle, the brutal tactics, executing Losirisian leaders until they found one who¡¯d collaborate. I¡¯d heard of their persecution of Losiris¡¯s native mages ¡ª the wizards, with their mighty words and enchanted staffs. I¡¯d heard of the book burnings and executions.

    All that was enough to make me fear the Antorxians. It was enough to dislike them, even to be disgusted by them. But to hate, I felt like a measure of knowledge was needed.

    Over the last four weeks, I¡¯d come to know them better. I knew the Antorxian soldiers, with the grim devotion to their Empire, more loyal to that abstract idea than their rulers, and more loyal to those rulers than each other. I knew the Reeves even better, most of them cruel, some of them mad, but all of them wielding power with complete conviction that power itself was the greatest good.

    They¡¯d forgotten what it meant to be human. Their flesh was transitory, always able to be replaced through fleshcrafting, and if their new flesh didn¡¯t feel touch and pain the same way as real flesh, then all the better.

    They¡¯d lost any respect they ever had for the human form, willing to twist failed students into beasts for their armies. They obviously had no mercy. I thought they probably did have empathy, in that they could imagine what it would be like to be gentled themselves, but they simply didn¡¯t care. If it led to power, then the path was righteous. It was the only path for them. The Sovereign¡¯s path.

    As I looked on their latest troupe of warbeasts, I thought I knew enough now to hate them.

    The group reached the lowest terrace and passed through the gate. A pair of wagons and a squad of soldiers were already waiting outside to escort them, another batch of weapons for Antorx¡¯s wars. They set off together, marching down the mountain road as a single column. I stood at the edge of the barracks terrace watching them go.

    Somewhere overhead a hawk was circling, a black speck against an iron-gray sky. The wind was picking up. It felt like a storm was blowing in.

    I felt like I didn¡¯t know what to do with my hate.

    I could unleash it all in one pointless, probably suicidal strike, like I had on the day the other students had been taken. But that would do nothing to the Reeves and end up badly for me.

    I could run, but I¡¯d seen the spirits of those who¡¯d run. It still seemed like a death sentence.

    I could even let myself fail my assignments, joining the monsters being sent to feed the Antorxian¡¯s ongoing war. Or I could stay and work. I could become a sorcerer.

    If I could learn their lessons and still stay myself, then it might be worth it. If I could learn what they had to teach while keeping my humanity and my respect for humanity, then maybe I could turn around and do something about them.

    I just wasn¡¯t sure that I could learn their lessons without becoming one of them. Every task they gave us, whether we could see the logic in them or not, was another knock of the hammer that was shaping us in their image.

    The procession passed behind a crag of rock and went out of sight. I turned away.

    The departure of the new warbeasts wasn¡¯t the only activity happening in the academy.

    On the library terrace, a market had sprung up. Students had dragged tables out of their private lodges and communal buildings and made them into makeshift stalls, with a variety of hand-made wares spread across them.

    Apparently a monthly event, it was an opportunity for the more craft-oriented students to gain resources from the more martial ones in exchange for things that only they could make. They traded weapons, armor, tools, and knowledge for money or barter.

    The currency of the land was the Antorxian duc, an irregularly round silver coin as wide as an eye and embossed with the tripeak symbol of the Antorxian emperors. I obviously had no money, but there had to be a way for the coins to make it into the student population from the outside world. Maybe the students traded with the soldiers. A magical tool with its own source of maja might be prized among non-mages, a magical weapon more so.

    I had to pass through the market on my way to the library and I found myself staring like a farmer¡¯s son on his first trip to town.

    There was clothing and armor for sale; shirts, breastplates, mail shirts, shields and bucklers, helmets, greaves, and bracers. I saw magical trinkets like my spirit siphon, and books and scrolls that had presumably been written by the students themselves. Weapons were another popular offering, though most stalls limited themselves to spears and blades.

    I stopped at one stall where a thin man in a dark gray robe was selling feather swords, the traditional long blade of a sorcerer. Each one was around three feet from hilt to point, with an extremely thin single-edged blade. I knew from The Opening Arts of Arrenshu that the hilts were weighted to bring its center of balance very close to the hand.

    They were almost useless in the hands of anyone but a sorcerer. With its thin blade it needed the speed, strength, and additional effects maja could provide to be an effective weapon.

    The student running the stall noticed me looking.

    ¡°Forty ducs for simple sword,¡± he said, ignoring all the signs that I was just a destitute initiate. ¡°Two hundred if you want one enchanted.¡±

    The prices shocked me. Two hundred ducs¡­ The same weight in silver would get someone a house in Kirkswill. I swallowed, trying to sound like an interested buyer.

    ¡°How are they enchanted?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Some are spirit scrived, some are inscribed with cantograms. Flexibility versus reliability.¡±

    His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the badly crafted scabbard at my hip. ¡°You don¡¯t look like much of a sword guy.¡±

    I walked off before he could retaliate against me for wasting his time.

    I slowed at a stall selling traditional scribe¡¯s supplies. Pens, paper, glue, and ink all vied for my attention, begging to be bought. I didn¡¯t bother asking for prices. I didn¡¯t have a single coin on me. And I didn¡¯t fool myself into thinking anything I had or could make would be worth much in trade.

    I had a little maja-infused ink left, and that was coarse and low-quality. To make anything better, or to make paper, or real pens, I¡¯d need better equipment than I had now, and I¡¯d need money to trade for equipment. It wasn¡¯t a field where I could pull myself up from nothing.

    I left the market behind, thinking about what the weaponsmith had said about enchanting.

    Putting a cantogram on steel would need maja-infused wire at least, and probably tools for etching. Spirit scriving would involve coaxing a spirit to dwell inside a weapon and cooperate with its wielder, which was an even more distant possibility for me. Spirit contracts were an entire other field of sorcerous study which I hadn¡¯t so much as touched.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    The library hadn¡¯t changed from the outside.

    It was still an idiosyncratic building made from assorted stones, laid with slapdash mortar. The ancient timbers of the roof were still in place. The bronze doors were open, which was new. The flickering blue light of the lanterns inside was visible through the doorway, tinting the gray light coming from the clouded sky.

    Stepping inside, I was shocked to see someone had set up lanterns all the way down the stairway. Now we wouldn¡¯t have to descend irregular smooth stone steps in total darkness. The reduction in accidents alone would probably boost Antorxian military strength dramatically over the next few years.

    Inside, down the stairs and through the second set of doors, the library had been transformed.

    Most of it was still shadowed in darkness, that hadn¡¯t changed, but now small orbs of blue light drifted through the shelves as Antonyx¡¯s spirit servitors patrolled the isles holding dim blue lanterns.

    The books were no longer chained to isolated plinths, but sorted onto wooden shelves. The shelves themselves had been organized, standing in straight rows as far as the light from the stairs stretched, and every one of them was marked with a brass plate engraved with a number.

    Scrolls were no longer piled, but sorted into gridded cubbies. The books sat flush with the edge of the shelves, their spines displayed, where the title was written on the spine, or else they were sitting with their covers facing out.

    It was as if some great organizing force had swept in and fixed every problem the library ever had. Now it matched up better with what I thought a library should be. I couldn¡¯t approve of much the Reeves did, but I approved of Master Antonyx¡¯s work here.

    I dropped my pack on the ground and pulled out my new candle, as well as the index Antonyx had given me for a reward.

    The candle was from Terese, a twist of sackcloth soaked in pine resin and wrapped around a wooden rod. I lit it from one of the blue-flame lamps and looked down at my index.

    I wanted structured magic. Cantograms. I was sick of trying to read in the dark and I was sure cantograms would be the answer.

    The servitors added an eerie presence to the library as I made my way through the library. They appeared as shadowy figures moving between the shelves. At least the lanterns they carried let me keep track of them, so they wouldn¡¯t just be jumping out at me from the shadows.

    That was more than I could say for the students.

    I froze at the sight of a white shape moving in the darkness ahead of me. Deep in the shadows it was hard to see. I got the impression of something large and gangly. It was the kind of sight that would send me running home if I¡¯d seen it in Kirkswill. Here, I was starting to get used to seeing horrors.

    I hesitated briefly then continued walking towards it.

    As I got closer, my candlelight revealed the bulges and angles of a pale gray war beast, a spindly four-legged creature with useless bat wings sprouting from its shoulders. It was wrapped in linen and leather armor, worn over soft scales of gray fleshcrafted skin. A mane of greasy black hair sprouted from its otherwise bald head. The head was eyeless, with a pair of large nostrils an inch above a wide sharp-toothed mouth.

    Its keeper stood near it. I recognized her. She was the student I¡¯d seen with Ba a few weeks ago.

    I looked from her to the creature. The warbeast had the same distinctive scar on her forehead I¡¯d seen on Ba, and on the other warbeasts, two pinrpicks flanking a vertical cut. I realized that this creature was Ba, just with more fleshcrafting work.

    The sorcerer looked up at me as I approached. She looked down at my candle, sneering, before turning back to the book she was reading.

    ¡°Is this Ba?¡± I asked her.

    The warbeast turned its head towards me. It no longer had eyes, but it sniffed the air deeply. Its jagged lipless mouth dropped open.

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s you,¡± the sorcerer said, glancing at me again. ¡°Don¡¯t try and command her again. I¡¯ve updated her instructions. They¡¯re iron-clad.¡±

    Ba turned her head to sniff the woman. Her hair swayed around her neck, the oil-damp strands clinging to skin and each other. I could still feel her maja, if I felt for my spiritual senses. She glowed with a feeling that was both sharp and soft, like needles lurking beneath the surface of a cushion.

    ¡°Who did she used to be?¡± I asked.

    The sorcerer looked up, fixing me with a curious gaze.

    ¡°She used to be called Dorela. She was my friend.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you have a problem with what¡¯s happened to your friend?¡± I asked.

    ¡°A problem? What do you mean?¡± she said. She turned to look Ba over. ¡°She¡¯s a good piece of work, even if I do say so myself.¡±

    ¡°You did that to her yourself?¡±

    ¡°Yes. This was our arrangement. If either of us failed, then the other would lodge a bid for their new form. She wanted me to look after her, even when she was no longer herself. Luckily it was my proposal which won out.¡±

    I felt my stomach doing flips during her explanation. The woman had reshaped her friend into this. And the friend had wanted her to.

    It was somehow worse, knowing I was looking at someone¡¯s interpretation of kindness.

    ¡°Would you like to see a combat demonstration?¡± the sorcerer asked. ¡°I¡¯ll be pleased to show you, if you don¡¯t take your pathetic light and go.¡±

    I looked away and started walking. I tried not to see Ba in my peripheral vision as I went.

    My heart was pounding in my chest. I wanted to go back to the two of them, to throw my magic against the sorcerer, free Ba. But that wouldn¡¯t do any good for anyone. Whoever Dorela had been, she beyond my help.

    That was ignoring the fact that I probably wouldn¡¯t even be able to touch the sorcerer. She was older, she¡¯d been accumulating for longer, she¡¯s spent more time learn tricks, secrets, and aspects.

    I¡¯d never have the power to stop any of them. Even if one day I became a Reeve myself, I¡¯d be setting myself against an entire school of them. There had to be a hundred or more Reeves in Antorxian service across the nations, not counting the academy Masters, who were all each somehow more than a Reeve themselves.

    I was never going to stop them through power. I was never going to be able to change anything through power. That was their philosophy¡¯s solution to everything, and I¡¯d never beat it with its own strength.

    I just didn¡¯t know what the answer could be. Subterfuge? Sabotage? I could try those, though I doubted I¡¯d be the first.

    Right now I didn¡¯t even have the strength or resources to get away from the academy.

    I found the shelves I was looking for and tried to stamp down on my growing anger.

    I started flipping through the books. Each book only contained at most four or five designs, but there were still more cantograms at my fingertips than I¡¯d ever seen before.

    I found a cantogram that would burn maja to create light, at the cost of causing a kind of wasting sickness from long-term exposure.

    There was a cantogram for perfect night vision, which only worked if it was tattooed onto the eyeball, and would cause slow blindness after that.

    There was one called the Night¡¯s Welcome Canto, which would amplify any light passing through it without causing any kind of debilitating condition at all. That was one worth memorizing.

    By the time my candle burned down I¡¯d memorized the layout of three more cantograms. Night¡¯s Welcome for a potential way to see in the dark, Stone¡¯s Quickness to lighten a weapon ¡ª assuming I ever worked out a way to engrave my sword ¡ª and Sky¡¯s Appetite, a foundational cantogram that could absorb maja and not much else.

    Those were just the start of what I had access to, and with my inks I had a way to use them. My limited repertoire of aspects wouldn¡¯t limit me any more. Even my decimated maja stores wouldn¡¯t hold me back for long.

    Antonyx¡¯s library reforms had democratized a lot of the knowledge held down here. It was no longer gated behind hidden volumes that could only be found with long trial and error searching. Now all it would take was dedicated study, and I was no stranger to study.

    Beyond what I could do was what I needed to do. Two weeks ago, I would have been happy to survive. Survival was all I wanted. Now I had a new perspective. Survival wasn¡¯t the only goal I had in mind. It wasn¡¯t even the top of my list.

    The image of Ba came back to me as I looked down the copy of the index Antonyx had given me.

    Under gentling only one shelf was listed, but I was sure that I could at least learn what it was, how it was done, and maybe even how it could be stopped.

 21. In the wound and in the blood 2/4

    Paladius - Who do you obey?

    Lan - You.

    Paladius - Whose orders do you follow?

    Lan - Only yours.

    Paladius - Totally and completely? Without question or rebellion?

    Lan - Yes.

    Paladius - Do you resent that?

    Lan - No.

    Paladius - Are you going to be honest with me? This process is useless without honesty.

    Lan - I will be honest.

    Paladius - That¡¯s good. Do you mind that my apprentice records our conversation?

    Lan - No.

    (Saverell - Here Paladius looks at me to confirm that I am taking notes. After seeing that I am, he returns to the beast.)

    Paladius - No. I don¡¯t suppose there¡¯s much that you would mind, now. No comment to that?

    Lan - No.

    After several hours of research, the record of the conversation between a visiting Reeve and a gentled Initiate called Lan Beanstringer was the most promising thing I¡¯d found.

    The account dated from more than a hundred years ago. An academy Master had died in mysterious circumstances and Paladius had been summoned to investigate.

    It was the first thing I¡¯d read that suggested the control imparted by gentling wasn¡¯t complete. It was also my first glimpse into the mind of a gentled subject.

    From what I¡¯d been able to put together, the practice of gentling had started about two hundred years ago.

    The earliest reference I could find was in a description of a sorcerer sub-sect called the Avowed, which paired every Reeve with a fleshcrafted warbeast. The author had noted how the development of gentling helped ensure the loyalty of fleshcrafted warbeasts, who up until that point had been exclusively volunteers.

    It seemed that before gentling, becoming a warbeast had been a kind of alternate path a sorcerer could take, becoming a monster in body instead of just in action. It was a fast route to power, at the sacrifice of their human form. The implication in some of the texts I¡¯d read was that it was an option for less promising students, who lacked skill in magic or the ambition needed to become a Reeve. That might have been how it came to be used in the failure¡¯s fate.

    I couldn¡¯t imagine the mind of anyone who willingly chose to have their body twisted into a living weapon, but the evidence was that such people had existed.

    The new pacification technique was alternately described as gentling, easing, shrouding, alloying, the gift, the gift of peace, and the gift of Kuhxos, Kuhxos being a figure from Atorxian mythology, not a historic Reeve like I¡¯d first thought.

    It wasn¡¯t anything as simple as mind control. It was closer to a constant euphoria, a state that made mortal concerns slip away, leaving the victim careless, directionless, and susceptible to control. Or so the diary of a long-dead medic¡¯s apprentice claimed. To someone in that state, even the monetary return of their ordinary fears and pains would be an unbearable torture, giving their them both an incentive to follow orders and an easily accessible punishment if they didn¡¯t.

    There was no concrete information on how it was done. In some references if sounded like a surgical procedure, in others like a magical operation, and in others like a ritual. The truth probably was probably somewhere in between.

    With no solid information on the process, there was no way to know if it might be reversed, or how it might be stopped.

    I didn¡¯t even know if stopping it was possible.

    For all I knew the procedure needed an irreplaceable artifact that one well-informed dedicated lunatic could sell their life to destroy. Or the alternative might be true, that it could be done by anyone with a roasting fork and a sharp knife, in which case stopping it would be out of anyone¡¯s reach.

    I continued to read and reread the scroll, hunting for insights.

    Paladius - How do you want me to refer to you? Your former keeper called you Fah, but before that your name was Lan. Do you have a preference in what I call you?

    Lan - No.

    Paladius - What do you call yourself?

    Lan - Nothing.

    Paladius - I see. Well, I¡¯m going to call you Lan. Do you understand what¡¯s happening here, Lan? Do you know what has been done to you?

    Lan - I was given the gift of peace.

    Paladius - Is that how it was described to you?

    Lan - Yes.

    Paladius - You have been gentled, Lan. It¡¯s the punishment reserved for our failed apprentices. Normally it ensures loyalty. The procedure removes the capacity for pain. It¡¯s supposed to make you content with a life of service. My task is to find out what went wrong in your case.

    Lan - Nothing.

    Paladius - Nothing went wrong? You are content?

    Lan - Yes.

    Paladius - Then how do you explain what you did to your former keeper?

    Paladius - Lan? What motivated your actions towards Reeve Siredonis?

    Paladius - Lan, I notice that you¡¯re smiling.

    (Saverell - The beast¡¯s mouth is forming a shape that could be described as a smile.)

    The scroll was torn below the last line. The second half was nowhere in sight.

    It was an annoyingly frequent problem with ancient scrolls. It only took one careless reader, or for the exposed middle part of the paper to dry out and crack, and the scroll would shatter like stale pastry. Books didn¡¯t have this problem. Even when a book got damp and the pages moldered together, they would at least all stay in the same place. I¡¯d have taken almost anything over a scroll, at that point. Give me a book. Give me a portfolio. Give me a stone tablet. Anything but unstackable, unfilable, dry and fragile scrolls.

    I ducked down and reached into the back of the shelf, feeling around for loose paper. Nothing. I started going through the stack of scrolls I¡¯d taken it from, looking for one with only one roller.

    Not everything on the bookcase was related to gentling. I picked up and set aside scrolls on possession, soul stealing, adversarial fleshcrafting, even turning the physical body into a creche for spirits. The theme seemed to be sorcerous alterations to the mind and body. They were all light on concrete details, which was reassuring in a way. I didn¡¯t want a book on how to steal someone¡¯s soul sitting where other students could get it, but it was frustrating for my research.

    Antonyx¡¯s servitors were still moving silently between the shelves, sometimes carrying misplaced books and scrolls back to their rightful places. It was satisfying to watch, but I didn¡¯t think they¡¯d help me. They acted as if the human students in the library didn¡¯t exist.

    They were good at their job, though. If the other part of the scroll still existed, then it would have been filed here.

    Fifteen minutes of searching still didn¡¯t get me any closer to finding it. By the end I was checking places I¡¯d already checked twice.

    Maybe someone had taken it. Or destroyed it. Maybe it¡¯d contained information someone had wanted suppressed. Or it could have just been lost. It had been over a hundred years.

    I spotted a tightly rolled scroll I hadn¡¯t seen before and pulled it out to check. I froze when I saw its author.

    Antonyx.

    Not Master Antonyx, but Antonyx back when he was only a Reeve.

    I untied the leather cord holding it closed and started to read.

    Inside was a stumbling but heartfelt deconstruction of the practice of gentling.

    Antonyx had been dead against it. Over a couple of hundred paragraphs he argued that the failure¡¯s fate was actually weakening the order. Warbeasts were not an incidental throw-away part of the Reeve order, according to a younger Antonyx. They were a pillar of its strength. Relegating them to an afterthought, with their ranks drawn from the failed students of the academy, produced inferior warbeasts, weakening the order as a whole. He used examples from history; named warbeasts who¡¯d grown more powerful than the Reeves who crafted them. He depicted them as a force of motivated, intelligent, and independent monsters. The warbeasts of today were no more powerful than well-prepared spirit servants, according to Antonyx, and wouldn¡¯t have held a candle to the fleshcrafted volunteers of old.

    This was the approach he¡¯d mentioned to me. It was an attempt to litigate the failure¡¯s fate out of existence, speaking directly to the core tenets of the Sovereign¡¯s Path. Obviously it had failed. Either nobody had read it, or there¡¯d been a flaw in his argument, or maybe the Reeves weren¡¯t so dedicated to their Path as he¡¯d thought.

    At some point over the years he must have had a change of heart. When I¡¯d spoken to him about it, he¡¯d seemed resigned to the practice. I wondered how long that had taken. Had he forgotten that he used to feel this way?

    I returned the scroll to the stack and continued searching.

    As I was trying to work out whether a poem about the romance between Kuhxos and Kor had any relevance, I heard movement in the library behind me.

    I grabbed my lantern and jumped to my feet, spinning to look in the direction of the noise.

    For a second I thought I saw the outline of the vulture spirit, pinched haunches and bald head, then I realized it was actually just a human figure. A tall student with a shaved head stood in the shadows a few feet away. He looked like he might have made his living carrying rocks before coming to the academy, with broad heavily muscled shoulders, but his head was stooped, pushed down by a bend in his back where his spine joined the neck.

    ¡°What is that light?¡± he asked in a thick Antorxian accent.

    I turned so my lantern was angled away from him. At Windshriek I couldn¡¯t count on there being such a thing as innocent interest. Any particular focus on an object could easily be a prelude to someone trying to take it.

    ¡°It¡¯s just a cantogram light,¡± I said. Basically true.

    The Night¡¯s Welcome cantogram could only amplify light that passed through it, but thirty of them drawn on a cylinder of paper gathered enough light, even in the darkness of the library, to create a candle¡¯s glow of illumination. I¡¯d had to wax a length of paper to get it translucent enough for the cantos to work, and I¡¯d needed to mix a new batch of ink using my own blood as a reagent, but at the end I¡¯d had a light source that I could keep lit with only a little maja.

    ¡°May I see it?¡± he asked.

    I pulled maja from my core and let it wash out through my body. Aches faded. Muscles that had been stiff suddenly relaxed. Power danced along my fingertips, ready to be aspected into Force.

    The other student¡¯s eyes opened wide. He took a step back, glancing behind him.

    ¡°Do not fight in here,¡± he said, quietly but urgently. ¡°If you damage a book, the guardian will punish both of us.¡±

    I looked over in the direction he¡¯d glanced. One of Antonyx¡¯s ghostly servitors was drifing past, a dim blue flame hovering in its palm. I couldn¡¯t imagine the ghostly figure punishing anyone, but they the work of an academy Master. I didn¡¯t doubt Antonyx could make something dangerous look innocuous.

    I didn¡¯t let go of my maja, but I didn¡¯t rush to use it.

    ¡°It¡¯s just the Night¡¯s Welcome cantogram,¡± I told him. ¡°You can find it on shelf eighty-six.¡±

    He looked to the side, then back at my lantern.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen it. This new layout is confusing,¡± he said.

    ¡°Are you serious?¡± I said. ¡°The old library didn¡¯t even have a layout.¡±

    ¡°But I knew where everything was. Now everything has changed, and the numbers mean nothing.¡±

    It struck me then that he didn¡¯t have an index for the library. I wasn¡¯t actually sure I¡¯d seen anyone else with one. Antonyx had given me a copy for helping him with the Fort Msiesetr records, but I hadn¡¯t actually thought it had any value at the time.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you have an index for the library?¡± I asked.

    ¡°No. Do you?¡±

    I didn¡¯t answer, just holding tight to my maja.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    After a few seconds he seemed to sense that I wouldn¡¯t be an easy mark. He turned and started heading off towards the other side of the library, moving as if the darkness didn¡¯t bother him.

    I watched until he was out of sight, then took my lantern apart, rolling the paper more tightly so that less light could make it through to the cantograms. Having a light in the library was obviously asking for trouble, waving a beacon for anyone moving in the dark. Dimming it to a level just above moonlight, I retied it, and turned back to the scrolls.

    I found the rest of the broken scroll completely by chance, long after I¡¯d stopped actively looking. It¡¯d¡¯ been wrapped up inside another scroll, in the inner rolls of a lengthy and unpleasantly detailed list of spiritual diseases.

    I pulled it out and shuffled around to sit with my back to the shelf. As I made my way through it, I started to wonder if it had been hidden on purpose.

    Paladius - Do you mind if we talk about what you did?

    Lan - No.

    Paladius - Master Siredonis, your keeper, was found burned, blinded, and partially eaten. Can you explain how that happened?

    Lan - My jaws. My breath. My heart.

    Paladius - You did all of those things yourself?

    Lan - Yes.

    Paladius - How did you do it?

    Lan - By chewing, by breathing, and by searing. He gave me my jaws and my breath. My heart¡¯s fire was my own, from before.

    (Saverell - I note here that the warbeast once known as Lan has a wolf-like form, with extended jaws and around twenty incisors. The beast possesses knowledge of the Searing aspect from his time as a student. His Corrosion-aspect breath was a spiritual manipulation on the part of Siredonis.)

    Paladius - How did you attack your keeper? He would have given you standing orders not to harm him.

    Lan - New orders.

    Paladius - Whose orders?

    Lan - The Companion.

    Paladius - The companion?

    Lan - Yes.

    Paladius - Who is that?

    (Saverell - The warbeast Lan has taken hold of his maja. Like most warbeasts, it is subdued, with no spikes of direction that would indicate intent. There is a ripple of emotion, which is unusual in the gentled. I feel that the emotion is discomfort.)

    Lan - The one who eats that which suffers.

    Paladius - I don¡¯t understand. Does this person have a name?

    Lan - Yes.

    Paladius - What is it?

    Lan - I cannot say.

    Paladius - But you know it?

    Lan - Yes.

    Paladius - Where did you meet them?

    Lan - They are always here.

    Paladius - Here in the tower?

    Lan - Here with me.

    Paladius - With you in your kennel?

    Lan - With me. Always.

    Paladius - Are they with you now?

    Lan - Yes.

    Paladius - In this room?

    Lan - Yes.

    Paladius - Where are they?

    Lan - Here.

    (Saverell - I note here that the beast has made no movement to indicate where they mean.)

    Paladius - Show me where.

    (Saverell - The beast is now scratching at their forehead where the mark of the gentling lies.)

    Lan - Stop that.

    (Saverell - The beast has stopped scratching. They have torn the skin of their head, exposing bone. Reeve Paladius has called a break to treat the injury.)

    Paladius - We were talking about the Companion.

    Lan - Yes.

    Paladius - Is it something that exists in your mind?

    Lan - No.

    Paladius - You scratched at your forehead. Is that where you meant to point to?

    Lan - Yes.

    Paladius - In your scar?

    Lan - Yes.

    Saverell - Could it be a spiritual infection?

    Paladius - It could be. Or I wonder if it could be an element of the gentling process that Babiass hasn¡¯t shared.

    Saverell - Should I prepare a spirit-seeking array?

    (Saverell - At this point the beast¡¯s maja has spiked with intention. It seems to be considering a hostile act against me.)

    Paladius - Do you feel that? No, Apprentice. We won¡¯t need an array today. We should defer any diagnostics for now.

    Paladius (through Thought) - He¡¯s reacting to the possibility of his Companion being discovered. It may be a spirit trying to hide its presence.

    Saverell - It could be a spirit of subversion.

    Reeve Paladius (through Thought) - I don¡¯t think so. I need to confer with Babiass.

    Paladius - Lan, is the Companion speaking to you now?

    Lan - Yes.

    Paladius - What is it saying?

    Lan - Calm. Be sooth. Be calm. It eats fear and it eats anger.

    Saverell - Those are the functions of gentling.

    Paladius - Attend to your notes, Apprentice.

    Paladius - How long has the Companion been with you?

    Lan - From the beginning. From the Gift.

    Paladius - Since you were gentled.

    Lan - Yes.

    Saverell - That¡¯s informative.

    Paladius - Apprentice.

    (Saverell - here Reeve Paladius is giving me that look, from which I can tell I probably shouldn¡¯t push the point.)

    Paladius - Lan, has the Companion ever given you any other orders?

    Lan - Once.

    Paladius - When?

    Lan - Now.

    Paladius - What orders?

    Lan - To kill you.

    Paladius - Do you know why?

    Lan - No.

    Paladius - How do you know this impulse comes from the companion, and not from the voice of your own mind?

    Lan - It speaks the name.

    Paladius - The name you can¡¯t say?

    Lan - Yes.

    Paladius - Why haven¡¯t you obeyed it?

    Lan - I am trying to resist.

    Paladius - Did you try to resist attacking Master Siredonis.

    Lan - No.

    (Saverell - here I note that Lan is smiling again, an upsetting expression on a jaw this shape.)

    (Saverell - the beast is becoming increasingly distressed.)

    There was a messy ink stain across the scroll, obscuring whatever what was written next, but a few inches down the apprentice¡¯s notes resumed.

    Post-script, Apprentice Saverell.

    Reeve Paladius was attacked by the beast shortly following the last recorded question. Paladius was able to read the beast¡¯s intent and defuse its attack, subduing it with only minor injury. This occurred yesterday.

    Reeve Paladius has since entered into a closed meeting with Master Babiass and Grandmaster Korn, and has only emerged briefly to instruct me to destroy the notes of the interview with the warbeast formerly known as Lan Beanstringer.

    I don¡¯t think I will.

    It¡¯s clear that this information has value, and it may be advantageous for me to keep the record intact.

    I briefly wondered if I could get away with stealing the scroll.

    There was something here. A hint to the underlying mechanism of gentling.

    In the end, I hid the second part of the scroll back where I¡¯d found it. The chains on the books might be gone, but I couldn¡¯t imagine Antonyx¡¯s librarian spirits would be happy if I tried to check something out.

    The amount of maja left in my lantern was my only real way of measuring the passage of time in the library, and it was running low. The fact that the cantograms were only now fading told me I¡¯d been down here for ten hours or more.

    I stood, stretching my legs, and started heading back towards the exit.

    I spotted the student who¡¯d asked about my lantern on the way back. He was standing in front of a shelf, touching a clay bowl that was one of the random decorative objects scattered through the library. He was just standing motionless, hands on the rim, like he was lost in thought. I wondered if he was thinking about taking it.

    I stood there for a while watching him. He almost looked like he¡¯d fallen asleep on his feet.

    After a minute he jerked away from the bowl. He shook himself, then looked around like he¡¯d just been caught sleeping at work.

    I stepped back into the shadows behind a bookcase.

    He turned away and continued on to the staircase.

    I waited a few seconds then stepped out and walked towards the bowl.

    I crouched down to look at it, then held my hand over it, feeling for maja. Nothing. I breathed deeply. I had no sense there were any spirits around. Finally, I reached out and touched the bowl.

    My fingers met dry, unglazed clay. I put both hands on it. I lifted it. It was just a clay bowl.

    I put it back down and headed for the stairs.

    As easy as it would be, I couldn¡¯t just live in the library. The weekly assignments set a deadly beat the entire academy lived to. I had my assignment, and I had to help the others with theirs. Until those were taken care of I had to put my personal projects aside.

 22. In the wound and in the blood 3/4

    Flies buzzed around us as we wandered through the cedar forest north of the mountain. This part of the swamp was called the Winter Sluice, thirty or so square miles of soft earth, broken up by the delta that formed where Windshriek¡¯s streams joined and mixed at the base of the mountain. Traveling through it was a constant alternation between walking and wading, always either up to our hips in swamp water or shivering with the night air gusting over our wet clothes.

    The water at least washed the mud out from between our toes, though I didn¡¯t like imagining what might be swimming into our clothes at the same time.

    It was about two hours past sunset, and we only had torch light to guide us. Sometimes the light didn¡¯t reach all the way across the water, and we had to start wading out on faith that we were heading in the right direction. Leeches were a constant concern, as were the small carnivorous fish that lived in these waters. The flies were just the seasoning on the experience.

    They were bothering Tom Carrot worst of all, crawling on his clothes and hair. He¡¯d wave them off every so often, but even the ones that bothered to move to avoid his clumsy swings came back a second later, secure in their untouchability. I was getting a little of them, though the mosquitos were more of a problem for me. Adrian seemed to be going untouched by both.

    I¡¯d have preferred to be back in the library with an oat cake and fully charged lantern. It had only been a day since I¡¯d found the interview with Lan Beanstringer and I felt like there might still be more to learn, but Tom¡¯s assignment was due tomorrow. He had to collect the flesh of a ¡®Northwind Moonrise Bear¡¯ spirit, and we all implicitly understood he¡¯d probably die if he tried to do it on his own.

    Our first plan had included bringing Sal Merchamp along with us. She was a good fighter, and knew two offensive maja aspects, but she¡¯d been turned back at the gate, by the gate. When Sal had tried to pass, her skin had broken open like she¡¯d tried to push through a wall of broken glass. Maybe she was marked in some way, or maybe the gate somehow knew she was planning on running.

    Me, Tom, and Adrian had passed through with nothing worse than a harsh prickling across our skin. I just hoped that we could handle the task without her.

    The Moonrise Bear was supposed to be a kind of spirit found in the swamp around Windshriek. A lot of spirits were unique individuals that grew according to a specific image or concept, but I knew that some were more like species of animal, where one spirit kindled others like it.

    We needed one that had flesh to harvest. That meant finding one that had passed what the Reeves called the First Peak. It was the first hurdle in a spirit¡¯s development, when it condensed enough maja to create a solid body for itself, or found a way to join with an existing plant or animal.

    Wild Century had been at least of the First Peak. So was the vulture spirit that¡¯d been haunting me since my journey to Fort Msiesetr.

    I hadn¡¯t seen the vulture yet on this trip. It only seemed to appear to me when I was alone.

    As we approached the next neck of water, Tom let out a cry behind us.

    I turned to look, then followed his wide-eyed gaze to a distant patch of trees.

    One of the incorporeal shrimp spirits that lived in the swamp floated in a copse of cypress abourt forty feet away. This was another species of spirit that lived here. As far as I could tell, they barely seemed to interact with the material world.

    This one seemed relaxed, not paying us any attention, mindlessly probing at the soft ground below it with more legs than even a normal shrimp would have.

    ¡°It¡¯s harmless,¡± I told him.

    ¡°It¡¯s got about a hundred legs!¡± Tom said. He said it like anything with that many legs had to be a mortal threat.

    ¡°It can¡¯t touch you with them,¡± Adrian said. ¡°Look, you can see right through it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen them before,¡± I added. ¡°They always just ignored me.¡±

    Tom wasn¡¯t convinced. He stood stock still, staring at it for another half minute. Eventually Adrian had to grab his shoulder to pull him forward.

    We started wading out into the murky water of the delta, torches held above our head, walking along the silty, rocky, occasionally moving riverbed in what we hoped was the right direction.

    ¡°Why did it have to be here,¡± Tom said. ¡°There¡¯s a nice dry stretch back where we started.¡±

    ¡°That was the road,¡± I said.

    ¡°I heard that Reeves can walk on water,¡± Adrian said. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have found a book on that, have you Dorian?¡±

    ¡°No. I don¡¯t even know how that would work.¡±

    ¡°Obviously they just put magic in their feet,¡± Adrian said.

    I wasn¡¯t completely sure if he was being serious or not. He didn¡¯t have much grounding in magical theory. I sometimes felt like I was the source of everything he knew about aspects and structured magic.

    ¡°That wouldn¡¯t do anything,¡± I said. As I spoke, I pulled maja from my core and let it flood my legs. As expected, it did nothing useful.

    ¡°I bet they use Waterproof aspect,¡± Adrian went on.

    ¡°I¡¯d be surprised if there was a Waterproof aspect,¡± I said calmly. ¡°There isn¡¯t just an aspect for everything.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but there has to be an aspect for Waterproofness, doesn¡¯t there? Think of an oilcloth cloak, Tom. Think of it so hard you can taste it, then put it into your maja.¡±

    Despite the fact that I was now sure Adrian was deliberately trying to annoy me, I felt Tom¡¯s maja stir behind me. His maja felt light and feathery, like the touch of a single hair on skin.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t work like that,¡± I said.

    ¡°It¡¯s not working,¡± Tom said.

    ¡°It would probably be the Lightness aspect, internally manipulated,¡± I said.

    ¡°And how do you learn Lightness?¡± Adrian asked.

    ¡°I¡¯ve read some past student¡¯s ideas that they left in the library,¡± I offered. ¡°Jumping from a cliff. Tying a leg to a rock and throwing yourself into deep water. Balancing on the point of a spear. I¡¯m not sure if they¡¯re serious guesses or if they were just trying to get other students killed.¡±

    That sufficiently killed Adrian¡¯s mood that he stopped trying to annoy me.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± I said into the silence.

    ¡°I was just trying to take our minds of this,¡± Adrian said.

    ¡°Well¡­¡± I started, then paused.

    There was a new smell in the air. It was a charred smell, like the black wood left behind a forest fire, full of carbon and smoke. It tingled in my nose, unmistakably infused with maja.

    I looked around. The surface of the water was constantly alive, so thick with insects that the ripples looked like raindrops, but I didn¡¯t see anything out of the ordinary. Beyond the little circle of torch light, the swamp was dark, but normally a maja smell meant something was close.

    ¡°Does anyone sense that?¡± I said.

    ¡°What?¡± Adrian said.

    ¡°Some kind of spirit.¡±

    Adrian held his torch up behind his head so he could look into the darkness without blinding himself. He leaned forward to peer into the fragmented black ahead of us.

    The water to our right exploded upwards. A dark form flew out, dripping and steaming, heading straight for Adrian.

    In the torchlight it looked like a man festooned with writhing worms, so thick they looked like thick hair. It passed by me and collided with Adrian, taking both of them underwater.

    Tom was screaming. Adrian was gone, but the water where he¡¯d been was churning.

    I drew my sword and threw myself towards where I¡¯d last seen him.

    The water made moving quickly hard. Weeds seemed to swirl up out of nowhere to catch my ankles. Something squirmed around my toes, and this time I didn¡¯t have time to shake it off.

    The water was black where Adrian disappeared. The thrashing had slowed, now only a slight rippling from movement deep under the water. I stopped at the spot and reached down with my sword hand. I spread my fingers, trying not to let go of my sword, feeling for cloth or Adrian¡¯s hair.

    There was nothing. He couldn¡¯t have drowned already.

    A hand caught mine. Strong fingers wrapped around my fist, pinching my hand against the sword hilt.

    I pulled. Adrian came up. Not spluttering, not out of breath. He looked more angry than alarmed. He¡¯d lost his torch, but he still held his quarterstaff in one hand. He held it out like a spear as he looked around at the dark water.

    ¡°You know I think I do sense something,¡± he said.

    The water to our left rippled. Adrian plunged his hands into it. He pulled back, and the humanoid creature came with him, struggling in his grip.

    I could see it, now. It had something like a face, a pair of small black eyes like coal, and a bump in the center where a nose might have been on a human. There were no nostrils, and no mouth.

    ¡°That¡¯s it!¡± Tom called.

    ¡°The bear?¡± I asked.

    ¡°This thing doesn¡¯t look much like a bear,¡± Adrian shouted.

    A writhing arm hit Adrian with the speed of a falling branch. There was a cracking sound, and he fell back.

    I pulled another ball of maja from my core and pushed it down my arms, tinting it with the memory of Force, and let it loose on the creature. The spell hit it full in the body and knocked it away, sending it skidding over the water. The rolled to a stop then willingly sank under the surface.

    I needed the fight to be over soon. I didn¡¯t have the maja to do that too many times.

    ¡°We need to get to dry ground,¡± I said, already wading toward the bank.

    Adrian apparently agreed, sloshing past me at a jog, while Tom stumbled through the reed-choked water behind me.

    Adrian¡¯s staff was in two pieces, now, a casualty of blocking the hit meant for his shoulder. He kept hold of one end, wielding it like a club. He threw the other half to Tom.

    It took us a couple of minutes to reach solid ground. First we had to find it, then we had to make it there. Running through the deep water was exhausting, but swimming would have brought my mouth too close to the water for comfort. I didn¡¯t need a book to tell me that letting stagnant water into my mouth was a bad idea.

    Eventually we reached the far bank. I pulled myself out of the water, my body aching and feeling unnaturally heavy as I clambered out into the cold air. I wedged my torch into the soft ground to free up my hands and turned, looking around us in a circle.

    Adrian¡¯s torch had gone out when he¡¯d been pulled underwater, but Tom was still carrying his. We needed at least one still lit, or we wouldn¡¯t even be able to find our way home, never mind win a fight with the spirit.

    Adrian had got here ahead of me and waded back into the water to grab Tom¡¯s arm and help him out. The two of them came up to me, the three of us forming a ring around the wedged torch. As defensive positions went, it was terrible.

    We each took a direction, staring out into the dark. I took my eyes off the forest for a second to peel a leech off my foot, tossing it back into the water. I was going to need a long session in the washhouse, if I survived this.

    After a minute of watching, there was still no sign of it. Either it had stayed underwater, or it had doubled back and was creeping up on us over the ground.

    ¡°What if it just runs away?¡± Tom asked, looking out over the gently rippling water.

    ¡°It won¡¯t,¡± I said. ¡°It isn¡¯t an animal. It won¡¯t run just because its attack failed the first time. If its nature is to hunt us, that won¡¯t change. Did your scroll tell you anything about them?¡±

    ¡°Only what they looked like,¡± Tom said. ¡°There was a picture.¡±

    ¡°I wonder if it¡¯s aquatic,¡± I said.

    I turned just in time to see the Moonrise Bear flying at Tom out of a tree.

    ¡°Tom!¡±

    Adrian turned at my shout and jumped to intercept it. He was too late to help. The spirit collided with Tom, sending them both to the ground. Adrian hit the pair a second later. He grabbed the spirit¡¯s crawling hair and kept going, flying past with enough force that he pulled the spirit with him.

    Adrian skidded to a stop. The spirit rose to its feet and swung at an arm at his head. He ducked and swung his club back at it.

    The squirming tendrils on the thing¡¯s body caught the stick and seemed to swallow it, tearing it out of Adrian¡¯s hand before sucking it down into the depths of its body.

    ¡°Not very bear-like at all,¡± Adrian shouted, sounding annoyed.

    I ran up behind it, trying to put it between me and Adrian. I skidded to a stop on the mud, dropped into a low stance, and stabbed at it with a thrust straight out of the Forsecare manual.

    The blade pierced the spirit¡¯s skin easily, sliding through the curling tendrils like they were no more solid than mud. I felt the blade shudder and change angle as it glanced off a bone, then it was in up to its hilt.

    The spirit shuddered, then swung an arm back at me.

    I almost managed to get out of the way. The arm clipped me, hitting my head with the force of a falling sack of grain.

    I blacked out for a second. When I came back to, Adrian was boxing with the thing at the center of a small muddy clearing. He dodged two swipes, then retaliated with a trio of rapid punches to its head and chest.

    I couldn¡¯t tell if the hits were doing anything to it. It¡¯d noticed my sword stab, barely, but it hadn¡¯t seemed to slow it down at all.

    Some corporeal spirits had their own versions of organs and bodily processes that an attack could damage, others were just undifferentiated flesh that would need to be just destroyed or cut away from its main body. I was starting to worry this was going to be the latter.

    As I got to my feet I grabbed my torch.

    The spirit swung at Adrian again. Instead of dodging, he blocked the limb with his hands and twisted it.

    Adrian did not look like a particularly strong person. He had solid working muscle, I could believe he¡¯d trained to fight at the Abbey, be didn¡¯t look strong enough to snap an arm in half with his bare hands. But that¡¯s exactly what he did. The spirit¡¯s arm cracked, breaking with a sound like dry wood.

    Adrian dodged backwards as the spirit¡¯s arm flopped around uselessly. Not that it seemed like it had deterred it.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°We only need its flesh,¡± I shouted, reminding him.

    Adrian reached out and grabbed the thing¡¯s limp forearm then spun around, delivering a kick to its shoulder that knocked it back. There was a sickening ripping sound as its arm came free, like tearing a leg from a roast chicken, and both the spirit and Adrian fell away in opposite directions.

    I ran forward, pulling up another ball of Maja. I held out my free hand and blasted the spirit with Force, sweeping it off the ground and sending it tumbling away through the trees. It disappeared into the dark undergrowth.

    ¡°Should we run now?¡± Tom asked.

    ¡°You two go, I¡¯ll stay and make sure it doesn¡¯t chase us,¡± Adrian said.

    ¡°Adrian, don¡¯t be stupid,¡± I called back.

    He turned and tossed me the severed arm at me.

    I didn¡¯t particularly want to touch it, and while I was deciding whether to try and catch it, it hit the ground at my feet. I crouched over, holding the torch up to get a better look at it.

    The black tendrils covering its skin had receded at the fingertips. Underneath the outer coating, it looked like the partially decayed fingers of a person. I confirmed it by scraping some more of the coating away, exposing the rest of its hand. It was a rotting human arm.

    ¡°Tom, are you sure about what this thing is called?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Yeah, I think so.¡±

    Adrian was staring off into the darkness trying to see where the spirit went. Tom was backing up to the water, getting ready for some sign that he could leave.

    I looked into the woods for a minute, then turned away. The spirit had ambushed us twice. It wasn¡¯t going to come from the direction we were expected.

    I looked out over the lake. I wasn¡¯t surprised when I saw a v-shaped ripple coming towards us.

    ¡°It¡¯s in the water,¡± I said.

    ¡°What?¡± Tom said, spinning around.

    I pulled a jagged stone out of my pouch, fitted it into the palm of my hand, and held up my palm to face the oncoming ripple. With a pulse of Force maja, I launched it.

    The surface of the water exploded upwards in a black spray. My aim hadn¡¯t been good, but the disturbance forced the spirit to reveal itself early. It rose above the water with a splash and started thrashing its way towards the bank. It couldn¡¯t move much more easily in the water than we could.

    Adrian stepped up to meet it as it climbed onto the bank. His club caught it across the head with a sickening crunch that left a dent behind it.

    I circled around to its side and slashed at its ankles. I hoped that if there was a dead body in there I might be able to slow it down. My sword cut something at the bottom of its calf and it stumbled. There was something under there that could be hurt.

    Something strange was happening to Adrian as we fought. It was almost as if he was starting to glow. Beneath the sweat and the glinting torchlight, it was as if a sun-golden light was shining on his skin. It was subtle, not bright enough to light up his surroundings, not bright enough that I could even be sure it wasn¡¯t my imagination, but it caught my attention.

    I briefly allowed myself to step back from the battle, feeling for my spiritual senses.

    There was a new sensation coming from Adrian. Not the hot-stone feeling of his maja, not the smell of an unfamiliar spirit, but a sensation that was almost a sound, a rattling, like hailstones on a window, or a fast, frenetic drumming.

    ¡°Dorian, look out!¡± Adrian shouted.

    The spirit had turned away from Adrian while I¡¯d been distracted and had limped all the way up to me.

    Its hands reached out for my throat. In response I pushed out the end of my torch, burying the burning pinecone into the writing flesh of its chest.

    There was a hiss, then the spirit staggered back, slapping at its chest. There was no fire, and my torch had gone out, but it obviously hadn¡¯t liked it. Maybe having Fire Aspect would be worth the pain of getting it.

    Adrian was waiting behind the spirit. He ran up and swept the thing¡¯s legs with his foot, sending it spinning through the air. He waited for it to hit the ground then lashed out with the club, each strike hitting hard enough to move it an inch across the floor. His club broke again on the fourth or fifth strike. He threw it away and grabbed the spirit by its writhing skin. Showing more strength than I¡¯d ever expected from him, he lifted the spirit by its legs and spun around, hurling at a nearby tree.

    It flicked through the air before crashing against the trunk, shaking the branches and crumbling to the ground.

    Adrian stood there panting. The glow slowly faded from his skin. I turned from him to the spirit and approached slowly, holding my sword out in front of me.

    It wasn¡¯t in good shape. It¡¯s body looked broken. Its skin was sloughing off, spreading out across the marsh floor in a way that seemed too directed to be natural. The skin was the spirit.

    I ran to Tom, grabbed the torch from his hands, and sprinted at the crawling pool.

    I thrust the fire toward the ground, holding the flames against the still-writing mass that had been the creature¡¯s skin.

    The tendrils hissed and crumpled where the fire touched them. I circled around to where the crawling slime was trying to spread away into the trees, burning along its edge until the entire pool of it was shrinking into a crispy motionless layer of scab on the muddy ground.

    When it was all dead I stood up, panting.

    I looked at Adrian, then checked on Tom.

    Adrian was staring at me, breathing heavily himself. If he had been glowing before, then he wasn¡¯t anymore, and I wasn¡¯t convinced it hadn¡¯t just been the firelight and my imagination.

    ¡°Good thinking,¡± Adrian said, looking at where the slime had been trying to crawl away. He turned back to the body that¡¯d been left behind.

    The corpse had been a student. I could still see the remains of its gray robe. I didn¡¯t know if the writing skin had been something that colonized and controlled the corpse, or whether it was a spirit that had infected the student when he was still alive. If I found time, I¡¯d like to research exactly what the thing had been.

    I was still holding the severed arm. I held it up, examining it in the torch light. The black mass covering it was still moving sluggishly, lazily trying to form tendrils but not really getting anywhere. We had what we needed for Tom¡¯s assignment, I was sure.

    ¡°It was just a dead body the entire time?¡± Adrian said, looking at the corpse.

    ¡°I really don¡¯t think it was a bear spirit,¡± I said. ¡°Tom, can I see your scroll?¡±

    ¡°Yeah! It¡¯s back in my room though.¡±

    ¡°Later, then.¡±

    Adrian went to the water¡¯s edge and started washing his hands. I thought that was a questionable prospect given the quality of the water.

    I approached the corpse and crouched next to it. Its skin was purple-black, bloated in places, shriveled in others. Its eyes were closed. After a few seconds I tentatively identified it as the remains of a man. I wasn¡¯t sure how long he¡¯d been dead. I was sure I hadn¡¯t seen him before.

    The body was wearing a small canvas pouch tied around its belt, which I cut away with the tip of my sword.

    Adrian heard me. He looked over, and his eyes turned hard when he saw what I was doing.

    I tried to ignore him. Whatever was in the pouch, this student certainly didn¡¯t need it any more. I tied it at my own waist and sheathed my sword.

    Both my torch and Adrian¡¯s were dark. His was too wet to relight, and mine was covered in the crusted black substance of the spirit.

    Tom still had his. I watched him warily as we waded back into the water, heading back towards the road. It would only take one stumble on his part to strand us out here.

    ¡°Maybe Adrian should carry the torch,¡± I said.

    ¡°Dorian! Tom can carry a torch, for saints¡¯ sake.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Do you want it, Adrian?¡± Tom said.

    He sloshed up to Adrian¡¯s side and handed it over. Adrian took it with a sigh.

    When we reached the road, Adrian hung back. When I turned to look, he was staring back the other way, down the road, away from the academy.

    ¡°It feels like we could just go,¡± he said.

    The wind above us was picking up, shaking the trees. The storm I¡¯d felt approaching was finally starting to break. Being out here was about to get even less fun, but technically, he was right.

    ¡°We could run and never look back,¡± he said. ¡°We could live off the land, I think, then work or steal our way back to Losiris. You speak Antorxian, don¡¯t you Dorian?¡±

    ¡°Antorxians speaks Irisian like we do,¡± I said, coming up to stand next to him.

    ¡°Oh. Yes. That makes sense.¡±

    I followed his gaze down the road. From here, it really did look like we could run. The academy might send someone after us, but it was the day before deadline day. We¡¯d have two full days before the assignment to hunt us would go out.

    A two day head start seemed insurmountable.

    There were probably dangerous spirits out in the swamp, but we could handle ourselves. At least, I could convince myself that we could handle ourselves.

    I looked down at what would have been the first step leading away from the academy. I tried to imagine taking it. I couldn¡¯t.

    It wasn¡¯t the open road stretching out in front of me that I saw. It was Master Sectus. Standing on the terraces. Working in the infirmary. Standing in the barracks. Instead of the freedom ahead, I saw the monster behind me. Now that it was there, I couldn¡¯t put his face out of my mind.

    The amount of hatred that welled up shocked me. Deep and sharp. Corrosive, even to me. Like an acid I couldn¡¯t stop drinking. It was such an alien feeling, and suddenly I was drowning in it.

    It didn¡¯t demand action, like anger could. Instead it demanded attention. I couldn¡¯t bear to leave the academy, and in a way I didn¡¯t understand, the hatred was the reason. I couldn¡¯t leave Sectus behind, any more than I could stop picturing his bland face, wearing the same mild expression as when he¡¯d frozen me in the wreckage of my worst mistake.

    ¡°I can¡¯t go out there,¡± Tom said, sounding panicked.

    I finally tore my thoughts free, looking up at him.

    Adrian stared for another few seconds, then agreed.

    ¡°Yeah, maybe it¡¯s not the time. Yet.¡±

    He turned around and started heading back towards the academy.

    Tom at least seemed to be relieved to be going back.

    I stared down the road for a few seconds, then turned and followed after them.

    My first stop back at the academy was the washhouse, accompanied by Tom and Adrian. Adrian took the cell next to me, connected only by narrow openings in the top and bottom of the stone wall. I listened to him pull the chain to open the sluice on his side, then mirrored him on mine.

    Mortifyingly, Adrian sang.

    ¡°How can you sing in a place like this,¡± I said quietly.

    I hadn¡¯t expected him to hear me, but he let go of his chain and the water sloshed to a stop.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. We¡¯re alive. We¡¯re trapped, but not forever? It¡¯s hard to imagine, but there is still light out there in the world.¡±

    ¡°I guess,¡± I said. It was hard to see any light beyond the swamp.

    The storm broke while I was still washing. The rain started up, thrashing against the stone walls, filling the cistern on the roof even as I drew water from it. Some of the water I bathed in was probably coming from the storm. I let myself imagine that the water on my skin had come from far away, beyond the mountain, beyond the swamp, brought by the storm from a place like the one I''d grown up in. It felt clean.

    Adrian left before me. I felt like I had mud in every pore, and it took what felt like half an hour just to get my hair clean. As I was scraping myself dry, I paused, passing my hand over the scar on my leg. It was where the vulture spirit had bitten me, back on one of my early assignments. The dark blotch had never gone away. Lately it seemed to be growing. Even in the dark, I could feel the texture of it, a raised welt.

    I finished up and left, running through the rain to get back to the barracks.

    I tracked Tom down straight away, and finally got a look at his scroll.

    Bring the flesh of a Northwind Moonrise Behr to Master Origanus.

    Behr. Not bear.

    The spirit¡¯s name was written in Old Irisian. It wasn¡¯t a bear in any respect but phonetically. Behr was the Old Irisian word for a corpse. And the word it used for moonrise had the connotation of an unnatural rising, such as a person who wakes up at moonrise instead of sunrise.

    ¡°Who translated the spirit name for you?¡± I asked Tom.

    ¡°Jason helped me read it,¡± Tom said.

    ¡°Of course,¡± I muttered. I handed the scroll back to him. I¡¯d only crumpled it a little.

    Jason had learned Old Irisian because knowing the language was a sign of sophistication in cities, but he obviously hadn¡¯t studied it in any depth.

    I left Tom in his room.

    My cell was cold when I got to it. Dim light spilled across the room from my lantern in the corner, but the air was no warmer than it was outside, despite the canto work all over the walls.

    As I stepped in, I saw that the little spider spirit was back. It was perched at the edge of one of the Winter¡¯s Heart cantos, sipping the maja from it.

    It¡¯d been a problem ever since Jason had brought it to me. It left when we chased it, but it never went far, always creeping back in to feed on the cantograms.

    Adrian looked up from his bed when I came in, then followed my gaze to the spider spirit.

    ¡°Hey!¡± he shouted. He jumped, smacking the wall next to it with a stick.

    The spider was gone before he even reached it. It flickered up the wall, then out of the window. We¡¯d probably be seeing it again as soon as it got hungry.

    Adrian sighed and slumped back onto his bed. He held his hand over the drained canto, misting maja back into it. The dim light in the room dimmed further, and faint warmth started radiating from it.

    I sat on my bed and pulled up the damp pouch I¡¯d taken from the Behr. Inside, I found six silver ducs, a tarnished signet ring, a charcoal pencil, and a stack loose papers. The papers were all different sizes and stocks, most torn and stained, and all covered in the same dense handwriting. I read a few lines. They were mostly just the musings of the the former student who¡¯d been at the heart of the Behr. Together, the notes formed the kind of personal codex so many of the students here seemed to keep ¡ª journals written in imitation of the Reeves whose works were so common in the library.

    I transferred the contents to my pouch and set it aside. I needed to sleep, but I needed a lot of things. It was more important now that I accumulated.

    I closed my eyes, reaching out for the Fold. It was as close as ever, as close as it¡¯d been at home back in Kirkswill. In a way, reaching out to it always felt like going home.

    An hour later when I opened my eyes, the spider spirit was back.

    It sat on my bed, its two large front-facing eyes staring at me, its forelegs crossed in front of it.

    As soon as it realized I could see it, its forelimbs went up, waving in the air in a warding gesture. Not that it could have stopped me. It wasn¡¯t even corporeal.

    I glanced over at the canto, and realized with a sigh that it was drained again.

    ¡°You¡¯re insatiable aren¡¯t you,¡± I said to it.

    Adrian snored once, loudly, on the other side of the room.

    I reached out my hand towards the spider. It darted back a few inches, waggling its legs.

    I slowly started to mist a thread of maja into the air in front of it, wincing at the pain.

    The spider hesitated for a second, then hopped forward. It waggled its legs through the air. It was as if it was bundling up a net. After a few seconds, it brought its legs to its mouth, mandibles flickering.

    I fed it like that for less than a minute before the spirit¡¯s fear of me overbalanced its hunger, and it darted up and out of the window.

    I pulled a thread of my dwindling maja and recharged the Winter¡¯s Hearth on my side of the cell, then settled down onto my bed, watching the door.

    I thought back to the swamp, the Behr, the road. I tried to summon the hate I¡¯d felt down there. I wanted to examine the feeling, now that I was alone and safe, but it wouldn¡¯t come. Like anger, hate couldn¡¯t be told when to come and go, it seemed.

    Sleep was just as elusive. After another hour of lying in the dark, I got up, grabbed my lantern, and left for the library.

 23. In the wound and in the blood 4/4

    My feet were heavy on the stairs. Going down them felt as hard as climbing. I¡¯d washed the swamp scum from my body and clothes, but the leech bites had stayed. My nose still ached sometimes, in the spot where Adrian had broken it. The bruises from my encounter with the runaway sorcerer at the ruined inn had yet to heal, and worst of all, the bite the vulture spirit had given me on that first dangerous morning outside the academy was turning strange. The actual wound had scarred over, and I¡¯d been lucky enough that it hadn¡¯t got infected, but a small black mark had appeared at its center, like an ink blotch. When I ran my hand over it I still felt the tingle of what I now knew to be foreign maja.

    The infirmary was my only option for getting it checked, and that meant it wasn¡¯t going to be checked. I wouldn¡¯t willingly go into the building that was run by Master Sectus.

    I reached the bottom of the stairs and was immediately confronted with one of Antonyx¡¯s servitor spirits. It was standing at the foot of the stairs, facing me, its dim blue lantern held to the side. I stared at it for a few seconds.

    ¡°Can I help you?¡± I asked.

    It hovered there for a long moment, its featureless head staring out at me from the translucent cowl, then it turned and drifted away through the shelves.

    Why had I even come here? I wasn¡¯t sure. I didn¡¯t have a goal. I just wanted to get out of the cell, to escape my sleepless night. When I¡¯d been out in the swamp I¡¯d been sure I¡¯d have more to research on gentling, if only I was in the library. Now that I was here, I felt like I¡¯d already found everything I was going to find. I¡¯d already scoured the section on gentling several times. I wasn¡¯t going to extract any more information from it, unless there was somehow another even more hidden scroll in there.

    I checked my library index and started heading towards the section on structured magic.

    Since the reorganization I had more cantograms available to me than I could memorize. Cantograms for light, like the Night¡¯s Welcome that covered my lantern. Cantograms for heat, designs to repel insects, or to clean the air, or to make a blade immune to rust, or to make an arrow fly for miles. All useful, but all limited in their applications.

    I was also limited in my ability to apply them. I had a little maja ink, and one scroll of paper a week, but not every cantogram would work on paper. I didn¡¯t have the maja-infused wire I¡¯d need to inscribe my sword. I didn¡¯t have the maja thread that I might use to turn my clothes into something more protective. Keeping cantograms intact on my skin would take a lot of time and maintenance, and seemed hard to justify when I might go days without using any of them. I wasn¡¯t surprised that so many sorcerers favored unstructured magic. It was fast, simple, and cheap in terms of materials. And counter to my expectations, I wasn¡¯t bad at it. I¡¯d picked up the Force aspect on my first exposure to it. I¡¯d learned Wheel when many of the other students hadn¡¯t. I¡¯d even worked out the Thought aspect, which apparently eluded plenty of Masters. I could learn the Fire aspect tonight, provided I was willing to learn what it was like to burn.

    I walked through the structured magic section, thinking that maybe I should turn my attention elsewhere.

    Beyond the books on cantograms were the ones on rituals, the other form of structure magic. With the right words and props, a sorcerer could invoke greater spirits that dwelt in the Fold. A sorcerer could buy or borrow power that way, though the fireside tales I¡¯d grown up with promised a grisly fate to anyone who thought they¡¯d got the better of a spirit in any deal.

    It wasn¡¯t that different in effect to praying to a god. Like the prayer to Ixilthan Adrian had been given to say as his first assignment, or the invocations that the decidedly non-magical priests of the Abbey used to cry to Horis or Levethan or any of the gods revered in Losiris. Except I doubted Ixilthan would give me anything just for asking nicely, or Horis for that matter. They were so powerful and distant that the cries of a single mortal had to be less than the chirping of a cricket to them.

    As I stepped out of the shelves I caught sight of a figure crouching a little way off down the isle.

    I froze, lowering my lantern and ducking back behind the shelf.

    It was the older student I¡¯d seen before, a man with a shaved head and a curve where his spine joined his neck. He was crouching next to a shelf, reaching out to rest his hand on an old wooden cane.

    Was he thinking about taking it? Surely someone would have taken it long ago if it was worth anything.

    I stepped out and slowly approached him. I checked my sword, finding it loose in its sheath. I moved quietly at first, then more normally when he didn¡¯t react. I got within a couple of feet of him without seeing any sign he¡¯d heard me at all. He was still crouched, with his hand on the cane.

    If I was a typical Windshriek student I could easily have robbed him. If his eyes weren¡¯t still half open, I might even have thought he was sleeping down here.

    ¡°Hello?¡± I said.

    He didn¡¯t respond immediately. After about a minute he stirred, taking his hand off the cane and stretching his shoulders. He turned his head and visibly jumped when he saw me standing next to him.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I asked.

    He jumped to his feet, backing off and raising his hands, palm out. That wasn¡¯t necessarily a peaceful gesture among sorcerers.

    ¡°It¡¯s you,¡± he said. ¡°The boy with the lantern.¡±

    ¡°Yes. What were you doing?¡±

    He looked at me, then down at the cane he¡¯d been touching. He looked like was trying to think for a few seconds.

    ¡°Answers to questions aren¡¯t free, here,¡± he said.

    ¡°I told you about my lantern for free.¡±

    ¡°That was your mistake.¡±

    ¡°What do you want then?¡± I asked. I was sure he was about to try and extort me for something. I was starting to wonder if the whole thing with the cane was a performance to trick me into paying him.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said. ¡°Tell me something useful.¡±

    ¡°Just, something useful?¡±

    I thought about my recent discovery on gentling, but that wasn¡¯t useful to anyone but me, and potentially dangerous to know. I knew some cantograms, but that wasn¡¯t knowledge I could speak aloud. He was an older student. What would be useful to him? Did I even have anything? There was the library index, but if they weren¡¯t freely available, I didn¡¯t want him to know I had one.

    ¡°Master Antonyx has an index for the library,¡± I said. ¡°He might give them our as rewards for tasks. That would help you navigate the new layout.¡±

    The other student tilted his head thinking it over. Eventually he seemed to decide this was useful information after all.

    He gestured for me to join him on the ground.

    ¡°I¡¯m reading the relics,¡± he said. At my look of confusion he went on. ¡°These items are Fold relics. They are connected to moments, trapped in the Fold. If you reach through them you can witness the memory.¡±

    I looked from him to the cane then back. I hadn¡¯t read anything about this before. At the same time, it sounded too elaborate to be a trick.

    ¡°Tell me what to do,¡± I said.

    ¡°Just touch the relic and reach for the Fold, as if you were going to accumulate.¡±

    ¡°And what will happen?¡±

    ¡°You will experience the moment.¡±

    I looked down at the cane.

    ¡°Will it put me in a trance, like you were?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Better to do it when no one is around. They are dangerous to use because they leave you vulnerable.¡±

    I looked at the cane, but didn¡¯t touch it.

    ¡°Thank you for the information,¡± I said.

    ¡°It is not to receive, but to take¡­¡± the other student started, ¡°but that doesn¡¯t say anything about trade. I hope we can deal fairly in future.¡±

    ¡°Me too,¡± I said.

    I meant it, but I didn¡¯t hold out much hope. He was here, he was surviving, maybe even succeeding. No number of fair deals would guard against a betrayal the moment that losing a relationship was worth it to him.

    ¡°My name is Olner,¡± he said.

    ¡°Dorian.¡±

    Olner got to his feet and left, glancing back at me as he hobbled away.

    I moved away from the spot, hiding my lantern as I walked around the shelves in a long loop, eventually coming back to the cane. I sat down with my back to a shelf and settled down to wait. After twenty minutes with no more sign of Olner, I decided that he wasn¡¯t just going to double back and catch me entranced.

    I stepped out from behind the shelf and knelt by the cane. I reached out and touched the cracked wood.

    It didn¡¯t feel like they was anything special about it. There was no feel of maja, no smell of a spirit. I did as Olner had told me and reached for the Fold.

    The library floor broke apart beneath me.

    I fell through shattered stone, my stomach flying up into my chest.

    I tried to cry out, but my body was paralyzed. I fell for a half dozen heartbeats, then landed sitting up in a wooden chair.

    Hard wood and soft morning light were my first impressions, then the smell of a hearth fire, and the sound of birds somewhere outside a window. My vision was blurry at first, then it cleared.

    I was sitting at a table in a cottage. A sheet of paper lay on the table in front of me, and I held a quill pen in my right hand. This was a familiar scenario for me. An old man stood on the other side of the table, the hood of his faded blue robe down around his shoulders. The blue robe made me thing that he probably wasn¡¯t a sorcerer. His hair was light brown, curling down to his shoulders, with a small bald patch developing on the top of his head. He had the bearing of a scribe, though not the haircut.

    ¡°Go on, complete the sigil,¡± the man said. He spoke Irisian with a thick Cortissian accent. This memory had to be from somewhere in Cortiss.

    I looked down at the paper. I was shocked to see there was a half drawn cantogram there. So this man wasn¡¯t just a scribe. He had to be a Cortissian mage

    That put a darker spin on the scene. I didn¡¯t know how exactly a moment could be placed inside a Fold relic, but Antorx was now at war with Cortiss. They wouldn¡¯t have allowed any Cortissian mage they came across to survive free.

    ¡°The sigil, Algernon,¡± the old man said, pointing at the paper.

    I looked down and studied it. I didn¡¯t recognize the design. The sweeping lines already marked out reminded me of the Winter Hearth canto, but there were too many differences for that to be it. I had no idea how to complete it.

    Despite my lack of knowledge, I moved my pen to the paper and started drawing out lines. There was a disconnect between my mind and my body. My arm was moving on its own, as if I were a puppet being controlled by somebody else. I felt like an actor, playing someone else¡¯s part.

    I completed the outer circle, added the accents, broke it in several places with branching lines, then drew a smaller more complex symbol at the center.

    Just as I was finishing it, the old man lashed out, hitting me in the forehead with the side of his walking stick.

    A flash of pain ran through my skin and skull, quickly replaced by a sharp, urgent throbbing.

    ¡°No! Imbecile!¡± he shouted.

    The stick had caught the thin skin just under my eyebrow and broken it. I could feel warmth trickling down the side of my face, and blood drops had sprayed across the paper.

    ¡°This line here should soak into the parchment,¡± he said, jabbing a finger on the outer line, then the one at the center. ¡°This one should only lightly graze the paper. If it sinks, the energy will escape. Useless. It¡¯s useless!¡±

    He grabbed the piece of paper and threw it into the fire, then picked up a blank sheet and put it down in front of me.

    ¡°Again.¡±

    I held the pen tightly.

    The scene came apart a moment later, the room breaking up into smoke. When the smoke faded, I was back in the library, crouching with all of my muscles tense.

    I reached up and rubbed my forehead. I¡¯d felt the pain of the strike, and some of it had followed me back. There was still a stinging, throbbing pain where the stick had hit me. There was no blood, at least. Looking down at the cracked cane on the shelf, I recognized it as the old man¡¯s walking stick. He was definitely dead, then. I wondered if the student was, as well.

    I tried to remember what I could of the cantogram. I could almost certainly recreate it from memory. It hadn¡¯t been the most complex I¡¯d ever seen.

    The idea that the depth of the ink mattered to cantogram was new to me. It was a subtle detail that no book I¡¯d read had thought to mention, or at least they¡¯d mentioned it too obliquely for me to understand what it meant. But I supposed that was the point of including the moment here. The relic acted as a bottled lesson.

    I stood up shakily. I looked around. I was still alone. No one had crept up on me while I was in the vision, to steal my things or attack me.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    Were all of the random items scattered around the library Fold relics? There had to be more than a hundred of them in various places. The cane hadn¡¯t been particularly educational, but it had been a glimpse of the outside world. It had shown me a lesson in a magical tradition beyond the Reeves, and it had given me an insight into cantograms. All it¡¯d cost me was a little time, some vulnerability, and the pain of being hit in the forehead.

    Had nobody been going to tell me about these? It seemed like just another aspect of the education here that the Masters had left us to discover on our own. Yet another embodiment of ¡®It is not to receive, but to take¡¯. Was I really stronger for having found this on my own, instead of being told at the start?

    At least with Antonyx¡¯s reorganization, I didn¡¯t have to grope blindly in the dark, trying them at random. I turned and headed deeper into the structured magic section. I¡¯d seen a handful of the innocuous objects on the shelves there.

    One object in this section had always caught my interest. It was a dagger, about the length of my hand, with a round pommel and a cross-guard. The blade itself was rusted to the point of uselessness, and the leather wrapping around its hilt had turned dry and started cracking from the dry air in the library. It obviously wasn¡¯t any kind of useful weapon. I¡¯d thought it had been kept here as a museum piece, representing some significant part of history, but now I suspected it was a Fold relic.

    I checked around to make sure no one was nearby. I unwound my lantern and lay the parchment flat on the ground until the light died down, then reached out for the dagger. Like with the cane, I felt for the Fold. Again, I felt the floor fall out beneath me.

    This time I landed on my feet. My leather boots plunging into knee-high grass.

    The dagger was still in my hand, but everything else from the library was gone.

    I was on a gently sloping hillside facing down into a valley, with vivid green grass all around me and small yellow-white flowers stretching up to attract the attention of buzzing flies.

    The time of day had changed again. This time the sky was blue, the sun halfway from the horizon to its peak, and from the coolness of the wind it felt like morning.

    I didn¡¯t recognize the landscape. A forest of black-leafed trees grew up in the valley ahead of me, and the air was full of the scent of flowers and farm animals.

    A sound came from behind. It took me a second to identify it as footsteps in the long grass.

    I whirled around. A figure stood above me, silhouetted against the sky. It was a man in gleaming plate armor. His sword was already in motion, swinging straight down at my head.

    I ducked, dodging the slash by inches. There was a tugging sensation from my scalp as the blade caught and severed a snatch of hair, then it had passed by.

    Before the warrior could even begin to move the weight of his sword up for another strike, I sank into a low stance, took a quick step forward, and thrust my dagger at his armored chest.

    It shouldn¡¯t have landed. The blade should have bounced off the steel breastplate. I didn¡¯t know what I was thinking in trying this.

    Except it did land. The dagger visibly flashed in front of me, like a light beam had caught it at the exact moment the tip touched steel. It pierced the armor with a crack. Flesh parted for the blade, the man¡¯s ribs offering no more resistance than the steel had.

    The armored man froze. His sword dropped to the ground. The dagger in my hand ticked with the final, frantic beating of his heart, then he collapsed into a heap.

    I¡¯d killed him.

    I was dizzy. I stumbled backward. The smell of dry stone and old parchment filled my nose, and I was back in the library.

    I stared down at the dagger in my hand, then tossed it back onto the shelf.

    It had just been a dream. The memory of a single thrust of a dagger.

    I was wary as I left the dagger behind. I¡¯d known from the cane that I could feel pain in these dreams, or whatever they were, but the strike with the dagger had felt so real. I¡¯d felt the man¡¯s life leave him, and knowing that the blade hadn¡¯t really been in my hand and that the armored man probably died years ago didn¡¯t do anything to make me feel better. What if I sank into one of these moments and found something I couldn¡¯t live with? I¡¯d had terrible nightmares since coming here, but they were always softened and washed away by the following day. I didn¡¯t think anything would wash away the beating of that man¡¯s heart.

    I picked something innocuous for my next try. An old comb made of yellow bone rested on a shelf surrounded by books on ritual. Half of its teeth were snapped off, and there were white hairs still tangled around the ones that were left.

    I reached down and touched the comb, reaching for the Fold as I did so.

    For a second I was falling, then my feet landed on wooden floorboards. I was in a wood-paneled study, with the smells of chalk dust and jasmine incense hanging in the hair. There was a window behind me, and a girl kneeling on a large cushion in front of me. Several more figures stood around, some in robes, others wearing Antorxian military uniforms.

    My arms were resting on the hilt and cross-guard of a Reeve¡¯s feather blade. When I caught sight of my hands, I could tell they weren¡¯t mine. They were old and thin-fingered, with long purple-painted nails.

    The girl in front of me looked like she was about sixteen, dressed in a burgundy red robe that was armored with dull metal plates across the chest and forearms. Her fingers were stained black from ink, and there was a knife in her lap.

    The girl spoke softly, but her body was tense. ¡°Julixa and Gorrotan were the first. I will honor them by surpassing them."

    ¡°As you will be honored by those who surpass you,¡± I said.

    Feeling my mouth move on its own startled me. My voice was a cracking buzz in my throat, ancient and dry.

    ¡°By hand, by spirit, and by will, I will defend my power, and feed it. I will kill for it,¡± the girl continued.

    ¡°As you will one day be killed for it," I said.

    I walked slowly around the girl as she recited her oath. As I moved I got to see more of the room. The furniture reminded me of the pieces in Antonyx¡¯s office, though from the shape of the room and the terrain outside the window, I could tell I wasn¡¯t in the tower, or even on the mountain.

    The walls were decorated with banners showing the stars of Antorx and the symbol of the Reeves in alternating bands. A painting at the back of the room depicted three hooded figures, one short and wide, one tall and narrow, and one indistinct, with billowing robes hiding their shape. Behind them in the frame was the tripeak symbol of the Antorxian emperors. That had to be a depiction of Antorx¡¯s leadership, the Triune.

    ¡°Indolence, cowardice, and grief. I will scourge weakness from my allies and enemies alike; this is my kindness,¡± the girl continued.

    ¡°As you will be scourged,¡± I responded.

    ¡°Traitors, nations, or gods. I will not flinch before my enemies.¡±

    ¡°And your enemies will break before you.¡±

    I stopped in front of the girl. I got the feeling that whoever¡¯s role I was filling was waiting for something.

    ¡°Words are wind, but my oath made in blood is unbreakable,¡± the girl said.

    ¡°This is an oath made in blood,¡± I finished.

    As I finished speaking, the girl raised the knife she was holding and dragged the blade across her palm. Blood welled up in her cupped hand, and she clenched her fist to force it to drain out.

    There was a long moment. The other robed figures in the room swayed, as if listening to a music only they could hear. After the motion had passed, I let myself relax.

    ¡°Well done,¡± I said, my breath heavy in my chest. ¡°Rise, Reeve Sandair."

    The girl stood. She looked around, letting a restrained smile beam out from her face.

    ¡°Now make her serve an oath to Antorx,¡± one of the Antorxian officers present said.

    I turned to him. He was a narrow man, with a short black beard and thick black eyebrows. His eyes looked like they were set a little too deeply into his face, giving him the look of being ill.

    ¡°We swear no oaths to Antorx,¡± I told him.

    ¡°To the Triune, then,¡± he said.

    ¡°Nor to them.¡±

    The officer looked around at the group. ¡°Why not? They¡¯re sorcerers like you, aren¡¯t they?¡±

    A couple of the other robed figures in the group laughed. The officer looked around, annoyed.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been given free reign long enough,¡± he said. ¡°I was sent here by General Racxus to oversee your swearing-ins. I¡¯ve seen that you swear an oath, and I believe it to be binding. I will have this girl swear to obey her military commanders, before sending her out into the field with near untold power.¡±

    One of the robed men in the circle reached out to touch the officer on the shoulder. It was a grandfatherly gesture, made as if he was about to impart some important advice.

    The officer slumped to the wooden floor, dead.

    The robed man stood back up straight and clasped his hands. The other Antorxian soldiers in the room exchanged concerned glances, but none of them spoke up.

    ¡°What will you take as your badge of office?¡± I asked the girl.

    ¡°I will take this amulet,¡± she said.

    ¡°Then mark it with your blood.¡±

    The girl looked down at the amulet, and smeared blood from her cut across the metal.

    The dream began fading, the painting and banners receding into mist, then the walls and other figures, then the floor. Soon, I was left blinking back in the library.

    I lifted my hand from the comb. I was shaking. I looked around. Still alone.

    Structured magic covered ritual, and that had been a ritual. I was sure I¡¯d just witnessed the promotion ceremony for a Reeve. It had the look and structure of a knighting ceremony, an oath given and accepted, promises made in return. I didn¡¯t think I could feel maja in the visions from the Fold relics, but I was sure the other people in the scene had been feeling maja at some points.

    The Reeve knighting ceremony had shown me something else as well. The Reeves and the military leadership of Antorx weren¡¯t completely aligned. I¡¯d seen evidence of it before, when I¡¯d read Commander Ewart¡¯s three-hundred year old account of the academy sending a creature to attack Fort Msiesetr. The Reeves worked in service of Antorx, fighting Antorx¡¯s wars, but they had their independence as well, and too much power for the Antorxian leadership to force the issue.

    I forced myself to put the experience aside. I could think about it later. For now I focused on the shelves of structured magic around me.

    I¡¯d glanced at every book at least once. There was some theory here, on spirit contracts, on cantogram materials, the best way to apply cantograms, the limitations of misting as a tool. There were even some speculative texts on cantogram creation, but they were too vague to have any practical use, just the desperate guesses of sorcerers who hadn¡¯t been privy to any real secrets.

    I made my way systematically through the ¡®decorative¡¯ objects scattered around the structured magic shelves, reaching into them as I went.

    I watched a ritual for summoning a lesser named spirit called Ashenti, as seen from the point of view of someone hiding in the trees, trying to keep their breath quiet. It ended when the obsertver accidentally stepped on a branch, alerting the ritualists.

    There was a relic that showed me the moment a corporeal spirit broke apart on a large spirit siphon canto, being messily and painfully dismembered while it was still alive.

    The last obvious relic I found was a ring that put me in the body of a sorcerer who¡¯d replaced their middle finger with a metal construction that incorporated a steel pen nib. I watched them mist a canto into the air, which then started a small campfire. Unfortunately, I couldn¡¯t make out the design of the cantogram.

    Most of the relics were interesting, but not many were directly useful. There were some, like the dagger, where I couldn¡¯t even see the connection to structured magic at all. I wanted to revisit some of them, if only for the experience of being somewhere else, outside of the academy. If I could have left before the caning, I might even have wanted to go back to the moment held in the walking stick.

    I slumped down in the isle between the shelves of structured magic, looking along the books.

    My eyes fell on one book I¡¯d never been able to read. Not because it was in an obscure language, but because it¡¯d been ruined at some point in the past. Its cover was scorched and its pages were blackened, like it had been left in the fire. I had thought it¡¯d been left down there by mistake, completely unreadable and unrecoverable. But maybe it wasn¡¯t useless.

    I felt along the spines until I found the one where the leather was brittle and pitted. I pulled it out and opened the cover. The pages were just as black and scarred as before. In a few places I could make out the loops of letters, but I couldn¡¯t even read enough to confirm it was written in Irisian. I closed the cover, held the book in my lap, and reached for the Fold.

    The library floor tore away beneath me. Light shone all around. There was a blue sky above me lit by a bright sun. I fell onto grass and rolled.

    The landscape around me was hilly, and I tumbled a little way down a hillside before I reached out and snatched at a passing shrub, stopping my fall at the cost of a little skin on my palm. I rolled onto my side then pushed myself to my feet.

    The terrain reminded me a lot of the landscape I¡¯d seen in the dagger. I was halfway down a hill, looking out on a shallow valley that had a river running through it. A mountain chain rose up to my right, and on the left, the valley opened out into flat farmland. The air smelled of damp earth and manure, with the occasional blast of wildflowers on the wind. It¡¯d rained recently. The grass was slick, and I could still smell the rain.

    I¡¯d barely got my feet under me when my pursuer appeared. She was a Reeve, of course. A woman with a bare gray scalp in place of hair, one bright yellow eye, and a high-collared black robe that opened around a suit of embossed leather armor. She was carrying a short sword in one hand, holding the other out for balance as she slid gracefully down the slope.

    She grinned as she slid into sword range, stopping her slide by planting her foot on a rock and lunging forward with the sword.

    I caught the thrust on the flat of my hand. I winced as the blade struck my palm, but instead of penetrating, the dagger blade just slid off. She tried again, feinting with a slash before reversing the movement and stabbing at my ribs, a move straight out of Forescare. The blade cut my shirt, but glanced off my skin, and the Reeve¡¯s grin turned into a snarl.

    ¡°You think your pathetic god will protect you from me?¡± she shouted.

    Her foot lashed out, hitting my chin and sending me toppling backwards. I rolled over twice before hitting my shoulder on a rock. The pain was sharp and final. I¡¯d never broken a bone before, but this time I practically heard the crack.

    The Reeve was already standing over me, smirking.

    ¡°You follow Arilyn the Martyr, don¡¯t you? I¡¯ve seen idols of her. A woman pierced by blades. And I notice that you¡¯re protected from blades.¡± The Reeve held up her free hand and rubbed her fingers together. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen her depicted on fire.¡±

    Her hand struck out and blue lightning flared from her fingertips. The arcing energy struck my face and chest, playing over my skin like a caress. Where the light touched my skin I burned and blackened. My clothes caught light, and pain raged through my body. My heart was filled with a feeling like stabbing needles. My back arched, my fingers splaying so far back it felt like they¡¯d break from the work of my own muscles.

    I woke up panting in the library. My body was soaked with sweat. My joints ached. It felt like my body had been mimicking the motions of the person in the memory, but if that were really true I¡¯d have torn muscles and bruises from thrashing around. It must just have been an echo of the moment, my memory of the memory. I dropped the book and pulled my legs up, wrapping my arms around my knees as I shivered. That had been the kind of experience I¡¯d been afraid of, delving into the relics.

    Unfortunately, I was going to have to do it again.

    Towards the end of the memory, when the Reeve had been raising her hand to fry me with lighting, I¡¯d caught a glimpse of something on her hand. It¡¯d been a pattern of silver marks, small characters set into the skin of her fingertip, like a metallic tattoo. Looking back, I was sure. It was a cantogram.

    I¡¯d only glimpsed it for a fraction of a fraction of a second, through half-focused eyes, but I recognized it for what it was ¡ª a weapon. When the Reeve¡¯s maja had turned into lightning, it had been through that canto. Cantos, I could learn. All I had to do to learn this one was suffer its effects, again and again. I was going to end up putting my hand in the fire after all.

 24. Storms Gate 1/3

    After a week of studying the Fold relic, I started to dream of lightning.

    It always seemed to be striking me. Sometimes from the sky, sometimes from the hand of a Reeve. Once, lightning even fired out from Adrian¡¯s eyes, when an otherwise normal dream was corrupted by the storm.

    Studying the relic was almost all I did. Crouching on the cold library floor until the early hours, often in the dark, I got used to the pain, and the memory of the pain. I got used to the cold and the touch of burned parchment. Every time I relived the memory, I glimpsed a more of the design, slowly building up a picture of what the cantogram had to be. After two weeks of work I finally managed it.

    A jagged ring. Ten intersecting lines. A half-circle on the outside, and another mirroring it on the inside. The whole thing was finished with a spiral of marks that might have been language. This was the design that let a sorcerer harness lightning, without knowing the aspect.

    The first time I drew it, it didn¡¯t seem to do anything. My ink was good. My penmanship was good. But the canto just sat there on the paper. It took a while to realize I needed to force maja through it. That attempt ended with the paper burning up in blue sparks and red flames.

    The actual cantogram was inert on its own, even when drawn in maja ink. Instead, it acted as a focus, or a lens. Any maja I pushed through it became sparks. I didn¡¯t know its real name, but I was calling the Storm¡¯s Gate canto.

    I ruined two more strips of paper before I decided that paper was too fragile a medium.

    I remembered that in the memory of the relic, the Reeve had used it in the form of foil designs embedded in her fingertips. After that, I started working on my skin.

    The first two fingers of my left hand was covered in minor burns, attesting to my partial success. I was being more careful with my third.

    My hands shook as I tried to paint the tip of my ring finger. The lines were so fine that I had to be aware of the topology of my skin, the ridges and whirls. If I hit a ridge at the wrong angle, the ink would spill down the valley, creating a hair-thin black line that ruined the diagram. If my skin had any oil or sweat, those parts would resist the ink, leaving a gap. The shaking of my hands on top of that made it even more difficult. It was more delicate than calligraphy and demanded more accuracy than dictation, and the shaking was making it almost impossible.

    My first attempt working on skin with my pen hadn¡¯t worked. A pen apparently wasn¡¯t the thing for drawing cantograms on the human body. Just like I hadn¡¯t been able to finger-paint my way to magical success on paper, cantograms drawn on skin with a pen wouldn¡¯t take.

    After a few experiments I¡¯d found that a brush was better. Cantograms were like a ritual in their own right. The right tool, the right materials, and the correct gestures were all important.

    I finished the jagged ring and moved on to the straight lines, dipping my brush then dragging the point across my skin.

    I needed better materials. My brush was a tapered clump of hair tied into a reed. My ink was the soot from burned leaves, watery from how far I¡¯d tried to stretch the pigment. I longed for a humble ink pot. Even the cheapest, coarsest ink stone would have been a blessing. If a spirit had appeared and offered me one wish in that moment, it would probably have been for a writing set.

    I had some coins now, looted from the corpse of the Moonrise Behr, but the market wasn¡¯t for another two weeks. I didn¡¯t even know how far my ducs would go. Were they enough for an inkwell imported from the cities? For a roll of paper? For something to eat that wasn¡¯t stew or oat cakes? They were silver, so my instinct told me they were worth a lot, but I didn¡¯t know anything about the restricted economy here on the mountain. The stall owners were hardly putting price labels out.

    I followed the straight lines with the half circle, one outside, and one inside.

    As I worked I tried to imagine what they meant. Were the half circles the sky and the ground, the lines the lightning? Or were they more functional than symbolic? What did the complex curl of marks mean?

    I¡¯d tried to deconstruct my safer cantograms, Winter¡¯s Hearth and Sky¡¯s Appetite, but it was like trying to learn a language by reading a book written in it. Partial cantos didn¡¯t work. Cantos with extra marks didn¡¯t work. If there was any kind of basic unit of the cantogram, the equivalent of a single letter, then I couldn¡¯t find it by trial and error.

    After the half circles I moved onto the characters. Ticks, whirls, and dots. They looked more like punctuation than real characters. I finished the last line with as little flourish as possible, then dropped the brush in the cup. I leaned back against the wall. I needed a moment just to let my mind wander, resting after the minutes of intense concentration.

    I closed my eyes, feeling for nearby maja. I was in one of the vacant cells. The door was shut, and nobody knew where I was. I could still vividly remember when I¡¯d hurt Adrian experimenting with the Force aspect, and I didn¡¯t want a repeat of that.

    I could feel Adrian in the barracks common room now, the sun-baked stone of his maja instantly recognizable. Sal, Alexa, and Terese were there too, though I could barely feel Terese¡¯s naturally quiet presence. There was no one else nearby.

    I gave myself another minute, then stood up. I held out my arm, felt for my core, and pulled a thread of maja up into my hand. I gritted my teeth. The last two times this had hurt. Trying not to flinch, I forced the maja out through my finger.

    My fingertip sparked. A line of bright blue light flickered out from the fingertip. It extended an inch into the air in front of me, then curled back to land right back where it had started. It felt exactly like something had bit me. It¡¯d come and gone so fast it¡¯d barely been there at all. But the sting was there.

    I flinched, squeezing my hand into a fist.

    I checked the cantogram. The energy hadn¡¯t yet burned the ink away, though it would after a few more tries.

    It was on the edge of working, the spark just had nowhere to go. It didn¡¯t want to just fly from my hand like an arrow. It wanted somewhere to land.

    I moved closer to the door, holding my hand an inch away from the wood.

    This time when I pushed maja, the spark leaped to the door, licking the wood before vanishing. No pain. It hadn¡¯t burned me this time.

    I crouched down to examine where the spark had landed.

    There was a small black dot of charred wood.

    I¡¯d done it. I¡¯d thrown lightning from my hands. It wasn¡¯t quite the spectacular storm the Reeve in the Fold relic had conjured, but I wasn¡¯t a Reeve. I was an initiate with a depleted core. But I¡¯d accomplished it in principle. The only thing lacking was the power to fuel it with.

    As I stood at the door admiring my destructive power, I felt a flare of maja from the barracks common room. Rough stone, too hot to touch with bare skin. It felt like Adrian was doing magic.

    The flare came again twice in short succession and I realized he was sending our study group¡¯s prearranged signal. It was still only the fourth day, two days early for the meeting. What did he want?

    I forced myself to my feet, picked up my ink cup, and moved the rock I was using to block the door. Once outside, I headed for the common room.

    Half the group was already there. Adrian was standing in the middle of the room while Sal Merchamp, Alexa and Terese stood around him. As I stepped inside Jason came in through the opposite side door.

    ¡°This is early,¡± I said. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡±

    ¡°Adrian¡¯s pretending to be you,¡± Sal answered.

    I looked from her to Adrian.

    ¡°Did you read something?¡± I asked.

    ¡°No,¡± Adrian said. ¡°At least, that wasn¡¯t why I called everyone. I¡¯ve learned something and I want to share it.¡±

    ¡°What is it, a rude joke?¡± I asked

    ¡°It¡¯s a magic thing,¡± he said archly.

    I was suspicious. The idea that Adrian had learned something on his own made me want to check that I wasn¡¯t dreaming again, but he seemed to believe it.

    The sixth day group had turned into a kind of study club. If any of us learned anything, we did our best to teach the others. Mostly, that had just been me trying to convey the Wheel and Thought aspects. Nobody else cared much for cantograms, even Jason, who I would have expected to be predisposed to them. I hadn¡¯t had the equipment to teach Wheel, and nobody else had been able to pick up Thought. Tom had worked out Lectuous¡¯s riddle on his own, startling us all, but for him the answer hadn¡¯t had any magical implications. When he tried to apply it to his maja, it just fell flat.

    If Adrian had been working on something, he hadn¡¯t told me about it. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d even seen him in the library before. Maybe he¡¯d been watching the other students. That was a valid path of study for the less academically inclined.

    I made eye contact with him and got a small smile.

    ¡°I might have something to teach as well,¡± Jason said, coming up to stand next to him. ¡°After Adrian, of course.¡±

    Adrian gazed at him bemusedly, then ignored him.

    ¡°It¡¯s a new way to use Force aspect,¡± he said to the group.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think you could use Force,¡± I said.

    I¡¯d hit him with Force aspect before. Once by accident, once in anger, and several times after that for purely educational purposes. He¡¯d never been able to learn it. At least, he¡¯d never been able to throw any around.

    Sal had learned her own version of it, able to create Force as a kind of strong, persistent wind. I wasn¡¯t sure about the others. After what I¡¯d done to the soldiers, they were reluctant to let me show them. Sal had been trying to pass the lesson on, but I didn¡¯t know if anyone had taken her up on it, or if anyone had succeeded.

    ¡°I can¡¯t use it like you,¡± Adrian said. ¡°I can¡¯t get it to go outward. But I¡¯ve learned how to use it through my body.¡±

    ¡°Internal aspect manipulation?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Adrian said. ¡°Sure.¡±

    ¡°I was warned off that once,¡± I said.

    Another student told me that it was an advanced skill, at least. I¡¯d seen the damage Force could do outside, and it didn¡¯t take much imagination to guess how badly using it internally could go. The image of trying to throw a Force-empowered punch and accidentally blowing my arm off forced its way into my mind. It wasn¡¯t something I¡¯d dared to try.

    ¡°It¡¯s meant to be an advanced technique,¡± Jason added. He sounded skeptical, which I resented despite being skeptical myself.

    ¡°Is it?¡± Adrian asked. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m some kind of genius.¡±

    ¡°That might be the case,¡± Jason replied.

    Adrian ignored him, looking around. ¡°Who can use the Force aspect?¡±

    ¡°Me,¡± Sal said.

    Terese raised her hand, which surprised me.

    ¡°I can, kind of,¡± Alexa said. ¡°I can only move small things, though.¡±

    ¡°Anything should work. As long as you¡¯ve got it,¡± Adrian said. ¡°The trick is to let the aspect flood into your maja, then instead of letting it fly out like it wants to, you trap it in your body. The aspect settles where you put it. When your body moves, it uses the strength of the Force.¡±

    To demonstrate, he picked up one of Terese¡¯s torches. He held it out in one hand. His maja surged, a warm light in the cool space, then instead of flooding out, the energy vanished.

    He closed his hand and the branch cracked into two. Splintered pieces fell to the floor. He looked around at us like he was expecting applause.

    ¡°That took an hour to make,¡± Terese said timidly.

    Snapping a branch wasn¡¯t exactly punching through stone or bending iron bars, but it wasn¡¯t something a person could do with the strength of one hand alone. He¡¯d obviously used something beyond ordinary human strength.

    ¡°It¡¯s not just for breaking things,¡± he said. ¡°You can use the same technique to swing a staff, throw a stone, or jump a wall.¡± He shot Sal a significant look for the last part.

    There were flares of maja around the room as a couple of the others tried it.

    I turned to watch them, sure that I was about to see an outbreak of violent accidents.

    Sal¡¯s maja flared first. She stood with a look of concentration on her face for several seconds, then what felt like a gust of wind blew out from her, rustling my hair and setting the fragments of wood on the floor rolling around.

    ¡°No, I lost it,¡± she said. ¡°Hold on. I can get it.¡±

    Terese tried next. I barely felt anything as she called on her maja. She closed her eyes, standing with a look of concentration on her face, then her maja surged. A sudden blast of Force flew out from her, hitting the water barrel and sending it crashing against the far wall. Water exploded up and outward, and when it came to rest it was leaking through half a dozen cracks. Everyone flinched, but no one looked more shocked than Terese. She stood with her eyes wide, looking at the destruction.

    I raised my voice. ¡°Maybe we should practice outside?¡±

    Adrian nodded enthusiastically and headed for the door. The rest of the group filed out after him.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    When I got outside, Sal was standing with her eyes closed, shaking slightly with her arm held out. Alexa seemed to have given up and was floating a small stone around her head. Terese was standing by the door with her hands clasped. She still looked terrified by what she¡¯d done in the common room.

    I walked a little way away and tried it myself. Pulling maja from my core into a specific body part was easy, I¡¯d learned that early and used it often. Painting maja with the memory of Force was second nature as well, but as soon as I aspected the maja it instantly wanted to escape.

    I couldn¡¯t keep control of it. I held out my hand and let it out. It brushed the grass and shook some nearby bushes as it dissipated. It was like trying to hold a breath past the point where it could be held. Pushing it out was a reflex.

    I turned to look at Adrian. He was demonstrating again. He crouched, his maja swelled, and then he jumped. The leap carried him onto the barracks roof, where he hit the tiles, rolled gracelessly, and thudded back onto the ground.

    It seemed easy for him. I hadn¡¯t seen him use any external maja, and now he¡¯d picked up internal manipulation like it was nothing.

    I wondered if he even could use external maja. If something was stopping him, if he was physically unable to, then keeping maja inside his body would be much easier for him. There wouldn¡¯t be the constant pressure to release it.

    Nobody else managed to pick up his technique. Jason left without even trying, as far as I could tell.

    After realizing that learning it wouldn¡¯t be as easy as Adrian had suggested, the members of the group filtered off one by one.

    Adrian¡¯s excitement bled away as they trickled away. I wasn¡¯t that surprised. We¡¯d been here less than a season. It seemed like too much for a bunch of initiates six weeks into their study.

    Adrian had still managed it, though.

    ¡°How did you figure this out?¡± I asked when we were the only ones left outside.

    ¡°It just came to me, I guess,¡± he said.

    ¡°You just an epiphany?¡±

    ¡°If that means what I think, then yes. I guess I might have overheard it somewhere.¡±

    The technique did seem obvious in retrospect, keep the maja internal to use it internally, but I hadn¡¯t dared to try to work it out using trial and error. Maybe he really was a genius. Or maybe he was too ignorant to know that it was dangerous.

    ¡°Did you manage it?¡± he asked.

    ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s like the others. It just flies out.¡±

    ¡°Let me try something,¡± he said. ¡°Get your maja out.¡±

    I gave him a long look, then shut my eyes. I felt for my core, then pulled maja into my arm.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± I said.

    I felt his hands touching my arm just below the shoulder. Then there was a sharp change in his presence. In a second, the baked stone sensation was gone, replaced by a sensation of relentless drumming, hail on a wooden roof, or sling stones walls.

    A shock of pain ran over my arm, sharp pressure, like I¡¯d reached under a rock and the rock had dropped.

    ¡°Now,¡± Adrian said.

    I almost pulled away on instinct, but I overrode the urge and did as he said. I thought back to my memory of Force and pushed it onto the energy pooling in my arm.

    I felt the maja spasm. It jerked around, trying to escape, but everywhere it went the doors were closed. It settled instead, buzzing in place between my shoulder and wrist.

    ¡°There. Can you feel it?¡± he asked,

    ¡°I think so.¡±

    ¡°Try using it.¡±

    I opened my eyes and looked around for something to test with. There was an apple-sized stone near my feet. I picked it up, wound back, and tossed it across the field. The rock left my hand like a crossbow bolt. it crossed a hundred feet in less than a second, before cracking into pieces against the wall of the washhouse.

    I turned to stare at Adrian. He smiled at me.

    My arm felt dead. My arm felt suddenly weak, with an ache that felt like I¡¯d been holding a book above my head for an hour, but it hadn¡¯t exploded off my shoulder. I didn¡¯t even feel like I¡¯d pulled a muscle.

    ¡°How did you do that?¡± I asked.

    He shrugged one shoulder. ¡°It just kind of came to me.¡±

    ¡°And what was that strange maja?¡±

    ¡°Strange maja?¡±

    ¡°It was like drumming, or hailstones.¡±

    His eyes went momentarily wide, before his expression flattened out. ¡°Couldn¡¯t say.¡±

    I frowned at him. Assuming he survived the academy, he was going to make a terrible Reeve. He couldn¡¯t even lie well.

    ¡°Is someone teaching you?¡± I asked.

    He shook his head, looking down at the floor.

    ¡°You can¡¯t tell me?¡± I asked. He didn¡¯t reply. ¡°Have you been sworn to secrecy? Why can¡¯t you say?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not safe for me to say,¡± he said. ¡°Not safe for me.¡±

    He looked up and met my eyes. What couldn¡¯t he tell me? Was he getting tuition from someone outside the academy, somehow? Or tuition from a Master that he shouldn¡¯t be getting? Was there a traitor to Antorx hiding somewhere on the mountain? I was desperate to know, but out of everything he said, I believed that telling me would put him in danger.

    ¡°Will they help me?¡± I asked.

    Adrian looked up. There was a strange look in his eyes, like he was assessing me.

    ¡°Maybe,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll speak to you about it later, okay?¡±

    ¡°Yes, alright.¡±

    ¡°If you can hold your maja like that on your own, you can use the technique,¡± he said. ¡°Maybe feeling it once will help you get back there?¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± I said. I didn¡¯t feel like trying again now. I wanted to needle him with questions until he gave in.

    I followed him in silence, instead. He seemed lost in thought, and I didn¡¯t want to put him in danger by pushing it too hard.

    When we got back to our cell, I found Jason leaning against the wall outside the door. He¡¯d left while the rest of us had been trying internal Force. I wondered if he¡¯d been doing the same thing somewhere on his own.

    ¡°Dorian,¡± he said, standing up. ¡°I was hoping to bend your ear for a minute.¡±

    ¡°Enjoy that,¡± Adrian said to me. He opened the door to the cell and disappeared inside.

    I approached Jason, stopping just outside the door.

    ¡°I know it¡¯s not time for the meeting, but I didn¡¯t want to delay this,¡± he said. ¡°I understand that you¡¯re a skilled reader of Old Irisian?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    I hadn¡¯t exactly berated him for mis-translating Tom¡¯s assignment two weeks ago, but I¡¯d mentioned it, and he¡¯d seemed to take it as a personal insult.

    ¡°I was hoping you would help me with my assignment,¡± he went on. ¡°You see, I have to translate an Old Irisian poem.¡±

    He was already pulling a scroll out of his robe as he spoke. He unrolled it and held it out.

    I took it, interested despite also being a little annoyed.

    It was a simple poem. I didn¡¯t recognize it from the canon of surviving Old Irisian poetry, meaning it was either something minor, or it¡¯d been made up on the spot by the Master who¡¯d assigned it.

    At first reading, it was almost painfully easy to translate.

    On the highest land,

    Where rock meets rock,

    A glowing spring has formed,

    Where a lucky one may suck.

    The last part was a little off. Suck was the literal translation, but if I had time I¡¯d have liked to search for a modern Irisian phrase more in keeping with the rhyme. Maybe sup, or slake.

    There were other complexities. The phrase the writer had used for highest land had connotations of a plateau. And the word used for ¡®rock¡¯ was the adjective form. Maybe it was an adnoun. The word they¡¯d used for ¡®glowing¡¯ was actually closer to the meaning of luminous, which related to Old Irisian descriptions of magic.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you can handle it without issue?¡± Jason said.

    ¡°Yes. No issues,¡± I said.

    ¡°Wonderful. I¡¯ll leave it with you. Please don¡¯t jeopardize your own task to complete it, but if you could have it ready for the meeting I would be very grateful.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± I said, still looking at the note.

    Jason left quietly. I went through the door into the cell. Adrian was sitting on his bed shaving the bumps off a wooden stick with a piece of flint. Didn¡¯t he ever accumulate?

    ¡°What did he want?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Help with a translation.¡±

    ¡°Right. I don¡¯t like him.¡±

    I shrugged, sitting on my bed. I didn¡¯t mind doing this for him. It reminded me of the kind of tasks Scribe Bevin would give me when I was first learning Old Irisian. It was quiet, comfortable, nostalgic work. I pulled out the charcoal pencil I¡¯d found on the Behr and started making notes on the scroll.

    Adrian broke the silence after a few minutes.

    ¡°You¡¯re from East Wilds aren¡¯t you?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Not quite. Kirkswill. Our closest city is Basfield.¡±

    ¡°Did you ever go to temple?¡±

    ¡°Once or twice in my life,¡± I said. ¡°My mother didn¡¯t hold with it. And Scribe Bevin warned me off it. He thought the Antorxians had spies in the Abbey. He said someone with the mage talent studying religion scared the Antorxians almost as much as one studying magic.¡±

    Not that there¡¯d even been a real Abbey presence in Kirkswill. The temple had been a converted barn, where a single slightly addled old man preached the Antorx-audited tenets of the greater spirits to enthusiastic but largely oblivious farmers.

    ¡°At our abbey we followed Horis,¡± Adrian said, twisting to lie down on his bed. ¡°I was the only one there with the mage talent, I think, but they taught us that he heard every prayer. The Antorxians weren¡¯t scared, though. When they came they looked bored. One of the clerics, Senior Toran, tried to hide me, but of course that didn¡¯t work. I understand why, now. If I can feel you across the building, of course they could sense me hiding under the stairs.¡±

    ¡°And Horis just washed his hands of you, I imagine.¡±

    Adrian was silent and I looked up to find him glaring at me.

    ¡°Fine, sorry,¡± I said.

    ¡°You¡¯re more the type to worship Ixilthan, I suppose,¡± he said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe in worshiping any spirit,¡± I said. ¡°They don¡¯t care about us. Even the supposedly benevolent ones are only that way by coincidence.¡±

    ¡°Some of them care. They¡¯re just not all-powerful.¡±

    I didn¡¯t reply, letting the conversation die out. Spirits weren¡¯t human and didn¡¯t think like humans. Even the greater spirits, called gods by some, adhered to concepts in a way that didn¡¯t align with common sense, morality, or practicality. They didn¡¯t necessarily even align with our concept of reality.

    The example Scribe Bevin had given me was from a period before the Antorxian conquests, when the goddess Adjira had been invoked by a faction of religious zealots trying to assassinate the Losirisian royal family for crimes against morality. At the same time, the inquisitors of the Royal Guard were also invoking Adjira, also successfully. One greater spirit of justice supporting two different sides, each with irreconcilable views on what justice was. If Adjira had stood in judgment and decided one way or the other, that would have been something, but apparently in her view both were just causes worthy of aid.

    I thought it was illuminating that in the Varian cultures Adjira was called Adjita Gallowsqueen, the goddess of unforgiving punishment, but try telling the Abbey that. Either the greater spirits were too broad and complex to fit into a single human concept, or they were too alien to even be described.

    I finished making my notes on the scroll.

    On the uppermost plateau,

    Where a rock thing meets a rock thing(?),

    A magical spring has formed,

    Where a lucky one may drink.

    It had lost a lot of its poetic rhythm in the translation, not my best work, and there would probably better replacements for some of the lines if I dared to be less than completely literal.

    As I reread the passage looking for connotations, my attention caught on ¡®uppermost plateau¡¯ again. That could be read as uppermost terrace. That got me thinking about it in the context of the academy grounds, and realized I had a better option than ¡®rock thing¡¯.

    On the highest terrace,

    Where stone walls meet,

    A maja spring has formed,

    Where a lucky one may drink.

    Was this a set of directions?

    I looked over at Adrian. He was either lost in thought or asleep. Probably asleep.

    I looked at the translation again, put my sandals back on, and slipped quietly out of the room.

 25. Storms Gate 2/3

    The sun set as I climbed the mountain. When I set out its top edge still peeked above the horizon, but by the time I made it to up a handful of terraces, it was nothing but a purple bruise over the swamp.

    The light on the mountainside changed from a strange golden orange to deep shadow within a few minutes. The grass and bushes turned into tangled silhouettes, and the tower looming above the academy became a black monolith against the sky.

    The academy was quieter than usual. There were a few other students around going from building to building, but it was mid-week, most of them would working on their assignments. My own assignment this week was to create a tower of stones, kept upright with balance alone. It was typically nonsensical, assigned by a Master Melodius.

    I had a theory that it had something to do with the acquisition of an unknown aspect, but the assignment hadn¡¯t actually said that. I was planning on meditating on the experience after I¡¯d built it.

    Over the weeks I¡¯d started to gain a faint appreciation for the assignments. For all that they were dangerous and often made no sense, they just as often hid a lesson or concealed an advantage. My first assignment, collecting ginsberry tree leaves, had taught me to recognize spirit-possessed plants, how dangerous they could be, and how to tap them for useful resources. I¡¯d almost died, but that had been a lesson too. Some tasks were obviously chores for the benefit of the academy, but many had a secret reward that extra effort could uncover.

    That as much as anything convinced me Jason¡¯s poem was a set of directions. It would have been easy for him to scribble off a literal translation and hand it in, but there seemed to be more beneath the surface.

    On the tower¡¯s terrace I passed by a group of visiting officials, men and women with shaved heads and formal robes of layered heavy fabric with tripeak badges pinned to the collars. They formed a procession, moving from a row of wooden carriages towards the tower, escorted by road-weary soldiers and a young Reeve armored in steel and leather. This Reeve carried a feather blade on his back, sheathed in black wood and held in place with a leather strap. I didn¡¯t often see real, working Reeves on the mountain. Their presence was usually limited to the academy Masters. This one¡¯s maja was almost overwhelming, up close, a feeling of cold pressure that made me have to remind myself I was still outside under the open sky.

    I kept my distance as I walked past, trying to avoid their attention. Some of the soldiers glanced over, but the officials only cared about the tower, and the Reeve didn¡¯t look like he cared about anything.

    On the highest terrace¡­

    The academy¡¯s highest terrace was above the tower, above all the buildings, empty except the upper extent of the wall. Adrian had lived in the small woods out here for a while, and we¡¯d occasionally come up here to find plant samples that grew wild between the trees.

    I couldn¡¯t immediately see anything that matched the poem.

    Where stone walls meet¡­

    The outer wall up here was made of several parts, so I thought the poem might mean where two of the straight sections met. I could see one of those points from the ramp up from the lower terrace, but the rest were hidden behind trees. I¡¯d have to walk the wall.

    I headed for the join I could see clearly to start with. I looked around at the dark trees as I passed the woods. Not many people came up here. The wall seemed to have enclosed it just to capture the land for future development, but it had never been built on. There were the trees and some useful plants, but the only real reason to come up here was to get some peace from the other students.

    I stopped at the first point. The two sections of wall came together cleanly, the stones interlocking. There was nothing unusual. There was a bird nest further up the wall, a ball of mud and sticks clinging to the stone that was giving off a regular screaming sound as the baby bird inside cried for food, but there was no spring of any kind and no sense or smell of maja.

    I continued walking along the wall.

    Further along, part of the mountain rose up just on the other side, creating an overhang of jagged rocks so steep it looked like it was going to fall over. At the second point where two straight walls met, the overhang on the cliff was so extreme it looked like it would stop rain. No spring. It was the same story at the third intersection point. A massive thorn bush had grown around the corner in the wall, but after ten minutes of searching through it I concluded there was nothing special there either. The smell of bare earth drew me to a hole where someone had tried burrowing out under the wall. It went down three feet before the digger had given up, only finding more wall all the way down.

    About forty feet past the third corner, I realized I¡¯d got the translation completely wrong.

    Here, part of the mountain had collapsed. A rock slide had come down, breaking the wall and flooding into the academy. It had toppled a tree, tearing up massive clods of earth, and revealing a narrow fissure in the rock.

    The crack was jagged, narrow, about five feet long and three inches wide, with a completely lightless interior.

    Where a rock thing meets rock thing.

    I should have known that sounded wrong. It should have been Where rock meets stone. It was a kind of Old Irisian pun.

    I was suddenly glad I¡¯d checked after all. The Master who assigned it might have failed a purely literal translation, if they were particularly pedantic. I could imagine the person who came up with this assignment being pedantic.

    I took a few steps closer to the fissure. I could already feel air blowing out from it, hot and acidic. I wasn¡¯t sure how the airflow was possible. Maybe there was a channel in the rock that caught the wind from somewhere else and brought it underground. It wasn¡¯t just wind, either. With the air came maja.

    It tingled in my eyes, nose, and throat, a smell like bile or spirit vinegar. It made me think of doing the accounts at the dyer¡¯s hut in Kirkswill. I¡¯d always left with a sore throat and burning nostrils.

    The maja here was stronger than in the air around Wild Century had been. It was even stronger than the maja my spirit siphon had torn from the small spider.

    I stepped closer and knelt in front of the fissure.

    Up close, I could feel patterns in the air moving through the opening. It blew out for several seconds, then paused, then reversed, with wind flowing back in. Then the cycle would repeat.

    I held up my hand as close to it as I dared. The hairs on the back of my arm blew back as maja-rich air flowed out of the gap, then twitched forward as outside air rushed back in. There must have been some kind of subterranean cave network, with different chambers creating an alternating pattern of pressure.

    I reached down, putting my hand into it. I felt around, trying to get a feeling for how deep it was. Just below the opening on the surface, the fissure widened out, and it felt like that continued as it went deeper. The landslide that had uncovered it had plugged the gap in the wall with rocks and scree, but this felt it might connect to a cave system. I wondered if Sal would consider it a viable way out, if she could break it open.

    If the poem was to believed, the fissure was called a maja spring, and that a lucky one may drink. I guessed that meant I was the lucky one in this situation.

    I pulled my arm out and sat back on my knees. Closing my eyes, I felt for my spiritual senses.

    With the mundane world sliding into the background, the maja from the fissure felt much more significant. I felt like I was at the center of a cloud of buzzing insects, every one of them landing on my skin and stinging, before flying away. It was like the shock from the Storm¡¯s Gate, spread across my entire body. It was sharp, painful, and hard to accumulate under.

    I took a breath, bringing the strange acidic maja into myself. My core swelled, halfway to full. With my next exhalation, most of that maja left. But not all of it. I took another deep breath. Again my core swelled, weeks¡¯ worth of accumulation coming in, and then in the next breath going out, but not all of it. With every breath I managed to hold on to a small amount, and given the volume of maja even a small fraction was a lot for me. It was probably the most productive accumulation I¡¯d ever done.

    With my focus on the maja coming from the fissure, I didn¡¯t notice the other students approaching until they were on top of me.

    I took my attention off my energy just for a second, and suddenly realized there were three human maja signatures close by, surrounding me on three sides.

    I opened my eyes and jumped to my feet.

    Three other students were standing around me. They wore darker robes than mine. One boy was armed with a club, with another boy and a girl with bare hands. They all had black hair and tanned skin, giving them the look of native Antorxians. None of them looked older than fifteen.

    The girl stood in front of me, her straight hair stretched back in a bun with a peacock¡¯s tail of needles fanning around it. The two boys were to my side and behind me, too far away to touch but close enough that they could get to me in half a second if they wanted.

    ¡°Have you seen this glutton, Duran?¡± the girl asked.

    My stomach turned to lead at her voice. This was what I¡¯d been worried about since I came here. Being cornered by more advanced students. I thought I¡¯d been safe up here. The upper terrace was so remote, practically deserted. But like all safety that had been an illusion.

    The boy she¡¯d called Duran took a step closer to her and looked me in the face.

    ¡°Eating like a rat who found the pork barrel.¡±

    The girl smiled and cocked her head. The motion reminded me more of a magpie looking at a worm than any movement a human might make.

    ¡°They say a child starved is a glutton raised. Do they starve their children in the provinces?¡±

    ¡°They do, of magic,¡± I said. As I spoke I was shocked at how level my voice sounded. ¡°You realize Antorx doesn¡¯t allow mages to practice magic in the nations?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± the girl agreed. ¡°They bring you here, to dance for our amusement.¡±

    Her maja surged, a hot, sharp stinging sensation, like the afterglow of a birch cane on skin. At the same time there was movement behind me. Hands appeared at the edge of my vision. A rope passed over my face, then snapped tight around my throat. A noose.

    I grabbed at the noose to try and take it off, but I couldn¡¯t get my fingers under it.

    It twisted, closing around my throat like a pair of hands, the rope fibers as sharp as knives against my skin. The weight on my feet slackened as I was lifted into the air. The lack of air hit me quickly. My head pounded and needles started to prick at my fingers and toes.

    I scratched at the rope, trying to breathe. It continued to lift me, three feet off the ground, then five, then ten until I was looking across at the top of the wall. I kicked the air. Useless. Below me, the girl bent over laughing.

    I grabbed my sword and reached up to try and find the knot so I could cut it. I ran my hand up and down the rope, searching.

    Nothing. The rope was somehow, impossibly, all one piece. I raised my sword to cut at it, but the edge of the blade couldn¡¯t get a bite. The lack of air was turning my arms to lead, and after a few seconds my sword dropped out of my hand.

    I forced myself to think. I hadn¡¯t tried maja. Could I shake the rope loose from whatever was supporting it? What was it even hanging from? None of the trees were this tall. I closed my eyes and tried feeling for the maja signatures of the three students below me. I couldn¡¯t sense them. I could see them, but I couldn¡¯t sense any maja at all.

    After a few seconds I lowered my arms, relaxed, and took a deep breath. This time the air came, fresh, cool in my lungs, and so welcome the acid fumes from the vent tasted like perfume.

    I down at the ground, at the girl, then threw up my arm and launched a blast of Force at the blank wall in front of me.

    The dream shattered. I was back on the ground. My neck was free with none of the illusory pressure.

    The black-haired girl was slumped against the rock slide in front of me. There were scratches on her cheek and forehead where Force-tossed stones had scraped her. She took a staggering step forward and left a red stain behind her on the rock.

    ¡°I know a tree who does that better,¡± I told them. ¡°It remembered nooses are meant to have knots, at least.¡±

    One of the boys¡¯ maja moved behind me. There was a sound like a hammer striking wood and pain stabbed out from a spot on my head. I covered my head with my hand on instinct and spun around.

    This one hadn¡¯t been a magical attack at all, just a club across the skull.

    I dropped my hand to the boy¡¯s chest and pushed with another blast of Force, sending him flying backwards. He crashed into the undergrowth ten feet away and didn¡¯t get up.

    To my left Duran¡¯s maja surged. His power felt like the dryness of paper magnified to a painful, skin-splitting degree.

    I pointed at him and pushed out another flood of Force.

    As my spell surged through my fingers, something caught me and spun me, turning me so that my attack flew off into the woods. My Force maja wasted itself on branches and bark while I continued to spin, toppling onto the ground. I kept rolling after I fell, hitting rocks and roots. Somewhere in the chaos I realized this was the Wheel aspect.

    I thought back to the spinning of the Phinion in Master Cordaze¡¯s lesson. My maja took the memory easily and I managed to catch myself. It took a steady stream of maja to contest the boy¡¯s attempts at spinning me, but I was stable.

    I put my hands to the ground and pushed myself to my feet. Duran was standing with his hand outstretched.

    When he realized Wheel wasn¡¯t working he changed tactics. His maja stilled, he pointed his arm straight at me, and his maja pulsed again.

    I could practically feel the wave of Force leaving him. I dropped to the ground and grabbed the roots of a tree as Force tore over my head, snatching at my hair and robe.

    I lifted my hand into the onslaught and retaliated with more maja than I could afford. The ground under him popped in an explosion of dust and stones. He was pelted with a cloud of loose rocks and thorns and knocked onto his back.

    To my right I could see the boy with the club picking himself out of a bush. To my left the black-haired girl was touching the back of her head. Her hand came away bloody. I had seconds left. I looked around and grabbed my sword from the ground.

    My surprise attack from within the Dream had bought be a few seconds to fight them one on one, but that was at its end. I¡¯d done as well as I could so far, but I couldn¡¯t fight all three of them at once.

    I got to my feet and started running.

    I sprinted through the trees, dodging left and right to put tree trunks between myself and my three attackers.

    I wasn¡¯t sure they¡¯d even try to follow me. If they were only there to use the spring, then they might not want to leave it. On the other hand they were more advanced students, and Antorxians. If I¡¯d pricked their pride by getting away, then they¡¯d be out for blood.

    My suspicion was confirmed a second later when a tree I was running towards exploded in a shower of white splinters. A steel dagger was stuck in the trunk, lodged up to its hilt.

    I ducked behind the splintered tree and looked back. The boy with the club was there. Apparently he¡¯d thrown the dagger. The other two weren¡¯t around.

    He¡¯d slowed down when I ducked behind the tree, wary of an attack.

    He was too far to hit with Force, or even a Force-propelled stone. Wheel aspect wouldn¡¯t do much, and I hadn¡¯t really practiced it. My Storm¡¯s Gate canto wouldn¡¯t be useful with the maja I had, unless I wanted to tickle him with sparks.

    I thought back to Lectuous¡¯s riddle, instead. I pushed my thoughts onto maja and glared them out at the boy.

    <He¡¯s probably doubling back to the spring.>

    Thought aspect had been developed for private communication, but an undisciplined mind could sometimes interpret a thought projected from outside as one of their own. Lectuous probably hadn¡¯t been thinking of trainee sorcerers being those undisciplined minds, but I hadn¡¯t been impressed by this club wielder so far.

    The boy took a step forward, then hesitated. He looked back in the direction of the spring, then ahead at my hiding place.

    He wasn¡¯t buying it.

    I wished I could use whatever aspect the girl had used on me. Dream? Hallucination? When Wild Century had used the technique I¡¯d thought it was a spirit trick, but if a human sorcerer could do the same thing then I wanted to learn it.

    After a few seconds the boy hadn¡¯t turned back, but he hadn¡¯t reacted to my use of Thought aspect either. There was indecision in his expression. I tried again.

    <He¡¯s definitely doubling back. He could be attacking her right now.>

    I felt like this would be more convincing if I knew anyone¡¯s names. I threw out another thought.

    <If Duran were here, he¡¯d go to check on her.>

    The boy gave one last long look at my tree then turned and started running back towards the spring.

    I stood catching my breath for a minute, not quite believing that had worked.

    I knew Thought aspect was relatively obscure, but a person didn¡¯t need to know an intrusive thought came from somewhere else to know not to follow it. The idea that I was doubling back to the spring didn¡¯t even make any sense. I¡¯d only come up with it because it was all I could think of in the moment.

    When it was clear the boy was heading back to the spring in violation of all logic, I turned away from my tree and set off running again. I needed to get away before he realized he was being an idiot.

    I made it to the edge of the wooded area. I looked around before I left the cover of the trees. There was as much cover for anyone watching for me as there was for me to hide in, so I didn¡¯t feel particularly safe as I ran for the ramp down.

    I slowed as I reached the ramp. The girl from the spring was standing at the bottom, flanked by two more male students, not the ones she¡¯d been with before.

    ¡°Look at the expression on the his face,¡± she said. ¡°He¡¯s thinking, how did they get past me.¡±

    The boy to her right laughed.

    I stared down at them, looking from face to face. I was actually wondering why the girl didn¡¯t have any scrapes on her cheek or forehead any more, and when she¡¯d found the time to put her hair back into a perfectly neat bob. Had she caught me in a Dream again?

    I took a breath. I tried to clear my mind, to look at the world with no expectations. When I opened my eyes again, the people at the bottom of the ramp were gone.

    ¡°Do you think he¡¯s praying?¡± the girl¡¯s voice asked, this time from behind me. ¡°There¡¯s no way out down here. Perhaps you should throw yourself off the ledge. You¡¯d survive the fall, probably.¡±

    She still thought I was trapped in her illusion.

    I reached out, feeling for maja sources. There were two of them coming up behind me, the girl, with her energy like stinging heat, and Duran¡¯s painful dryness.

    I tightened my grip on my sword hilt.

    ¡°I don¡¯t really understand why you attacked me,¡± I called out.

    ¡°That¡¯s because you¡¯re an ignorant cur,¡± the girl said. ¡°You wandered into our feast and helped yourself to the table.¡±

    ¡°It can¡¯t be something as petty as you trying to keep a resource to yourself, can it?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Petty! This is the Sovereign¡¯s Path. Nobody is above that.¡±

    My path wasn¡¯t really blocked. But I still couldn¡¯t run. The two bundles of maja weren¡¯t far behind me and if they¡¯d chased me through the woods, they¡¯d chase me over the open grass of the next terrace down. I was too far away from help, or even witnesses, to turn my small head start into a chance of escape.

    ¡°I must not have learned that part of the Path yet,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s not to receive, but to take. Why should you receive sole access to the spring, and why shouldn¡¯t I take it?¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    I took long blinks through the exchange, tuning out my physical senses to keep track of the signatures behind me. They were on a constant, slow approach, confident that I¡¯d bought in to the dream.

    The girl laughed. ¡°Take it then, if you can. Of course, you¡¯re only an Initiate, and you face two Potentiates.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the difference?¡± I asked.

    The girl was sounding increasingly bored. ¡°Just a know-nothing cur after all.¡±

    The maja signatures behind me were close, now, just a few feet away. I reflected that putting someone into an illusion cut both ways. If it failed, then it was the caster who labored under an illusion.

    I spun, swinging my sword in a wide arc.

    As I turned, I got a glimpse of my attackers. Duran was holding out his hands toward me, readying a spell. The point of my sword slashed across his palms, leaving cuts that didn¡¯t start bleeding until I¡¯d finished spinning. The girl dodged back from the blade, avoiding being hit. She stared at me with complete contempt.

    ¡°Sacrasmodi, grant me a weapon,¡± the girl muttered.

    She held out her hand and a white light played across it. The dying sunlight seemed to shift, and she was suddenly holding a spear of white wood tipped with silvery metal. The weapon was slightly translucent, like the sword of the figure I¡¯d fought in the spirit-haunted inn.

    She didn¡¯t wait for my surprise to wear off, stepping forward and striking at me with a one-handed thrust. Pain flared in my heart, followed by ice.

    I took several steps back, putting my hand to my chest. My palm came away flecked with blood. The spear was immaterial, but not completely. If it were a spirit, it would be on the cusp of achieving a solid form.

    The spear came at me twice more in quick succession. I tried to parry it on instinct, but the spear went straight through my sword with only the slightest jerk when they met. At least parrying it blocked the physical part of the spirit weapon¡¯s attack, leaving only the cold spiritual damage to hit me.

    I backed away, looking between the girl and the boy I¡¯d cut.

    ¡°Finish him, Mira,¡± Duran said, pressing his bleeding hands together. ¡°This had gone beyond blood. It¡¯s to the death, now.¡± His maja flared, and blood stopped dripping from his hands.

    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure you tried to kill me with your opening attack,¡± I said, still backing away.

    ¡°Only the weak die from a wound dealt under the Dream aspect, but I suppose that does include you.¡±

    Mira took her spirit spear in both hands and thrust it at me again.

    I twisted out of the way, dragging my blood-flecked hand along my sword at the same time. When she lunged again, I knocked the spear away with the flat of my blade. She didn¡¯t show any surprise that my weapon could block hers.

    I raised a hand to throw Force at her, but she jabbed with the spear before I could even pull at my maja. I got a graze of small incisions in my palm as it hit, like gravel rash.

    Duran was circling around me, coming in off the sidelines now that his bleeding had stopped

    I looked past him down the mountain. I found myself wishing that Adrian were here. Adrian and Sal would be the most help. The three of us probably topped our cohort in the skills the Reeves wanted us to learn. It probably wouldn¡¯t have made a difference. These two could have beaten us one on one and collectively.

    I felt Duran¡¯s maja spike, and a blast of force hit my arm, jarring my shoulder and sending my sword flying away across the grass. A second blast hit my back and sent me to my knees. Duran¡¯s maja spiked again, and I suddenly felt like lead weights were attached to my arms and legs. The weight of my own body dragged me down to the floor, flattening me against the grass, until it took all my strength just to draw breath.

    A spot of cold appeared on the back of my neck, and a bead of wetness trickled down to the front of my throat; the tip of Mira¡¯s spear, positioned for what might be a killing blow.

    ¡°Mira, look there,¡± Duran said.

    ¡°Look cur. The vultures are already circling,¡± Mira said.

    She put her sandal in my side, tipping me over until I was facing up. Against the purple-black of the dusk sky, a ragged bird was circling. It had a fanned tail and wings tipped with splayed feathers. Its head seemed abnormally shortened. I couldn¡¯t tell if it was a real vulture, or if it had a human skull.

    I was suddenly sure this was the moment the vulture spirit had been waiting for. It¡¯d picked me as its carrion the night I¡¯d almost died in the swamp and it had been waiting for its meal ever since, following me, even into the academy, so that it wouldn¡¯t miss the moment it could reduce me to meat.

    I was suddenly back in the barracks during that endless night. I had the irrational fear that if I died here I¡¯d be trapped in that moment forever.

    I felt for my core, pulling out all the maja I¡¯d accumulated since that night weeks ago. It was a pitiful amount, in comparison. I¡¯d fed it more in the few breaths I¡¯d taken of the spring than in all the nights of normal accumulation since then.

    Before the two of them could react to my surging maja I pushed it out into my body, transmuted it into Force and released it as a directionless wave.

    Whatever aspects the two of them knew, Stillness wasn¡¯t one of them. Both of them were thrown backwards, out of my line of sight.

    I sat up, rolled into all fours and staggered to my feet.

    The two students had been thrown about six feet. It was all I could manage with this little maja, and it hadn¡¯t been enough to do any damage. They were already picking themselves up.

    I looked down to the next terrace. Still not an option. I turned to look back towards the spring. The trees would at least give me some cover.

    Mira was already getting to her feet, her maja rippling.

    There¡¯s no point running. I¡¯m dead either way.

    The desolate thought came to me out of the blue. It was probably right, but that didn¡¯t mean I was going to stand around waiting for a spear through the throat. I set off running away from the ramp, towards the spring.

    I made it to the trees in time to avoid a blast of Force from Duran. His use of Force aspect was like mine, a strong, immediate throwing force, but like mine it spread out quickly over distances. I felt a leaden weight settle over my legs, but I ducked behind a tree, and the effect fell away as I broke Duran¡¯s line of sight.

    So far I¡¯d seen him use Force, Wheel, and whatever that weight aspect was. Mira had only used Dream and her spirit weapon. Keeping my distance and staying behind cover seemed to protect me from all of them. I couldn¡¯t keep that up forever though, and I doubted they¡¯d run out of breath before I did. They had maja to refresh their endurance, and I was empty.

    I ran through the woods, at one point stumbling through the remains of Adrian¡¯s old camp. There was no advantage for me there. I knew there was a murky pool nearby, but I didn¡¯t think it was even deep enough to hide in. I carried on through.

    Navigating by the top of the wall visible over the trees, I made my way back to the spring.

    The boy I¡¯d tricked into doubling back was there, kneeling in front of the spring with his club on the ground at his side. His eyes were closed, accumulating. It looked like he¡¯d decided to stay and take advantage of the spring while his friends were chasing me.

    He didn¡¯t hear me approaching. He would be ignoring his physical senses to better focus on accumulation. He¡¯d be able to sense the maja around him, but I didn¡¯t have much maja to sense right then.

    I ran up to him and grabbed his club from the ground. I raised it up above my head, but even then he didn¡¯t stir. My stomach twisted. I couldn¡¯t force my arm to come down. I let the club drop to my side and turned away from him, stepping closer to the spring.

    The maja was as thick as it¡¯d been before. I took a deep breath, pulling in the acrid air. It filled my core completely. I tried to hold on to it, but when I let the air out of my lungs, most of the maja went with it. Only a residue remained.

    The undergrowth rustled as my pursuers caught up. I felt their maja first, opening my eyes to see them stepping out of the trees. Mira and Duran came out just in front of the spring. Mira still had her spear, but she didn¡¯t seem to be in a hurry to close with it. Either they were wary of another wave of Force, or more likely, they knew they had me trapped, with no maja, and no more surprises.

    The boy who¡¯d hit me with the club was waking up from his meditation about the same time. He looked at Mira and Duran, confused, then slowly turned to look at me a few feet behind him.

    ¡°A last drink from the spring won¡¯t save you,¡± Mira said, stopping at the tree line.

    I took in another lung-full of the air from the spring.

    I looked down at my hand, as if I was examining my nails. The Storm¡¯s Gate canto was still painted on my fingertip. At this point, it was the only thing I had that might make a difference.

    ¡°Seil,¡± Mira said, speaking to the boy who¡¯d been quietly accumulating. ¡°Show us that you¡¯re not just dead weight. Put the cur down.¡±

    The boy grabbed his club and flew to his feet.

    All I had left was the Storm¡¯s Gate. I¡¯d only ever seen it spark, but that could have just been because I hadn¡¯t been able to spare the maja. Now, I was sitting on top of a maja spring.

    I took a deep breath, filling my core with a momentary swell of acrid energy. Before it could escape in the exhale I raised my hand, pointed it at Mira, and channeled it through the Storm¡¯s Gate.

    The tip of my finger buzzed, the hairs on my arm all stood on end, and a incandescent line of white fired from my hand.

    Mira flinched and Duran dove for cover. The bolt flickered through the air for about twenty feet before changing directions to strike a nearby tree. Bark exploded, showering Mira with splinters.

    The energy blinked out of existence, as fast as it¡¯d appeared. The bark of the tree was blackened and smoking, but it had taken the attack meant for Mira.

    In the aftermath, Seil ran, skidding around to the other side of the rock slide and peering at me from behind a mound of earth. Duran¡¯s head appeared looking out from behind a tree. Mira stood completely still, pretending to be calm, but her face was tense.

    The cantogram had worked. I checked my finger. The diagram itself had burned to ash, but my skin was only a little pink. It had just been a matter of power. Too little, and the bolt would just bend back and bite its source, but with enough maja behind it it¡¯d travel far enough that it wouldn¡¯t try to come back at me.

    Not that it had really helped. It had followed its own path, the same way that lightning would strike the tallest tree. It wasn¡¯t the right weapon when the opponent was hiding behind cover.

    Duran cautiously stuck his head out from behind a tree. Mira was shaking off her surprise. Confidence reasserted itself on her face. She stepped forward, her maja rippling.

    I¡¯d only had the one Storm¡¯s Gate prepared. I took another breath. I could use the same trick to throw Force around to keep them off me. Maybe eventually someone would pass close enough to sense I was in trouble and come to help.

    The breath went out of me a second later. I don¡¯t have a chance.

    The thought rang through my mind, the inescapable conclusion thrusting itself up from my subconscious. Three against one were impossible odds.

    Perhaps if I throw myself on my knees and beg for my life, they will have mercy.

    I blinked at the thought. That wasn¡¯t true. Mira seemed like a fanatic of the Sovereign¡¯s Path. She didn¡¯t have any mercy.

    And had I ever considered begging for my life before? Not when the Reeve came to Kirkswill. Not when Wild Century was trying to kill me. Not even when I thought Master Sectus was going to leave me frozen forever.

    I looked at Seil, standing a few feet away. He looked ready to attack me, but he was hesitating. I looked at Mira. The girl was smirking at me, a cruel look in her eye.

    Had her maja moved just now? Thought aspect wasn¡¯t a popular aspect, but I wasn¡¯t the only one who knew it.

    If I give them the secret of the Storm aspect, they might spare me.

    I turned a glare on Mira. These weren¡¯t my thoughts.

    Seil had been so easy to influence, earlier. Easier than I expected. I wondered if it was the first time he¡¯d been swayed by an external thought. And what about Duran? How easy would it be to manipulate someone using both Dream and Thought?

    I took a breath, gathering wild maja. This time I cast it as Thought. I focused on Duran, first.

    <Duran, Mira has been using the Thought aspect to manipulate you,> I sent, staking my life on the guess.

    If I was wrong and Mira had brought them in to the existence of Thought aspect, then this wouldn¡¯t be a surprise to him. But if she had, why had Seil been so easy to manipulate?

    Duran twitched. His eyes widened. He shot a glance at Mira, then looked back to me.

    <Has she ever convinced you to do something you didn¡¯t want to?> I sent.

    He shifted position. He was listening, but his expression was flat. Even if he believed me, it wasn¡¯t enough for him to turn on her.

    <Do you remember why you¡¯re following her?> I sent.

    He set his jaw. I saw his throat bob as he swallowed.

    <Was there one moment? One thought?>

    He was glaring at me.

    ¡°Mira¡­¡± he started.

    I took a step to the side.

    ¡°Seil,¡± Mira snapped. ¡°Finish him.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not getting close to that,¡± Seil said.

    ¡°Look at his fingers. They¡¯re burned. He can¡¯t use it reliably. He¡¯s as likely to destroy himself as anyone else.¡±

    I felt Mira¡¯s maja stir in the pattern I recognized as her using Thought, a fluttering like fingertips on raw skin, almost too low to notice. Thought didn¡¯t need much maja, compared to Force, or anything else.

    Seil took a step out from behind the pile of dirt. So far I hadn¡¯t seem him use any aspects at all. Maybe he was closer to Adrian, skilled, but not with external maja.

    I took a deep breath, filled my core, and held out my hand towards him. He ducked back behind the rocks.

    ¡°Mira,¡± Duran repeated. ¡°Have you been manipulating us?¡±

    She slowly turned to look at him.

    Seil was still cowering. Duran had seen something in Mira¡¯s expression and was starting to get annoyed. Mira was distracted. I took two steps to the right. When nobody moved to stop me, I took three more then started fast-walking away, heading for the tree line at an angle that would keep me out of Mira¡¯s line of sight.

    ¡°Manipulating you? Don¡¯t flatter yourself,¡± Mira was saying behind me. In a different tone of voice, she followed it with, ¡°Sacrasmodi, my allies are failing me, pursue the initiate and maim him.¡±

    A spirit formed out of nowhere next to her; a tattered knight, dressed in rags with a slitted helmet that seemed to reflect bright sunlight even in the dusk. He carried an impractical array of weapons in a bundle on his back: swords, spears, a halberd, a crossbow. Translucent and likely intangible, he must have been the source of the spear Mira was holding.

    I set off running.

    ¡°Mira, I literally just thought ¡®I¡¯m being a fool¡¯. Now I¡¯m wondering if I¡¯m actually being the opposite,¡± Duran was saying, in an increasingly loud voice.

    The spirit knight, Sacrasmodi was chasing me, moving in a series of disjointed flickers. He was gaining on me, but I felt only relief. I could deal with spirits. If the three more advanced students were distracted I finally had a chance to get away.

    I made it to the trees and kept running, jumping over roots and dodging dips in the ground.

    Sacrasmodi flickered in front of me. He was holding an enormous greatsword, swinging it for my ankles.

    I jumped over it, landing and almost falling on the far side. The spirit turned and flickered, appearing in front of me again. This time he was holding a flail.

    The immaterial chain curled through the air and caught around my throat. I felt a snag on my momentum and a burst of cold that ran up and down my spine. My entire body went numb for a second. I stumbled and fell.

    I let myself roll when I hit the ground, turning onto my hands and knees, then throwing myself back to my feet.

    I felt like I really ought to stop and fight him, but I didn¡¯t want to give Mira the time to reassert her control over the group. I didn¡¯t have such a high opinion of my political skills that I thought I¡¯d wedged an immovable barrier between them.

    Sacrasmodi appeared again, thrusting a short sword at my gut.

    Once again, I found myself fighting with barely any maja and without my sword. Instead of dodging I threw myself at the spirit. We collided mid-air. The spirit was thrown backwards and away as if it were made of soap bubbles. I landed in the undergrowth, rolling until I was on my side, something in my pouch jabbing into my hip.

    I flipped onto my back, suddenly, irrationally worried that I¡¯d broken one of my few possessions. I felt at my pouch. The object digging into me was a small engraved metal disk; my spirit siphon. I tugged at the string of my pouch and pulled it out.

    Sacrasmodi appeared above me, lifting a spear above its head as it prepared to bring the point down on my chest.

    I reached out and placed the spirit siphon on the ground beneath it.

    The spirit froze. A second later it started shaking, vibrating like a shadow cast by a campfire. It took a few moments to start wailing.

    I took a breath, smelling oiled steel and mildew rolling off it. I tried to ignore the noise it was making. I was sure Mira wouldn¡¯t be far behind when she heard it, if only to preserve the spirit as a resource.

    I got to my feet and resumed running. I made it down the ramp then across the open ground of the next plateau. I kept looking back up at the ledge, expecting to see Mira appearing on it any second. Even as I ran down the next ramp, I was still worried Duran¡¯s weight magic would catch me and pull me to the ground. I didn¡¯t fully believe I¡¯d gotten away until I reached the tower terraces.

    I slowed, panting, as the academy tower came into view.

    The officials¡¯ carriages were still there. The visiting soldiers still stood around. They watched me warily as I passed.

    I doubted they¡¯d interfere in a fight between students, even if that fight was going to end in serious injury or death, but there were other students around as well, and if Mira and her followers attacked me here it wouldn¡¯t be as clean and predictable as them ganging up on me on an isolated terrace.

    I let myself slow to a walk. I got control of my racing heart. I reached the library, and the sight of it comforted me. I stopped there to really catch my breath.

    I looked up at the next terrace. There was no sign of Mira or the others. In the sky above the mountain, a speck of darkness caught my attention. It might just have been a hawk, or one of the other native birds. I couldn¡¯t tell.

    As I started getting close to the barracks, I let myself drift away from my senses and felt Adrian and Sal¡¯s maja inside. That alone was a relief. I might never leave the barracks without them again.

    Jason was there as well, I noticed with distaste. This whole thing had been because I¡¯d been double-checking his translation for him. I should have just given him the literal version. I wouldn¡¯t have found out about the maja spring, but I wouldn¡¯t have had a near-death experience either. It¡¯d been stupid of me to think that such a valuable resource inside the academy would have gone unnoticed. It really would be a lucky one who managed to accumulate from that. The entire terrace would probably be a battleground as soon as more students found out about it.

    When I got inside the common room was lit with one of Terese¡¯s pine torches. Adrian was holding court with Tom, Terese, and Alexa. Jason was reading a book on the other side of the room. Where had he got a book?

    I went back to my cell just long enough to write the translation below the poem on Jason¡¯s scroll. I found him in the common room afterwards and tossed it into his lap.

    ¡°Your translation,¡± I said.

    He picked it up, glanced at it, then set it back down. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°It turned out to be a set of directions,¡± I said.

    He looked up at me, his eyebrows raised. ¡°Oh, did it? To what?¡±

    ¡°A maja spring on the upper terrace.¡±

    ¡°Oh. How interesting. I didn¡¯t even know that maja could form springs.¡±

    He hadn¡¯t moved or even closed his book.

    ¡°Apparently they can,¡± I said. ¡°I can¡¯t recommend visiting it though, it¡¯s been camped out by other students.¡±

    Jason frowned, letting his gaze fall. ¡°Oh. Well, I didn¡¯t even know about it before this moment, so it doesn¡¯t feel like a great loss.¡±

    I took a deep breath. His lack of curiosity grated, and seemed forced, but I¡¯d never really understood him.

    I turned and headed to where Adrian was sitting. He was telling a story to the others about a wandering minstrel the abbot had once caught dallying in a monk¡¯s room. It was almost certainly made up. I sat down against a wall at the edge of the group, listening from a distance.

    As I looked around at them, I realized I¡¯d made a mistake. Mira had kept the Thought aspect from her followers so she could manipulate them, and she¡¯d made them easy to manipulate as a result, not to mention the risk of that fact being revealed at an inopportune moment.

    I¡¯d told the others about the Thought aspect in the Sixth Day group, but I hadn¡¯t subjected any of them to it. I had the power to train them to resist that kind of manipulation. Once I regained some maja, I needed to use it.

 26. Storms Gate 3/3

    I turned from the trees and went to sit by the fissure. We¡¯d only have a limited amount of time before word got out and we had more than just Mira for competition, and I¡¯d spent everything I had to get here.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    With the campfire crackling near me, I closed my eyes and breathed.

 27. By the FIre in the Dark 1/3

    I stared at the market stall like a starving person looking through a bakery window. There were rolls of paper an inch thick, cream-colored and fine-grained, with a faint dappled texture where the pulp had been pressed, drained, and dried. The raw edge of the rolls were perfectly straight, with the faintest evidence of almost invisibly thin fibers, and even from six feet away I could see the paper was no thicker than the width of a hair, and uniform all the way along the edge.

    I approached slowly, ignoring the stall owner¡¯s dark eyes glaring at me from beneath bushy eyebrows. He didn¡¯t have any maja as far as I could sense, just a mundane merchant who¡¯d been allowed to sell at the academy¡¯s market.

    I stopped by the stall, reaching down to run my thumb across the loose end of a roll.

    It had been raining recently, but the paper was ash-dry, despite the late spring humidity. The surface was slightly rough, with a texture that made my fingertips tingle as I brushed it. It felt like cotton, woven rather than laid, with a slight smoothness that suggested it would hold ink without blotting. The air was full of the odors of damp earth and the travel-weary bodies of the merchants, but the paper didn¡¯t have any strong smell. This roll had been made by a master of the craft, in a well-equipped mill, with materials chosen for quality.

    ¡°What paper is this?¡± I asked the stall owner.

    ¡°Cotton rag,¡± he answered.

    ¡°Is it sized?¡± I asked. Sizing was a glue added to paper to make it stronger and stop ink from bleeding, but the cheaper makers would skip it.

    His expression changed slightly. His frown smoothed away as suspicion gave way to guarded interest

    ¡°Slack sized,¡± he said.

    ¡°What with?¡±

    ¡°Starch.¡±

    I looked back down at it. Starch sized paper would get moldy quickly if it got damp, but it wouldn¡¯t degrade the ink. Cotton was strong and would hold up well over time. With care, any documents I created with it would last my entire life, even if my life wasn¡¯t violently cut short. The paper was perfect, but I couldn¡¯t bear the thought of writing on yet another scroll.

    ¡°Is this the same?¡± I asked, moving my hand to a wood-bound notebook next to it.

    The book¡¯s cover was a pair of large, thin shavings of wood connected by a thin strip of the same. All the pieces were joined by a strip of black leather, glued across the spine. The wood was unstained and unsealed, but it had been sanded smooth, and the maker had decorated the front by scorching it with a pattern of falling leaves.

    ¡°The same,¡± the stall owner said.

    I lifted the cover. The paper inside was similar to the roll, with the same grain and smoothness, but a slightly different texture. A maker¡¯s mark was burned onto the inside of the cover, a circle with a plant-like coat of arms at the center.

    ¡°Who¡¯s the maker?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Ixaris the Younger.¡±

    The name didn¡¯t mean anything to me, and the stall owner probably knew it, but the maker had obviously been proud of their work, and it was always good to know the names of reputable producers.

    There was no price listed on the journal, or anything on the stall. I had six silver ducs from the corpse of the Behr spirit, and no frame of reference.

    I picked the book up, weighing it in my hand. It felt like about ten ounces, though some of that was the cover. Back in Kirkswill I wouldn¡¯t have paid more than a silver shilling for it, though I wouldn¡¯t have been surprised to see a merchant trying to charge two, with a suitable sales routine about how rare and fine a specimen it was. This stall owner didn¡¯t seem like much of a salesman. I wondered how much that had to do with who he was selling to.

    I steeled myself and asked the question I¡¯d been dreading.

    ¡°How much?¡±

    ¡°Ten silver ducs,¡± he said.

    ¡°Ten ducs! For this?¡±

    My objection, typically rote, was driven by genuine outrage this time.

    The stall owner flinched, lowering his gaze. His hands gripped the table, and I thought he looked about to run. After a few seconds I noticed that he was shaking.

    I tried to imagine what it had to be like as someone without maja, bringing his cart full of goods to a market in the sorcerer¡¯s academy.

    If a random student had been walking around with six silver coins, then money couldn¡¯t exactly be scarce here. That might tempt a mundane merchant up the mountain. But at the same time, most of the students here were killers, or future killers.

    The owner had to be worried that any student might just kill him for what they wanted, and I wasn¡¯t sure the worry was unfounded.

    ¡°What I meant to say is, I don¡¯t think ten ducs is fair,¡± I said more levelly. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t pay more than a single duc for it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s got to be two,¡± the merchant said. He looked up, releasing his grip on the table. ¡°Two ducs.¡±

    Two ducs. A third of my money. But it would open up so many options for me.

    ¡°All right,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll take it.¡±

    I fished two of the silver coins out of my pouch and handed them to him. He took them, dropping them into the slot of a lockbox next to him on the counter.

    I picked up the book and held it to my chest.

    I¡¯d only properly inspected the first couple of feet of the stall. Beyond the paper, there were clay ink pots; little round jars with telltale black stains around the edge of the lid, like small fat animals that had eaten too much. There were ink sticks and ink stones. There were pens; expertly cut feather quills, reed pens like the ones I made, and even sharp steel nibs in wooden holders. There was a blackwood case sitting open near the back, proudly displaying a set of iron geometry tools, and a straw basket at the end with a collection of pencils in both charcoal and graphite.

    Along the back of the stall were the premium supplies. Fine paper the owner was selling by the sheaf, glass bottles of ink in black, red, sepia, and green. Sealing wax and a premade signets, and right at the center, a steel-bodied mechanical pen that I only recognized because I¡¯d seen a picture in a merchant¡¯s catalog.

    I picked up one of the ink stones, a rectangular block the length and thickness of my thumb with a depression in the center. It was made to be used with either a brush or a dip pen, so that an ink stick could be ground against it then mixed with water to make liquid ink.

    ¡°How much for this?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Two silver bits.¡±

    I hummed, thinking.

    I didn¡¯t know how many silver bits were in a duc and I wasn¡¯t going to ask. That would show him just how ignorant I was and ruin my position, even assuming he would even answer truthfully. I just nodded instead.

    ¡°And for the ink sticks?¡±

    ¡°The ink sticks are a silver duc each.¡±

    That seemed a lot, but I didn¡¯t want to scare the merchant again. I¡¯d just do him the favor of assuming they were high quality ink. They could have been. I was used to the more expensive sticks having designs molded onto them, flowers or leaves, or just a geometric pattern, but for all I knew that was a Losirisian gimmick.

    ¡°And the steel nibs?¡±

    The merchant¡¯s flat expression suddenly became interested. ¡°Four ducs, for those.¡±

    ¡°Would you take two ducs?¡±

    ¡°Two? I can¡¯t take two. Three and six bits is all I can do.¡±

    I stared for a few seconds at the nibs. The advantage over reeds or quills was that they wouldn¡¯t need to be constantly recut. The steel could bend without ever becoming slack, and they would stand up to the soaking and scrubbing needed to get gummed-up ink off them. It would save me some time and a lot of hassle. Unfortunately I couldn¡¯t afford one.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take this stone and the ink stick.¡±

    The merchant charged me one duc and two bits. When I handed him two ducs he slipped them into his lockbox then handed me six much smaller silver coins back. Those must be the bits. Back home, I would have called them silver pennies. I suddenly realized I¡¯d been dramatically overcharged for the ink stone. It wouldn¡¯t have cost me more than an iron groat back in Kirkswill.

    Despite my relative poverty, it was hard to care.

    I pushed my new purchases into my bag, carefully wrapping the journal in sack cloth. The ink stick came in waxed paper, which I rested on top, shoving the heavy ink stone down to the bottom of the pack. I picked the bag up and continued through the market.

    There was a mundane smith selling small steel tools and weapons; knives, forks, daggers, shears, and even a small saw. I didn¡¯t stop to ask for prices. My sword wasn¡¯t in good condition, but I¡¯d got it sharp enough to cut the things I needed to cut. I ignored the stalls selling clothing, and even a cart where a woman was selling traditional Spring¡¯s End sweets. They were the same here as in Losiris, dried apple rings fried in sweet batter, hazelnut brittle, and spiced biscuits shaped like flowers. It was jarring to see something so familiar here among the mud and the stones of the mountainside. At least the woman selling them looked quietly terrified, or I¡¯d have thought I was caught in someone¡¯s Dream aspect illusion.

    This was the first time I¡¯d seen mundane merchants from outside the academy running stalls at the market, and I hoped it would continue. It wasn¡¯t just the chance at getting goods from the outside. I enjoyed seeing people who weren¡¯t soldiers or sorcerers. These were just normal people, who lived lives free from magic, down in the cities and villages of Antorx. They weren¡¯t my people, but they might as well be. The currency was different but the patterns were the same, and the familiarity was a comfort.

    I stopped at one more stall before leaving. A folding table was set out with general goods, and I used my last two ducs to buy a glass-shrouded oil lamp and a jar of oil. It would be useful for the light, but more importantly, I could use the soot from the burning oil to make some decent ink of my own.

    I left the market with a bag full of prizes and a few silver bits rattling in my pouch.

    I moved away from the market at a fast walk, skipping down the dirt ramp without worrying about falling, then on onto the next terrace.

    As I turned to head to the tier down, I caught someone watching me. It was a narrow figure with pale skin and a robe slightly darker than mine, staring at me from behind one of the potentiate huts.

    I took a second to make sure it wasn¡¯t Mira or Duran. I hadn¡¯t seen them since our fight the previous week, but this person¡¯s outline didn¡¯t match either of theirs.

    I continued along the terrace, checking behind me every few seconds. When I was halfway to the next ramp I realized that they were following me. They¡¯d left their hut, and were walking after me down the path. There were other students around, but nobody else was paying me any attention.

    I started walking faster. When I reached the ramp, there were another two students standing at the bottom, talking in low voices. My mind went back to the night I¡¯d found the spirit spring, when Mira and her friends had cornered me.

    I was suddenly sure I was about to be robbed. I thought about running, or making the first move and taking them by surprise.

    I reached for my core and pulled deeply on my maja. It came quickly, filling my body, massaging away the aches and pains and itches that living on a mountainside and sleeping on straw generated.

    I¡¯d managed to drink my fill of the maja spring, before a group of eight older students turned up to chase us off. They hadn¡¯t been willing to accept any trade, and even Adrian didn¡¯t think we should try fighting them, so we had to retreat. Until that point I¡¯d had seven hours of uninterrupted accumulation in the maja-rich air of the fissure. My reserves were in better shape than even when I¡¯d arrived. After filling my core, I¡¯d continued to accumulate, and through an uncomfortable stretching feeling, expanded what I was capable of storing. I wasn¡¯t the best judge of maja capacity, but I felt that I didn¡¯t compare badly to any other initiate, or even some of the potentiates.

    While I was drawing on my maja, I tried the reactions-enhancing technique I¡¯d found written in Aderyn¡¯s notes. I pulled maja through my spine and into the back of my skull, as if I was threading a needle.

    The technique had never really worked for me. As the energy filled the spaces described in Aderyn¡¯s notes, time seemed to stutter, moving in quick bursts between moments of painful slowness.

    I turned back and saw that the boy following me had stopped. He didn¡¯t look older than sixteen, a native Antorxian with short-cropped hair. There was no weapon in his hand, but I didn¡¯t think that meant much.

    I didn¡¯t have a weapon in my hand either, but that didn¡¯t mean I wasn¡¯t armed. I was inked with what I was starting to wear as my standard armament. On my left palm I¡¯d painted the Storm¡¯s Gate, only good for one full use, but damaging and alarming enough that it might be enough. On the back of my right hand was the Sky¡¯s Appetite, the maja-absorbing cantogram I could use to block less energetic magical attacks. And on my right palm was the Spirit Siphon canto, an easily-accessible way of attacking incorporeal spirits. On top of Force and Wheel aspects, I was fully capable of defending myself.

    The two students at the bottom of the ramp looked up sharply, reacting to my stirring maja. They exchanged a glance, then made themselves scarce, hurrying away down the terrace.

    I spun and stared at the student following me. We locked eyes for several seconds, until eventually he turned away, heading across to a nearby hut. When I sure he¡¯d stopped following, I continued on to the barracks.

    I rushed to the cell I shared with Adrian. He wasn¡¯t there, away chasing butterflies or something, so I had the space to myself. I collected a cup of water from the common room, then sat down on my bed, spreading my new purchases in front of me.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    I picked up the ink stick first, rubbing it onto the well of the ink stone. The coarse stone ground away at the stick, leaving chunks of slightly waxy powder behind. I tipped some water into the stone, then used my brush to mix it into a deep black glossy ink. It released smells of oil and smoke as I mixed it, the liquid lapping at the edges of the well but never quite spilling. The result was perfectly smooth, with none of the lumps I¡¯d had to live with over the last few weeks. It wasn¡¯t maja-infused, and wouldn¡¯t ever be, but that wasn¡¯t why I wanted it.

    I picked up a reed pen and dipped the nib into the well of the stone. Ink flooded into the belly of the reed, coating the nib in a thin layer that stuck to it when I lifted the pen up.

    Opening the journal to its first page, I brought my pen close to the paper.

    I felt the tension I always felt when starting a new page. A terror, really, that I would spoil the paper and Bevin would shout at me, or that I¡¯d make a mistake that would keep me awake at night.

    Ignoring the fears I brought the pen to paper and started writing.

    The journal of Dorian Tisk, Day 1, Spring 63.

    I started writing out everything I knew about magic.

    Force, Wheel, and Thought. How I learned them, the ways I¡¯d learned to use them, their dangers and limits. The words were protection against my own fallible memory, and an exercise in refreshing what I knew. They were evidence that I¡¯d been here at all. If I did die in the future, to a swamp spirit, or to another student, or to gentling, then at least there¡¯d be a record.

    I wrote my entries in Old Irisian, but using the Varian alphabet. For sensitive entries or magical terms, I transliterated the text phonetically into the Hoghan script, the smooth curls of Varian turning jarringly into the runic language for a word or two, before transitioning back.

    It was the best defense I could think of against someone else reading it. It would take someone who knew all three languages, written and spoken, to comprehend it. As I learned more and committed more to paper, the book might become something worth taking from me, and I wanted to discourage that by making it useless to as many people as possible.

    After I¡¯d written what I knew about aspects and spirits, I moved onto cantograms. I carefully sketched out the cantograms I knew. The journal would be a single place where I could reference all of them, when the details started to fade from my memory. I added Sky¡¯s Appetite first, then Winter Hearth, Night¡¯s Welcome, then Storm¡¯s Gate, hiding it among the less important designs. I added a stray line to the Storm¡¯s Gate diagram. It would be enough to spoil the canto for anyone blindly copying it, but as long as I remembered I¡¯d done it, I could still use it as a reference. I¡¯d suffered to learn the Storm¡¯s Gate, and as far as I could tell it was the only cantogram I knew that couldn¡¯t be found written down in the library. The rarer the knowledge, the more intensely it needed to be protected; this was also a lesson I¡¯d learned in the library. I finished with the Spirit Siphon and Stone¡¯s Quickness cantos, labeled in my phonetic Hoghan.

    Now that I had a good set of writing equipment, I¡¯d be able to make notes directly from library books. I wouldn¡¯t be limited in what I could remember from one visit to the next. This book could become my personal library of cantograms. I could have a canto on hand no matter what I needed, wherever I went.

    As I wrote, I started to notice an unpleasant odor in the cell. It reminded me of sour milk. Had Adrian left some cheese moldering somewhere? I continued writing until the smell hit me again, stronger. This time there was a faint tingling sensation with it. It was a maja odor. Somehow, there was a unfamiliar spirit in the cell with me.

    I looked up at the window. The sunlight was still strong. The high window faced west, and it was brightest just before dusk than at any other time of day. I looked to Adrian¡¯s bed. It was untidy. That was an accomplishment when our only bedding was the thin mattress. There didn¡¯t seem to be anything under his bed. We didn¡¯t have a lot of possessions, and wouldn¡¯t trust them to be left in the cell anyway.

    Nothing strange caught my attention. I took a deep breath. I could still smell it.

    High on the wall, the small spider spirit appeared at the edge of the window. It was looking darker than usual, almost solid, but the spider wasn¡¯t the source of the smell. The little spirit barely had any smell at all, and what I had picked up was different.

    ¡°Can you sense something?¡± I asked it. ¡°Can you understand me?¡±

    It scuttled away, back out of the window.

    I twisted on the bed and fluffed up my mattress. There was nothing under it.

    Finally I leaned over the edge of the bed and looked underneath.

    I had chance to see a flash of luminous scales and a yellow eye before something was flying at my face.

    I snatched at the air in front of me and my hand closed around something. When I pulled my arm out, I was holding a writhing serpent spirit.

    It was green, scaled, about a foot long and not much thicker than my thumb. It had six yellow eyes lining the sides of its head, and a tail that forked into two long spines. It was translucent, but not completely insubstantial. The blood in my body was full enough of maja to be a barrier to it, but I could feel something in my hand as well. It was like holding very light cloth, or threads of hair wound into something the shape of a snake.

    ¡°Where did you come from?¡± I asked it. I hadn¡¯t found a way to tell whether a spirit was intelligent enough to speak or not, but I knew that some could.

    The snake didn¡¯t seem to be able to. It thrashed in my hand, bending its head to try and sink translucent fangs into my skin.

    I didn¡¯t want to know what the insubstantial spirit version of snake venom would do to me, so I moved my grip up to just below its head.

    As I immobilized its head, it started flicking its spined tail at me. I caught the other end of it with my other hand, and it started to hiss like water on a skillet as it came into contact with the Spirit Siphon canto on my other palm.

    I didn¡¯t want to release it. For all I knew it was something Mira had sent to spy on me, or even kill me.

    ¡°If I let you go, will you leave me alone?¡± I asked.

    A knock at the door made me jump. The latch went a second later, and the door started to open.

    The snake took that moment to try and escape. It writhed out of my grip while I was looking at the door, then glided up the smooth stone wall to the window. It vanished through the opening.

    The door stopped moving. Jason poked his head in. His hair hung around his face, long straight strands draping across the sides of his head. He still wore his hair in the style of the rich city merchants, but it seemed to be suffering from lack of access to soap and hot water.

    ¡°Hello, Dorian. Do you have time to talk?¡±

    I looked down at my empty hands, then spent a second checking my arms for bites. I couldn¡¯t see any damage, but if the spirit was immaterial enough, it wouldn¡¯t have left any marks on the skin.

    ¡°I suppose,¡± I said, looking from my hands up to the window. ¡°Did you see that?¡±

    ¡°See what?¡±

    ¡°A snake spirit.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he said, staring up at the window as if he¡¯d be able tonsee it. ¡°It was probably just a wild spirit. They pass through the academy occasionally, and come into the barracks when they sense our maja.¡±

    ¡°Strange,¡± I said. ¡°I haven¡¯t noticed that.¡±

    Jason came in and sat down on Adrian¡¯s bed. Adrian wouldn¡¯t have liked that. He was protective of what little personal space he had. I twisted and shut the cover of my journal, desperately hoping that the ink had time to dry.

    ¡°What did you want?¡± I asked him.

    ¡°Straight to the point then,¡± he said, folding his hands together. ¡°I¡¯ve been paying attention to you. To your studies, and your progress. I was impressed by how you handled yourself at the spring.¡±

    I raised my eyebrows. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    Jason looked uncomfortable in the silence that followed. He shuffled forward on the bed and hunched over and bringing his shoulders together.

    ¡°I think that you¡¯re a person of note in our little group, Dorian. You¡¯re someone who I can be proud to stand with.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Well, we¡¯re all standing together.¡± I said. "You, me, Adrian, Sal, Tom¡ª

    ¡°But what about the future? Have you thought about what you¡¯ll do when Adrian leaves?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s leaving?¡±

    ¡°They all are, eventually, I think. But not you and I.¡±

    I raised an eyebrow at him. ¡°We¡¯re not?¡±

    ¡°I want us to be allies, Dorian,¡± he said, brushing the question off.

    ¡°I thought we already were.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re all friends. And we help each other. It¡¯s a casual arrangement. I want an alliance between you and I, as sorcerers.¡±

    I shut my eyes briefly. I leaned into my spiritual senses, feeling for other maja. Jason was there, a presence without texture, like cold wax. I couldn¡¯t feel anyone else. I suddenly felt cornered in the small room.

    When I opened my eyes Jason wore a friendly smile and an open expression. We were all friends, here. Jason seemed, at worst, a little awkward.

    ¡°I don¡¯t really know what all that means,¡± I said.

    ¡°It¡¯s a formal arrangement. A tradition among sorcerers. Two people whose goals align will form an alliance. They watch each other¡¯s backs, cover each other¡¯s weaknesses. They trust each other not to take advantage of momentary weakness to take what belongs to the other.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t sound very much like the sorcerers,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m surprised their Sovereign¡¯s Path allows it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not prohibited by the Path, as I understand it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t really see how it would be different to what we have now,¡± I said.

    ¡°It¡¯s different because it¡¯s a decision,¡± he said. His voice was getting a little tighter than it had been before. ¡°Because it¡¯s an oath. And I know we¡¯re both people who take our oaths seriously.¡±

    ¡°Do you want something specific?¡± I asked, lost. We were all already working together. If he wanted something more, something specific, I didn¡¯t know why he wouldn¡¯t just ask.

    ¡°An alliance with a promising peer,¡± he answered.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to tell you,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m already helping as much as I can. If you want something beyond that, then no. We should all be helping each other. That¡¯s the whole point of the group.¡±

    Jason rose to his feet. He straightened, then put his hands at his side.

    ¡°I see. Well, thank you for hearing me out.¡±

    ¡°Yes, of course,¡± I said.

    His eyes strayed to my journal.

    ¡°While I¡¯m here, what was the magic you used to cast lightning, the other night?¡±

    I peered at his face, trying to stop my confusion from showing. I¡¯d already mentioned the Storm¡¯s Gate to everyone, hadn¡¯t I? Or had that just been to Adrian?

    ¡°It was a cantogram I learned in the library,¡± I said.

    ¡°Like the one that makes heat?¡±

    He was talking about the Winter Hearth. I¡¯d drawn it on a few of the cell walls earlier in the season, when the spring night has still been cold.

    ¡°Yes, kind of.¡±

    ¡°Would you teach me it?¡± he asked.

    I took a deep breath. ¡°It¡¯s not something I can teach, really. It¡¯s a complex design that has to be recreated exactly. Learning cartograms just involves a lot of staring and memorizing and drawing.¡±

    I opened my journal to the page where I¡¯d drawn Winter Hearth to use as an example. I held it out, showing it to him.

    ¡°This is the Winter Hearth canto, for example,¡± I said. ¡°It has to be copied exactly for it to work. You¡¯d need to be able to draw a perfect circle to begin, freehand unless you have tools, then ink these lines at the right angles, with the right curves.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± he said, peering at it. ¡°Could you make me a copy of the one you used for lightning so I can study it?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s more than just the design,¡± I said. ¡°You also need the right materials. You¡¯d have to find a source of maja-infused pigment and make your own maja-infused ink, then it has to be drawn with the right tool.¡±

    ¡°Still. If I had a copy, I could practice.¡±

    I stared at him for a few seconds.

    ¡°It¡¯s probably the most complicated cantogram I have,¡± I said. ¡°Let me copy one of the simpler ones for you. When you can recreate it, I¡¯ll draw you the Storm¡¯s Gate.¡±

    He stared down at me. There was something other than friendliness in his eyes, now.

    It vanished a second later when he smiled.

    ¡°No, that¡¯s all right. Save your paper. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s the area of study for me.¡± He raised an imaginary cap. ¡°I¡¯ll be on my way. Thank you for hearing me out.¡±

    ¡°No problem,¡± I said, watching him head for the door.

    He left without looking back. I got up a second later and moved Adrian¡¯s rock over to wedge under the door, before returning to my bed.

    What was that?

    While I was contemplating the weirdness of the conversation, I heard a low hissing coming from the window. It was quiet, almost inaudible, with a cadence that sounded like laughter.

    I got up and tried to peer up to see what was making it. The window was too high, so I dragged my bed frame a foot across the floor and stood on the corner, hoisting myself up to look directly out.

    The snake spirit was there, caught in a web that stretched across from one edge of the open window frame to the other. The spider spirit was crawling over it, slowly bundling it up in webbing even while it twitched and thrashed.

    The hissing wasn¡¯t coming from the snake, but from the spider. It was making gleeful little sounds as it entombed its prey.

    With a jolt I realized that the spider spirit was now completely opaque. It was solid. Corporeal. And so was the web.

 28. By the Fire in the Dark 2/3

    The needle was iron, an inch long, thinner than a thorn and sharp enough to draw blood if mishandled. It slid easily through the weave of my practice cloth, pulling the coarse thread behind it. All the cantograms I had were surface-level designs, which meant if I was ever going to be able to stitch them, the thread needed to stay on the surface of the fabric.

    I plucked the tip of the needle and pulled, tugging the thread the rest of the way through. The grayish thread slid through easily at first, but then it caught. I pulled with a little more force, trying to clear the snag, but as soon as I put pressure on it the thread immediately tore, breaking where it passed through the fabric.

    ¡°I broke another thread,¡± I whispered to Terese.

    Terese was holding more of the thread in her hands, one end wound around a homemade spindle, the other end coming together from a tuft of dandelion seeds. More of the seeds were piled in front of her, a mountain of white fluff that represented hours of work gathering them across the mountainside.

    She dropped the spindle and twisted on the floor to look. Reaching out, she took my needle, cupping the broken thread in her other hand. From her expression I would have guessed I¡¯d broken my arm rather than a thread.

    She turned back around, pulling the thread free and placing the needle on the floor in front of her. I obviously wasn¡¯t getting it back.

    ¡°It¡¯s not linen,¡± she said. ¡°The fibers are so short. You¡¯ve got to handle it more carefully.¡±

    Like all the children of Kirkswill, I¡¯d spent time spinning thread from wool before I was apprenticed off to Bevin. But that had always come to me cleaned and carded, easy to twist and cord. Terese had had a similar experience, but in her village wool was rare, so they mixed it with dandelion seed, cattail, and thistledown to stretch it. Here she was spinning dandelion seed on its own, which apparently took a lot of skill and produced very flimsy thread.

    Terese finished working the snapped piece of thread into her ball, then grabbed another bundle of white fluff from the ground and continued twisting that into thread.

    I watched her for a minute, then asked, ¡°Can I borrow your needle again?¡±

    She wound a few more twists onto the spindle then reached down and grabbed it. She held it out to me so sharply she might have jabbed me with it if my hand had been out.

    I took it back and threaded it with my remaining thread, going back to my practice.

    My first few stitches went well, slowly tracing the outer curve of a circle. I managed seven good stitches before the needle went through the wrong gap in the weave and I ended up with a line going off in a subtly wrong direction.

    It was going to take months for me to learn to do this right, but now that I could foresee the possibility of having access to maja-infused spider silk, I was willing to put the work in.

    The webs spun by the spider spirit living in my cell were weakly but noticeably alive with the tingle of maja, and just like the maja-infused ink I¡¯d made from Wild Century¡¯s leaves, that meant thread spun from them could be used for cantograms. I¡¯d already tried making thread from it, hand-twisting one of the spider¡¯s discarded webs into lumpy but serviceable yarn.

    After that my imagination had started getting away from me. I imagined robes with permanent Winter Hearth cantos, and sleeves stitched with Spirit Siphons that I didn¡¯t need to repaint every day. I saw hoods with the Sky¡¯s Appetite drawn across them in needlework, passively blocking attempts to trap me with external thoughts and illusions. Moreover, I imagined selling them. What rich merchant wouldn¡¯t want a cloak that kept them warm in winter, provided I could find a way to keep the canto supplied with maja. And there were ways to do that.

    But to reach that point I needed to learn the art of embroidery, and that wasn¡¯t easy. Even with the best tools and materials, I knew it would take months to become adequate. The seamsters of Kirkswill took a year before their work was good enough to sell to the passing merchants, and the old masters had taken years to hone their craft. I was getting a late start.

    Terese had never practiced embroidery either, though like apparently everyone in her village she was an accomplished maker of clothes. She certainly knew more than me.

    I watched her as she finished spinning the thread in her hand, twisting the spindle on the ground to gather it up into the ball.

    She reached out to take the needle back from me, then threaded the end of her cord through the eye. Picking up an oddly-shaped cutting of canvas from the floor, she started sewing parts of it together according to a design that only she could see.

    The fabric we were using was salvaged from the sacks that the soldiers brought the food in. Ever since I¡¯d taken that first one almost three months ago to use as a makeshift bag, anything the soldiers left in the barracks had been fair game. I doubted that they liked us tearing up the sacks for our own use, even sackcloth had its price, but nobody had objected yet.

    ¡°What are you making?¡± I asked her.

    She held up her work in progress. It was already taking shape, looking like a half-formed bag.

    ¡°A rain hood for Adrian,¡± she said. ¡°I wanted to make a bag, but the thread won¡¯t hold the weight.¡±

    ¡°Why are you making him a hood?¡± I asked.

    I was suddenly worried I¡¯d missed something. I shared a room with Adrian and we talked often, but we didn¡¯t talk about everything.

    Would I have noticed if something was developing between him and Terese?

    It wouldn¡¯t be completely out of the ordinary, I guessed. Adrian was a boy and Terese was a girl, and from what I understood that¡¯s how it often worked. We had been here three months, which I supposed was long enough for feelings to develop, if I ignored the crushing weight of the situation. And it was spring, and the shock of being brought here might have started wearing off, for some.

    ¡°It¡¯s my Spring¡¯s End gift for him,¡± she said.

    ¡°Spring¡¯s End,¡± I said.

    I looked at her, double checking that she wasn¡¯t being sarcastic. She gave me a stern look in return. She was serious.

    Spring¡¯s End was one of the biggest festivals of the year in Kirkswill. The stockpiled food we hadn¡¯t used over the winter was baked into sweet treats, there were ribbons, and dancing, and gifts were exchanged.

    It was coming up. But the thought of celebrating it here was clearly ridiculous. What were we going to do? Dress the Masters in garlands and put daisies in their hair? Have a bonfire in the mustering ground? Maybe our assignments would come tied with ribbon next week. The image of Master Cordaze in a flower crown was warmly horrifying.

    At least Terese was only insane. Adrian wasn¡¯t about to disappear into some new confusing situation. I hadn¡¯t missed anything significant.

    ¡°Are we doing that, here?¡± I asked.

    ¡°We¡¯re just doing it among ourselves,¡± she said, putting another stitch through canvas to shape the hood. ¡°Tom¡¯s found some wild honey we¡¯re going to put on the oat cakes. Adrian¡¯s set up a gift circle. Tom says he can sing, but none of us want him to.¡±

    They were all in on it? They were actually doing it?

    The idea of a Spring¡¯s End at Windshriek was so absurd it made me feel sick. I took a deep breath, then another. I didn¡¯t know what had possessed them. Just thinking about it was enough to drag my thoughts back home. The day of Spring¡¯s End was almost always sunny in Kirkswill, and everyone was glad for a chance at fun after the work of the planting season. Memories of sugared apple and flower wreaths hit me like a curse.

    I reached down and touched the stone floor. The cold of it grounded me. How could anyone celebrate anything after what we¡¯d seen? Why were they doing this?

    ¡°We included you in the gift circle,¡± Terese added.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Your name went on the slate with everyone else,¡± she said.

    ¡°Someone¡¯s getting me a gift?¡± I asked. My stomach was suddenly tight.

    ¡°Yes. But you don¡¯t get to know who!¡±

    I jumped to my feet. I looked around, as if I was going to spot someone preparing a gift for me in the empty room.

    ¡°What if I don¡¯t want a gift?¡± I said.

    ¡°Then give it to me. I¡¯ll have it,¡± she said.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t even see the slate,¡± I said.

    She pointed to a reed basket sitting across the room, next to the water barrel.

    I dropped my canvas and headed for the basket. My feet felt heavy as I walked across the room. There was a black stone tablet sitting at the bottom of it, just a piece of the slate scree that could be found all over the mountainside. At one point there¡¯d been a list of names on it written in chalk, but the potential gift recipients that had been wiped off as each of the others picked their targets. Now most were smeared. Only one name was left readable.

    Jason Isarion.

    If I¡¯d seen the slate at the start I¡¯d have wiped my own name off. Too late, now. Someone had already taken my name, which meant I was going to get something whether I liked it or not. And with only one name left, if I didn¡¯t get something for Jason, nobody would.

    I let out an annoyed snort. I didn¡¯t even know anything about the man, except that he¡¯d grown up wealthy and was curious about cantograms. Maybe he¡¯d like a reed pen?

    There was something like a flame fluttering somewhere in my body. A warm light, full of images of home, and it was trying to get out of control.

    I looked to the right, staring at the common room¡¯s front wall. There were still stains on the stone from the soldiers I¡¯d killed. If I looked closely, I¡¯d probably find buried bone.

    I still had my assignment to do this week. It was just a chore. I had to gather a jar of swamp water from a place where a body was rotting. They¡¯d at least provided the jar. The wetlands were full of dead animals, so I didn¡¯t think it would take me more than a day or two, and I still had most of the week.

    I picked up the slate and stared at it, wondering whether I should go down into the swamp now.

    ¡°When are we swapping gifts?¡± I asked Terese.

    ¡°On deadline day,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯re going to have a fire up somewhere, out of the way.¡±

    I had as long to find a gift as I had to find the corpse water, then.

    It was too late in the day to be worth walking down the mountain, I decided. I left the room and headed for my cell. I had an idea for a gift, something simple and unimpeachable that I could make in an afternoon.

    I hesitated at the door to the cell. I could hear Adrian¡¯s voice on the other side, but I couldn¡¯t hear who he was talking to.

    I turned to my spiritual senses for a second, checking that I wasn¡¯t about to interrupt something, but when I felt for maja I could only feel one presence, and it wasn¡¯t Adrian.

    Relentless drumming. Rain, or hail, or sling stones. It was the sensation I¡¯d felt in the swamp, and in the fight with Mira.

    I flipped the latch and pushed the door. It hit Adrian¡¯s doorstop, but I kept pushing, scraping the rock across the ground.

    Adrian was standing facing the window, his hands raised like he was trying to collect rain in them.

    He twisted to look at me as I stepped in. He seemed shocked for a second, then he relaxed.

    ¡°Dorian! Hello,¡± he said, turning to face me.

    ¡°What were you doing?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Me? I was just accumulating.¡±

    I looked from him to the bed, then back to him.

    ¡°Do you always accumulate standing up?¡±

    ¡°Yes. It¡¯s good for my back.¡±

    I took a long blink and felt for maja again. The strange drumming was gone, replaced by Adrian¡¯s normal hot-stone presence.

    I¡¯d seen people standing like he had been before. The cleric in Kirkswill used to do it every sixth day, standing in front of the dozen or so people who cared.

    ¡°Adrian, were you praying?¡±

    ¡°Praying! No.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t a sin to deny your faith?¡± I asked.

    He walked past me and shut the door, wedging the stone against it. He spun around and faced me.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take a sin over being dead,¡± he said quietly.

    ¡°So you were praying.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not prayer,¡± he said quickly. ¡°The god¡¯s don¡¯t really care about praying. It doesn¡¯t do anything for them. But I was in contact. Call it communing.¡±

    I shook my head. I rubbed the skin between my eyebrows.

    ¡°What god?¡±

    ¡°Horis.¡±

    I tried to remember what I knew about the greater spirits. The Abbey worshipped a fairly cludged-together pantheon, made up of the kind of gods that would appeal to farmers and merchants, spirits that usually had nothing to do with each other, outside the arbitrary selection of the Losirisian clerics.

    ¡°Which one¡¯s that?¡± I asked.

    ¡°You know, Horis the Righteous War?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know it.¡±

    ¡°The Antorxians banned worship of him. Probably because they¡¯d be on the wrong side of any kind of righteous war.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so sure,¡± I said. ¡°The greater spirits can be flexible about who they consider righteous.¡±

    ¡°He favors revolutionaries and the oppressed,¡± Adrian added. ¡°That would be reason enough for them. The Abbey I grew up at had one cleric who followed him in secret. He taught me the few prayers he knew. I never thought much about it, while I was there. I called to him a few times as a child, but it was just like calling to any other god.¡±

    ¡°He wasn¡¯t listening.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Because they don¡¯t really care about us,¡± I said.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡°Until I tried calling with maja,¡± Adrian said.

    I stared at him for a long moment. I connected what he was saying to the strange maja I¡¯d been feeling from him.

    ¡°He listened,¡± I guessed.

    ¡°Listened. Answered. Helped.¡±

    I took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. This was worse than if he¡¯d been getting involved with Terese. Now I had to worry about the whims and desires of a god influencing him. Weren¡¯t one set of tyrannical masters enough for him?

    I moved across the room to sit on Adrian¡¯s bed. He came to sit next to me, and I shuffled over to make room.

    ¡°How did he help?¡± I asked, first of all.

    Adrian held out his hands. He looked down at them, stretching his fingers.

    ¡°He gives me strength. He protects me. He teaches me.¡±

    ¡°And what¡¯s the cost?¡± I asked.

    I didn¡¯t believe in a benevolent god any more than I believed in a benevolent Reeve.

    ¡°He has precepts,¡± Adrian said. ¡°I had to swear to them, as a condition of accepting his aid.¡±

    ¡°And what are the precepts? Is he forcing you to wage some kind of never-ending war of justice against Antorx, or something like that?¡±

    ¡°No. The first is that I¡¯m only allowed to fight righteous battles. The second is that I¡¯m not allowed to use the cowardly arts. I had to swear not to use them. There was a whole ritual I had to do while I was asleep.¡±

    ¡°You were doing religious rituals while I was asleep next to you?¡±

    ¡°Only once.¡±

    ¡°What are the cowardly arts?¡±

    ¡°Basically, anything a sorcerer would normally do. I can¡¯t use maja outside my body. I can¡¯t make deals with other spirits. I can¡¯t get any of that gray-skin healing that the Reeves all have.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fleshcrafting.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s forbidden. If I lose a hand, then that¡¯s it. No hand.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve hobbled yourself,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯ve given up your ability to use entire fields of magic, in exchange for power you can only use for purposes that this spirit likes. You¡¯re going to die.¡±

    ¡°I feel like that¡¯s an overreaction.¡±

    ¡°You have to break your oath,¡± I said. ¡°What if you get an assignment to demonstrate an aspect?¡±

    ¡°I can use aspects. As long as I use them inside my body.¡±

    ¡°What if your assignment¡¯s to use one externally?¡± I asked. ¡°Like Force, or Fire? Sal had almost that specific assignment right after we arrived.¡±

    ¡°Maybe they¡¯d give me a religious exemption?¡±

    I stared at him. He was making joke, but the smile was fragile. Behind it, he looked scared.

    ¡°You have to break your oath.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not the kind you can break. It¡¯s the kind that changes you, forever.¡±

    ¡°Horis changed you?¡± I asked. ¡°Like the failure¡¯s fate?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not fleshcrafting. The oath just became part of me. It¡¯s part of my maja, I guess.¡±

    I pulled my feet up off the ground, folding them under me. What had he done to himself? Locked himself out of magic, essentially.

    He¡¯d hated the idea of becoming a sorcerer right from the start. Now he¡¯d guaranteed that he never would be, even if it meant he¡¯d be dead or worse instead.

    ¡°Was it worth it?¡± I asked.

    He seemed to think about it for a while.

    ¡°When we were fighting that girl, and she used her pain magic on us¡ª¡±

    ¡°Its proper name was Agony aspect.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that. When she was using it on us, I asked for help, and Horis helped. He reached down and covered me in his power.¡±

    ¡°We might have died back then, if not for that,¡± I suggested. It was the only nice thing I could think to say.

    ¡°Yeah, I thought so too,¡± Adrian said. ¡°I don¡¯t think I could fight a Reeve, yet, but if a battle is righteous I can call on his power, and any fight against a sorcerer is righteous. I don¡¯t think I can lose a fight to another student.¡±

    He shifted on the bed, pulling his feet up to sit on the bed with his legs out, so that we were facing each other.

    ¡°What does he teach you?¡± I asked after a while.

    ¡°He taught me to use Force aspect inside my body. He had to guide my hand at first, but since then I¡¯ve learned to use it on my own.¡± He gestured, pointing at me. "And I passed that lesson on. So this is helping all of us. "

    ¡°Has he told you anything useful about our situation?¡± I asked. ¡°Does he know where the closest town is? Or what our next assignments are going to be?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not a big giver of information. He mostly only says one word at a time. Like Learn, or Resist.¡±

    ¡°How did he tell you about the ritual you needed to do?¡± I asked.

    ¡°It was kind of an instructional dream.¡±

    I stood up from Adrian¡¯s bed and went to mine. I pulled my pack out from underneath it and pulled out my journal. I needed to document some of this.

    ¡°Can you describe the ritual?¡± I asked.

    Adrian¡¯s gaze fell to the right.

    ¡°Can I?¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m allowed.¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you try, and your god doesn¡¯t reach down and smite you, then you¡¯re probably allowed.¡±

    ¡°Alright.¡±

    Haltingly at first, then with more confidence, he started describing the ritual he¡¯d used to swear his oath of forbearance to Horis. First, he¡¯d needed a weapon, and it had to be either a mace, hammer, or staff. The weapon needed to be marked with his own blood, and given the name of his enemy. He¡¯d named it sorcery, which I thought was a little unimaginative. Then the weapon had to be touched to a flame in a place of complete darkness. He¡¯d used one of Terese¡¯s candles, and our cells were dark enough. Finally he¡¯d had to move his maja to the weapon. All of it. When his maja came back, it came back changed. It returned to him carrying Horis¡¯s oath.

    ¡°Did you know what you¡¯d be giving up when you did this?¡± I asked him.

    ¡°I knew, more or less. From Cleric Dawman at the Abbey.¡±

    I reached up and pinched my upper lip between my fingers, thinking.

    ¡°Someone¡¯s going to notice,¡± I said. ¡°The Masters probably already have. If I can feel when you¡¯re using Horis¡¯s maja, they definitely can, from further away. I¡¯d be shocked if they didn¡¯t recognize it as a greater spirit¡¯s power. Some of them might even be able to identify the spirit.¡±

    ¡°If that were true, I¡¯d already be dead,¡± Adrian said.

    ¡°Not necessarily,¡± I said.

    I was thinking about the difference between the Antorxian Empire and the Windshriek sorcerers. They weren¡¯t perfectly aligned. The prohibition against free magic was a rule set by the Empire, I was fairly sure.

    The philosophy of the sorcerers was all about increasing their own personal power in absolute terms, not by suppressing magical study. The Sovereign¡¯s Path didn¡¯t start, It is not to learn but to stop anyone else learning. If it was the Reeves suppressing native magical study, then there¡¯d only ever be one of them, hoarding their secrets and killing anyone else who aspired to it.

    I was sure the academy benefited from the steady stream of mage-talented conscripts the Antorxian prohibition sent them, but the law against wild mages seemed more like the action of an empire trying to keep control than a magical sect which was more devoted to their philosophy than to empire management.

    I knew there was conflict between the Antorxian military and Windshriek, and that there had been since before the Empire was founded. I didn¡¯t know how old the memory of the Reeve knighting ceremony I¡¯d found in the Fold relic was, but the uniforms the military officers had been wearing were modern, and that had ended with a Master killing the military officer who overstepped.

    I thought it was more likely that the prohibition against worshiping certain greater spirits would be something that came from the imperial government. Apart from anything else, I couldn¡¯t see the academy Masters denying any path that led to power, and Adrian¡¯s weird religion had led him to power, even if it had imposed restrictions.

    I¡¯d sooner believe the Masters were aware of Adrian¡¯s worship and completely disinterested than that they¡¯d somehow missed it.

    Maybe it went even further. Adrian¡¯s first assignment had been to pray to a subterranean Antorxian god, Ixilthan, and they had to have known he was found in the Abbey. Had they known back then that this was the path he¡¯d take? It seemed like a strange coincidence, otherwise.

    My first assignment had been to collect leaves from Wild Century, which I¡¯d used to make maja-infused ink, which I¡¯d used to study cantograms. Had someone guessed that this was the path I¡¯d take? Or had I only taken that path because of the opportunity the task offered me? Would Adrian have prayed to Horis, even if the task with Ixilthan hadn¡¯t put the idea in his mind?

    How much was knowing, and how much was guiding? Or maybe I was giving the Masters too much credit. They were more powerful than any of us, unknowably powerful, and it was hard to guess what their limits were. Was it possible to see the future? Was it possible to manipulate people with that much precision?

    In the end, I decided they probably couldn¡¯t see the future. I knew Antorx was currently fighting several wars, and if the Reeves had that power then there¡¯d be no standing against them. And if they really had known us well enough to plot out our paths like game pieces, then it had to be limited. I wasn¡¯t the same person I¡¯d been when I arrived, and nobody really knew the person I was now. Not Adrian, not myself, and certainly not the Masters.

    A small pine cone hit me in the center of my forehead. I looked up to see Adrian staring at me.

    ¡°You were getting in your head again,¡± he said.

    ¡°I was thinking.¡±

    ¡°Think less.¡±

    ¡°Is that your personal motto?¡±

    Instead of answering, he glanced down at the slate sitting next to me on the bed.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±

    I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. ¡°My name for the gift circle.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah,¡± Adrian said. He seemed relieved by the change of subject. He lifted his hand to cup his chin. ¡°Who did you get?¡±

    ¡°Jason.¡±

    ¡°Blergh.¡±

    ¡°I heard this was your idea,¡± I said.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    It took him a second to understand what I was asking, then he just shrugged one shoulder.

    ¡°I thought we could all just use cheering up. It¡¯s been three months since we arrived, you know? I think we¡¯re all missing home.¡±

    ¡°You think reminding people of home will make them miss it less?¡± I asked.

    Adrian seemed to lose interest in the conversation at that. For the next minute, he stared at his hands.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to make Jason a book of cantograms,¡± I said.

    Adrian looked up.

    I opened my journal to its last page, then pulled my sword from its scabbard. Holding the hilt in one hand and steadying the blade with the other, I carefully pulled the point of the sword down the spine of the page, severing the sheet from the rest of the book. It wasn¡¯t the most violent thing I¡¯d ever done with the blade, but I still flinched at the sound.

    ¡°Oh no, Dorian! Your book.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s only one page.¡±

    I took the severed sheet and folded it into three, then pressed a crease halfway across it, creating a pamphlet with six sections on the inside. I grabbed my pen and ink stone and started copying cantograms from my journal. Winter Hearth, Night¡¯s Welcome, and Sky¡¯s Appetite went into the spaces along the top, and Stone¡¯s Quickness and the Spirit Siphon canto along the bottom.

    I hesitated at the last square. Jason had wanted a copy of Storm¡¯s Gate, but of all the knowledge I could give him, the Storm¡¯s Gate was the thing other students would be most likely to attack him to get. I couldn¡¯t ignore the possibility that some of the other students might even kill him to get it. An item that someone might kill for didn¡¯t seem like the best Spring¡¯s End gift. Instead, I wrote my recipe for maja-infused ink in the final square. Maja-ash as a pigment, oat starch as the binder, with the method and proportions I¡¯d worked out over several batches. It didn¡¯t make good ink, but the ingredients were at least within our reach.

    While I worked, Adrian sat on his bed and actually accumulated. It felt strange from the outside. His presence was dimmed, as if some of his maja was elsewhere. I could almost feel it moving back and forth, waxing and waning with his concentration.

    He came out of his meditation just as I was blowing on the ink to dry it. Writing on my new paper was as rewarding as I¡¯d expected. The ink flowed smoothly. My reed pen hadn¡¯t clogged once, and the ink left behind on it washed off easily with a little water. The ink sat on the surface of the paper without bleeding, and it was mostly dry a minute or so after laying it down.

    Adrian slipped off his bed and came to look down at the sheet.

    ¡°Very tidy,¡± he said.

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°You should sell these at the market,¡± he said.

    I froze part way through folding it up.

    ¡°I¡¯m serious,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve seen other students selling scrolls there. It¡¯s all their notes and research. I bet people would pay for something like this.¡±

    I finished folding the sheet, ending up with a small square of folded paper that was blank on the outside. On the front I wrote, For Jason. On the back, I wrote my guide for scribing cantograms; pen for paper, brush for skin.

    ¡°Maybe when I can produce something more useful,¡± I said. ¡°This would take too much work for someone to use.¡±

    I didn¡¯t tell him my actual plan, that one day I might be able to sell items inscribed with cantograms directly. It felt too silly to admit to, when I was still only scratching out cantos in ink made from burned leaves.

    Adrian turned. Something caught his eye by the window.

    ¡°Your friend¡¯s back,¡± he said.

    I looked up and spotted the spider spirit sitting on the wall. It was almost indistinguishable from any of the jumping spiders that lived on the mountainside, now, except that it only had six legs.

    ¡°Do you think it was listening to us?¡± Adrian asked suddenly.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I said.

    Some spirits could understand language and even speak. But the spider spirit was so young.

    ¡°It could have heard everything,¡± Adrian said. ¡°We should kill it.¡±

    The spider flitted away, back through the window.

    ¡°That answers that,¡± Adrian said. ¡°Now we should definitely kill it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re in as much danger as you think,¡± I said. ¡°The Masters would kill, maim, or gentle us for almost no reason at all, but I don¡¯t think religion comes into it.¡±

    ¡°The clerics told it differently, so I¡¯m sorry if I don¡¯t take your guess over what they taught me.¡±

    ¡°Spider,¡± I said to the window. ¡°We¡¯re not going to kill you. Come back. Do you want some maja?¡±

    The spirit didn¡¯t reappear. It could have been a coincidence that it ran away at that moment. But if it wasn¡¯t, then it wasn¡¯t just capable of understanding us, it was smart enough to be suspicious.

 29. By the Fire in the Dark 3/3

    In the ruins of Adrian¡¯s old camp, Sal held out her hand.

    Her maja flared. A sensation like a bad sunburn radiated out from her, and flames dripped from her fingers like oil to spill over the piled wood. The dry leaves caught first, filling the small clearing with the smell of wood smoke, pushing back the shadows with small flames.

    She angled her hand downwards and channeled more maja. A spurt of flame shot from her hand, flying like liquid and coating the tented branches. After the flames landed, they continued to burn, catching the wood faster than the kindling.

    I stared at it as the wood crackled. Anyone else on the terrace would know we were here soon. The whole Spring¡¯s End idea had been a bad one, and the fire was the worst of them all.

    As the flames grew they lit up more of the small clearing. We were in the small, dry clearing under the boughs of the stunted beech and chestnut trees that colonized the upper terrace. Adrian¡¯s sad lean-to was now just a collapsed raft of leaves and some broken sticks. The bucket he¡¯d used for water was still here, along with a piece of flint he¡¯d chipped into a crude blade.

    As the light from the fire spread it revealed evidence of recent fighting. The bark of the trees was chipped in places. Some of them looked like they¡¯d been scorched by Fire aspect. One tree a few dozen feet away was completely uprooted. I¡¯d been right in guessing that a war would break out up here over the spring.

    The fighting was done, now. The maja spring had closed at some point, and the rock slide had been cleared away. Someone had mended the wall with mortar and stone fragments, probably the soldiers. The terrace had returned to being a place whose only real value was its isolation from the rest of the academy. It still wasn¡¯t so isolated that I felt safe.

    Sal pulled up the sleeve of her robe and shook out the silver bracelet she¡¯d taken from Mira.

    ¡°Sacrasmodi,¡± she said.

    The translucent knight spirit stepped out from behind a nearby tree, as if he¡¯d been hiding back there the entire time.

    ¡°M¡¯lady?¡± the knight said.

    ¡°Guard the woods around us. Let us know if anyone gets close.¡±

    ¡°As you wish.¡±

    The spirit left the circle of firelight, marching off silently into the trees with a ghostly spear resting over its shoulder.

    Sal had taken the bracelet after we¡¯d disarmed Mira and nobody had contested her claim to it. Adrian probably couldn¡¯t use it for religious reasons, and I thought someone with city watch training could probably get the most out of the spirit weapons he could provide. Maybe one of the others had more need of it, someone with less command of aspects, but they hadn¡¯t spoken up.

    She sat down at the edge of the fire, and the others picked out their own spots.

    I watched them take their seats, before finally giving in to the group and joining them at the fire.

    The festival fires in Kirkswill had always been bigger. Bonfires, that the whole village could gather around. Someone always brought a fiddle, and others always danced. Once I¡¯d even been asked to dance, and quickly made myself scarce. In the flames I saw Bevin with a birch wreath on his head, telling me to come out and enjoy myself. I saw the village chief tapping a keg of wine from his cellar, fully expecting it to be drained by morning. For a second I was staring at my mother¡¯s hearth, waiting for a kettle of tea to boil. If there was a Fire aspect, was there also an aspect that could put a fire out?

    Adrian sat across from me, a pale face under an increasingly mane-like clump of sandy hair. Tom and Alexa were to my left and right, then Sal, Jason, and Terese. Olan hadn¡¯t joined us. The Antorxians did celebrate Spring¡¯s End, apparently, but Olan¡¯s family never had.

    I met Adrian¡¯s eyes over the flames. Our talk about his deal with Horis was still fresh in my mind. I doubted he¡¯d told any of the others.

    As we looked at each other his expression became troubled. He¡¯d never actually told me not to tell anyone else.

    I cast my gaze around the circle, then back to Adrian. He frowned and shook his head slightly. He didn¡¯t want the conversation to go any further than our cell.

    The others around the fire looked relaxed. I couldn¡¯t get comfortable on my patch of grass.

    Sitting out here in the open struck me as absurd, a place where not so long ago we were fighting for our lives. Our enemies might still be out there. We¡¯d feel anyone who got close, and we were here in numbers, but we were only initiates. It seemed like an unnecessary risk. And for what? This was fairly pathetic, as celebrations went.

    ¡°What do we do now?¡± I asked them. ¡°Sing songs?¡±

    ¡°Exchange gifts,¡± Terese said.

    She held up her gift for Adrian, a brown canvas hood decorated with green embroidery. The embroidery was too good to have been made with nothing but dandelions and an iron needle over a handful of days. The curling shapes that seemed practiced and thought out. She stood up and walked to Adrian, bending over to hand him the hood.

    He took it and held it out, examining the pattern.

    ¡°Thanks, Terese.¡±

    ¡°I waxed it to keep the rain out,¡± she said.

    Adrian pulled it on his head. Two long strips of fabric trailed down at the bottom of each corner, which he tied under his chin.

    I got up next and handed Jason the small booklet I¡¯d made him. He took it cautiously, then peeled back one of the folds. When he saw the contents he flipped it open, his eyes scanning from one panel to the next. After a few seconds of looking, his hands drooped to his lap and he slowly folded it closed.

    ¡°Thank you, Dorian,¡± he said.

    Tom had got Terese a woven grass pouch filled with what he was calling tea, having sourced from plants on the mountainside and dried them in the sun over the last week. Sal had found a hardened leather helmet like the Antorxian scouts wore somewhere, and offered it to Tom. Jason gave Sal a small blade made from a long freshwater mussel shell, strategically broken and ground to form a thin hilt with a small quarter-circle blade, definitely more of a tool than a weapon, and Adrian¡¯s gift to Alexa was a stone that looked a little bit like a dog, with some work to give it more detail in that direction. She accepted it with either genuine or perfectly acted enthusiasm.

    When Alexa turned to me I took a deep breath. She held out her fist, turned it palm up, and opened her fingers.

    Sitting at the center of her palm was a small steel pen nib.

    ¡°You like this stuff, right?¡± she asked.

    I was still holding my breath as I looked at it.

    ¡°Er, you do want it, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I said, letting out the breath all at once.

    She held it out. I picked it out of her palm.

    It was one of the nibs the paper merchant had been selling at the last market.

    ¡°How did you afford this?¡± I asked, staring at it. ¡°The merchant told me they were worth more than three ducs.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well, I got a discount.¡±

    ¡°Dorian,¡± Adrian said sternly. ¡°Didn¡¯t your parents tell you it was rude to question a present?¡±

    I looked up at him then at Alexa¡¯s face.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said.

    ¡°No bother.¡±

    I held the nib in between my fingertips. Some of the others were saying something, but I couldn¡¯t hear them. It was all reduced to background noise. It seemed like all I could focus on was the nib. It was warm from Alexa¡¯s hand. I could feel the heat from the fire on my face as well, and it was all suddenly too much heat. My face was burning, my eyes were stinging.

    I stood up and stepped away from the fire. Before I knew what I was doing, I was walking out into the dark woods.

    ¡°Dorian, are you okay?¡± Adrian¡¯s voice called behind me.

    I raised a hand without turning around, waving him off. I kept going until I couldn¡¯t feel the fire¡¯s heat on my back or see its light against the trees.

    Once I was out in the cold dark of the woods I stopped. What was even the point of doing this? I held the nib between my fingertips, the back resting on my thumb, with the sharp tip pressing into the pad of my finger. I looked up, catching sight of a web of stars between the branches of the trees.

    I shut my eyes. The fire was infecting me. All I could see behind my eyelids were images from home. My mother baking in an iron pot over a hearth was joined by the image of Tom baking his mystery leaves over a fire. Bevin giving me a printed almanac with the dates of the seasons became the pamphlet of cantograms I¡¯d given to Jason. The nib from Alexa just made me think of the wax slate my father had given me the Spring¡¯s End after I¡¯d been apprenticed to Bevin, an awkward, tortuous exchange, where he hadn¡¯t been able to hide his disappointment.

    There was an ache in my throat like I¡¯d swallowed a stone.

    I drew on my maja, looking for calm and clarity, for it to sooth away all my dull aches and sharp pains.

    The pain in my throat faded. The heat in my face dispersed. The stinging in my eyes receded. The maja stopped my running nose as easily as it had stopped my bleeding in the past. Within seconds I was cool again, all the heat gone, replaced by the deep subterranean cold of my maja. I could feel the night air again. And something else.

    I wasn¡¯t alone.

    A little way off, at the limits of my senses, another maja presence was squatting in the woods.

    I couldn¡¯t see them, but I could feel their maja. It was muted, like a shuttered lantern, but I could sense a presence that made me think of soft cloth and crisp paper, mixed until the two could be confused, bedsheets made of paper, books made from bandages.

    It wasn¡¯t Mira, Duran, or Seil, so probably not someone who would consider me an enemy on sight. I had my weapons painted on my skin, and with the others only a shout away, I felt safe in moving to get a better angle on whoever it was.

    I started picking my way through the woods, stepping slowly and carefully, feeling for roots and holes, steadying myself on the trunks of trees. I closed my eyes periodically, feeling for maja to make sure I was heading in the right direction.

    After a minute of slow progress, I came to a point where I could see something about fifty feet ahead of me. It looked like a pale oval, illuminated by starlight. It wasn¡¯t until it moved that I recognized it as the top of someone¡¯s head.

    They were crouching, looking down at the ground. They didn¡¯t carry a light source, but I knew that the darkness wasn¡¯t an obstacle to the more advanced students.

    Suddenly the head looked up. A pale face stared straight at me. My heart clenched for a second, then relaxed. I recognized him. Olner, the bald potentiate I¡¯d found in the library. I¡¯d traded with him to find out how to access the Fold relics. He was indirectly responsible for my learning the Storm¡¯s Gate.

    I upgraded the figure from potentially hostile to likely neutral.

    In the distance, Olner stood up. I wasn¡¯t ready to return to the fire yet, so I set off walking in his direction.

    It took me more than a minute to reach him, and he crouched back down as I made my way through the woods. As I stepped out of the trees closest to him I found myself in a small clearing, with moonlight beaming down through a gap in the trees.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Dorian, wasn¡¯t it?¡± he asked, not looking up. His Antorxian accent was as thick as it had been in the library.

    ¡°Yes. And you were Olner.¡±

    He put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. He didn¡¯t look older than me by more than a couple of years, but he moved like moving was a struggle.

    There was a reed basket at his feet, half full of small white mushrooms. More of them dotted the grass in the moonlit clearing. On his hands he was wearing a pair of cracked brown leather gloves, the tips of the fingers stained with something that looked black in the moonlight.

    ¡°You¡¯re gathering mushrooms?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Moon skull mushrooms,¡± he confirmed.

    ¡°For an assignment?¡±

    If it was, then he was late. Today was deadline day. I¡¯d already turned my jar of corpse water in, and the others had finished their tasks as well.

    ¡°No. And they¡¯re not to eat. I will use them to lure a spirit of toxicity in the swamp below.¡±

    ¡°And what will you do with that?¡±

    ¡°Store it for use later. I don¡¯t have a need for it now.¡±

    I wanted to ask how it was possible to store a spirit, but I already knew Olner didn¡¯t give information out for free.

    With the lull in the conversation he lowered himself back to his knees, the curve in his spine bringing his head level with his ribs, and continued picking mushrooms.

    After a few seconds he looked up, waving a mushroom at the woods behind me.

    ¡°I can smell wood smoke on the air,¡± he said.

    ¡°My friends are back there,¡± I said. ¡°They¡¯re celebrating Spring¡¯s End.¡±

    Olner froze with the mushroom halfway to the basket.

    ¡°I hope the Masters don¡¯t hear,¡± Olner said. ¡°They will wonder why you have time for that.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve already handed our assignments in.¡±

    ¡°There is always more to do. More to learn, and more to prepare.¡±

    ¡°I can relate to that,¡± I said.

    ¡°Is that why you are not with them? You¡¯re leaving to work?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m just not sure if the academy is the place for a celebration.¡±

    ¡°Springs End,¡± he said, holding the mushroom in both hands. ¡°You give gifts, is that right?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I thought the Antorxians did as well?¡±

    ¡°Probably. But I grew up on the streets of Marixs. There were no gifts for me. If I was lucky, there was a good meal left over from the feasts of others.¡±

    I watched him toss the mushroom into his basket.

    ¡°Did you have any luck getting a library index from Master Antonyx?¡± I asked.

    When I last met him, he was complaining that the reorganization had made it impossible for him to find anything. Antonyx as a source of information on the layout had been my part of the trade for the Fold relics.

    ¡°I asked if he needed favors,¡± Olner answered. ¡°He said he¡¯d think about it. I am note hopeful. He didn¡¯t trust me.¡±

    Before I asked my next question, I reminded myself that I was armed, full of maja, and had my friends within shouting range, and asked,

    ¡°What would you trade for a copy of it?¡± I said.

    Olner looked up from the mushroom patch. He sat up, resting his weight on his knees.

    ¡°You have one?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°And you could make me a copy?¡±

    ¡°I could.¡±

    Olner went to put his hand to his chin, then stopped when he remembered his glove.

    ¡°Do you have any requests?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Nothing specific,¡± I said. ¡°What can you offer?¡±

    This was the opposite of how I handled negotiations with merchants. I had no idea how much the library index was worth, and this time I wasn¡¯t interested in concealing the fact. Last time we¡¯d traded, Olner had let me set my own price for the information he offered. I¡¯d see if he used this opportunity to make me a fair offer.

    He thought for a second, the carefully pulled off his gloves. He held up his left hand, showing me a slim wooden ring wedged halfway down his middle finger. It looked like it¡¯d been made from a dry and flattened reed.

    ¡°This ring. Just a small thing. It is scrived with a prey spirit, simple, but alert. It can warn you when you are being hunted.¡±

    I stared at the ring.

    ¡°Hunted how?¡±

    ¡°If it senses someone has hostile intent. If they are stalking you, or watching you, or is planning harm, then it will appear to warn you. It is not all-knowing. It sees, it watches, it reads maja, and it can see a little way into the Fold. From that it makes its judgements.¡±

    It didn¡¯t sound too useful to an advanced student. Someone conditioned to alertness would already notice if they were being watched or followed, and I¡¯d seen hints that sorcerers could read intent from someone¡¯s maja without the help of a spirit. To Olner it was probably just a trinket, but it would make a dramatic difference to my chances here.

    ¡°I¡¯ll make that trade, if it does what you say,¡± I said.

    Olner pulled the ring off and put it in an inside pocket of his robe. He gestured at me to start.

    I sat down on the grass and pulled out my journal, inkstone, and reed pen. Since I couldn¡¯t trust anything left alone in the barracks, I was still carrying all my most important possessions with me. I put my new steel nib away until I could cut a holder for it and brushed a clump of ink off my reed pen.

    I looked down at my dry ink stone, then back towards where I knew there was a shallow pond nearby.

    ¡°Do you have any water?¡± I asked.

    ¡°I have some dirty water for cleaning my hands.¡±

    ¡°That will work.¡±

    Olner lifted a dried gourd off the grass next to him and pulled a cork out of the top. I held out my ink stone and he splashed water into it, reactivating the ink that had dried there earlier.

    I unrolled my library index from my bag and laid it out on the grass.

    Olner watched my squinting at the star-lit paper for a few seconds, then pulled out a candle and lit it between his fingers.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said. I hadn¡¯t even felt his maja stir.

    By the light of the candle, I started copying the index onto a clean page of my journal.

    ¡°Do you trade this with the intent that I can make my own copies to trade?¡± he asked.

    ¡°If I said no, would you listen?¡±

    He thought about it for a while, frowning. ¡°If you were the creator, and this was your own research, I would listen. But since you are copying something that you did not make, I don¡¯t think I need to respect its uniqueness.¡±

    ¡°Just don¡¯t trade it with Mira or Duran,¡± I said. ¡°I don¡¯t want to help them find something down there they¡¯ll use against me a month from now.¡±

    ¡°If I ever meet them I will refrain from trading your index with them.¡±

    Olner put his gloves back on and continued plucking mushrooms while I wrote.

    It only took a few minutes to copy out the list of subjects and shelf numbers. I drew my sword carefully, reassuring Olner with a glance that I wasn¡¯t going to attack him, then cut the page free.

    I checked that the ink was dry, then folded it and handed it over.

    Olner had finished picking mushrooms and thrown his dirty gloves into the basket a minute earlier. He accepted the folded page, then offered me the ring.

    I held out my hand and he dropped it into my palm.

    ¡°Are those cantograms on your skin?¡± he asked, looking at my palm.

    ¡°Yes. Paper isn¡¯t a strong enough surface for some of them. How does the ring work?¡±

    ¡°Just place it on your finger. The spirit will give you minor impressions when it senses a threat. I hear whispers when I¡¯m being watched, but it will likely be different for you. It is not a strongly formed spirit.¡±

    I hesitated for a moment, but I didn¡¯t think Olner was lying, at least not yet. I slid the ring onto my middle finger.

    I picked up a faint maja smell like burned hair, but other than that I didn¡¯t sense anything different.

    ¡°Remember it isn¡¯t infallible,¡± Olner said. ¡°It¡¯s just a simple spirit. It can¡¯t read thoughts, and it can be fooled. But it does see the world with the eyes of prey, and it is always watching. That is enough to be helpful. It¡¯s how I sensed you when you were standing in the dark a few minutes ago.¡±

    ¡°Will you be safe without it?¡±

    ¡°Yes. And I will make another. My next will be an improvement.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said.

    Olner¡¯s shoulders twitched in what might have been a shrug.

    ¡°It was a fair trade.¡±

    In the distance behind me, I heard Adrian¡¯s voice start up in song. I couldn¡¯t tell what it was, but it sounded like something someone would sing at a tavern.

    ¡°I better go and put a stop to that,¡± I said.

    ¡°Go. Enjoy your night,¡± Olner said.

    I left him behind, heading back towards the fire. When I reached it, Tom handed me an oat cake with a layer of honey smeared on top. I sat down and threw a twig at Adrian¡¯s head, who stopped singing.

    ¡°How long are we going to sit out here, exposed to anyone who comes along?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Until the fire burns out,¡± Sal said.

    I sighed and started to eat the oat cake.

    Overhead, the scattered clouds were moving past at enormous speeds. I looked around at my friends, watching as they told stories of home, or strung flowers together, or just listened.

    My heart stuttered as I looked at Jason. A sparrow sat on his shoulder, upright but dead, like it had been impaled on a branch. Bloody thorns sprouted from its eyes and body, with one emerging from its beak like a long tongue. Instead of decay, I could only smell the tingling odor of burned hair.

    I reached down and pulled the wooden ring off my finger. When I looked back up, the sparrow was gone. I slid the ring back on, and the sparrow corpse returned.

    Jason caught me looking and turned a smile on me. I tried to return it, but I didn¡¯t think I was fooling anyone.

 30. Lost in Deep Water 1/7

    When I arrived to get the details of my next assignment, I found another student waiting outside the office.

    I was breathing hard and sweating through my shirt by the time I made it to the ninth floor. The stormy spring had given way to a punishing summer, and the late summer sun was baking the mountainside for eighteen hours a day. Moisture that smoked its way off the swamp with every sunrise found its way even up to the academy¡¯s altitude, turning the air into a thick clinging soup, and the mountain stones continued to radiate heat even after sunset, making for miserable, often sleepless nights.

    I paused in the corridor, resting my forehead against the stone wall. The tower was probably the only cold object for a hundred miles, and it had to be at least partly due to magic. If it hadn¡¯t been so packed with Masters, Reeves, and graduate sorcerers, I¡¯d have been tearing up the floors trying to work out how they did it.

    I caught sight of the other student just as I was catching my breath.

    She was an inch taller than me and looked two or three years older, with a combination of auburn hair and light skin that reminded me of Terese. An Initiate¡¯s robe hung across her back like a cape, more faded and tattered than mine, held at her throat with a bone pin. She wasn¡¯t armed, but held herself with a casual confidence that made her seem dangerous anyway.

    She raised an eyebrow at me, and I pulled myself away from the wall.

    I straightened up. I counted the doors, checking I was in the right place. There was no sign on the wall, but this was where the clerk at the entrance had directed me. I stepped forward to stand by the door.

    ¡°Here for an assignment?¡± she asked.

    She spoke with a northern Cortissian accent similar to Terese¡¯s. North Cortiss was a mountainous region of isolated villages, all sticking close to ancient traditions. I had the impression that the difference in culture between her home and the academy had been as much a shock to her as the violence and punishments.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I said. ¡°If this is Reeve Whitford¡¯s office.¡±

    ¡°It is. It looks like we¡¯ll be combining our efforts.¡±

    She assessed me as she spoke, her eyes going from my face, to the silk cantogram sewed onto the sackcloth scarf around my throat, then down to the reed ring strung on a cord around my wrist. Finally she noted the short sword at my hip.

    ¡°They do that?¡± I asked. ¡°Pair people up for assignments?¡±

    ¡°For some tasks,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m Gail.¡±

    ¡°Dorian.¡±

    She stared at me for a few more seconds. I felt like she wanted to ask about the cantogram around my throat, but she kept her silence.

    The cantogrammed scarf was my first and so far only successful embroidered cantogram. I¡¯d spun the spider silk thread myself, layering days¡¯ worth of webs into a long strip, cleaning them of dust and trapped bugs, then twisting that into a roughly consistent thread strong enough to pull through fabric.

    I¡¯d decided my first stitched project would be Sky¡¯s Appetite, the maja-absorbing cantogram I¡¯d used to block Mira¡¯s Agony aspect. Not only was it one of the more simple designs, but something that could block the relatively low-energy aspects like Thought and Dream would be immediately useful. While I wore it, I wouldn¡¯t have to worry about other sorcerers trying to infiltrate my thoughts with their own, or being trapped in illusions, or being brought down with illusory pain, at least by sorcerers and spirits around my level.

    Beyond the embroidered Sky¡¯s Appetite, I had a scroll scribed with the Spirit Siphon canto, which was weak but still useful against spirits like of Sacrasmodi. I also had my Night¡¯s Welcome lantern, disassembled and stored between the pages of my journal.

    I didn¡¯t currently have any cantos drawn on my skin. They used too much ink to apply every day without reason, and in the late summer heat they smeared too quickly to go around with just as a precaution.

    I¡¯d stopped wearing the reed ring a week after bartering it from Olner. The spirit scrived inside it was constantly alert and constantly suspicious, and wearing it encouraged me to be the same. According to the spirit¡¯s judgment, Jason was plotting something half the time we were together, and Alexa was a constant threat, for all that she¡¯d given me a steel pen nib as a gift at Spring¡¯s End. It even warned me occasionally of Adrian, giving me visions of the skewered bird late in the evening when we¡¯d spent too long in close quarters. It fluttered in the corners of my vision when I was being watched, but that had only revealed that I was always being watched; the native Antorxian students in the barracks watched me, and the older students outside watched me, and the soldiers, and the Masters. We were all watching each other, all on guard, all suspicious. I¡¯d been naive not to see it before. I didn¡¯t distrust the spirit¡¯s judgment, but just knowing how much danger surrounded me was a threat all on its own. Being constantly on guard was exhausting, and when everything around me was a threat, being warned of threats lost its value. These days I kept it close, but didn¡¯t live under its effects.

    I was tempted to put it on now to test it against Gail, except I already knew that the spirit wouldn¡¯t like her. She¡¯d been here longer than me, and despite also being an Initiate she was probably stronger. That made her a threat all on its own. She¡¯d been tutored in the same sorcerer philosophy that I had, so I couldn¡¯t count on her acting according to any kind of sane morality. And if we were going to be working together, that meant her survival might depend on my performance. I didn¡¯t think she¡¯d hesitate to leave me to die, or even attack me herself, if she thought it would help her.

    I looked from her to the door to Reeve Whitford¡¯s office. It was my first time getting an assignment from a Reeve, rather than a Master, and only my second assignment where the details hadn¡¯t been written on the scroll. The first was when Master Antonyx had sent me to find records at Fort Msiesetr. I hoped this one wouldn¡¯t be as dangerous.

    ¡°What do you think it will be?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t guess. The last time I was paired with another student, I had to hunt down some Cortissian spies in the swamp.¡±

    ¡°Spies?¡± I said. ¡°This close to the academy?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Some devouts of Sonnolace. They made it through all the soldiers and checkpoints and got halfway to the academy, unnoticed and unchallenged. Then they encountered me.¡±

    ¡°What were they doing here?¡±

    If Cortiss¡¯s¡¯ forces really could reach the academy, then maybe they could take students away with them. They might not care about me, but Tom, Terese, and Jason had all been Cortissian citizens before they were brought there.

    ¡°From what they were carrying, it seems like they were planning a mass poisoning,¡± she said, seeming to find the idea amusing. ¡°I wonder if they thought something as mundane as poisoning a cistern would hurt the academy. More would have come out of it stronger than dead.¡±

    The brief fantasy I¡¯d been entertaining of courageous Cortissian spies staging a rescue mission turned to ash, leaving a bitter taste on my tongue. If they were planning a poisoning, then it couldn¡¯t have been targeting the actual staff. They were too strong and too protected.

    ¡°You think they were going to poison us?¡± I asked.

    She gave me a look like she thought I was stupid. ¡°I¡¯d be surprised if mortal poisons could even affect a Master.¡±

    I swallowed the bitter taste. They probably had been coming for the students. If I actually ran into any Cortissian agents out in the swamp, there was every chance they¡¯d just see me as another Antorxian sorcerer.

    The office door opened a minute later. Inside was a messy room, brightly lit by a narrow window on the back wall. A man in Antorxian business attire stood in the doorway, a white shirt laced tightly around his neck beneath a buttoned vest of glossy blue fabric. He had a short graying beard and hair that was receding in a sharp widow¡¯s peak. He stared out at us with his eyes narrowed, his lips parted in an expression of disapproval that had been there before he¡¯d even seen us.

    I let my eyes unfocus slightly, feeling for his maja on reflex.

    The academy Masters were more powerful than Reeves, ¡®Master¡¯ being the highest rank the sorcerers gave out, but they actually gave less of a spiritual impression than this man. His maja swirled with a feeling like dry darkness, a close, closed-in impression that made me think of the inside of a broom cupboard. The strength of the feeling was shocking, many times heavier than the strongest student I¡¯d felt.

    He didn¡¯t exactly look like a sorcerer, but I didn¡¯t doubt he¡¯d be as strong as any Reeve on the battlefield.

    ¡°What is it?¡± he asked.

    ¡°We¡¯re here for our assignments, Lordship,¡± Gail said.

    The man¡¯s mouth briefly twisted into a sneer.

    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t care for Antorxian titles. I¡¯m Reeve Whitford to you.¡±

    ¡°As you wish, Reeve,¡± Gail said.

    Whitford looked from her to me. His lips closed and he gave me a dismissive grimace.

    ¡°Come in and close the door,¡± he said, turning back and heading for his desk.

    I followed him in and Gail stepped through behind me, turning to slam the wooden door shut in its frame.

    At the desk, Whitford dug through a pile of papers before pulling out a scroll that¡¯d been squashed flat. He handed it to Gail without even looking at me. She undid the cord and started to unroll it.

    ¡°Two students ran last week,¡± he said, addressing his desk as he returned his attention to a sealed letter. ¡°Both Initiates. Both from last summer¡¯s intake.¡±

    Gail finished unwrapping the scroll, glanced at it, then turned it so I could see. Two faces, sketched in ink. One of them was a thick-bodied man in his thirties, a label under the drawing naming him Gortan Oak. The other was a younger boy of about fifteen, with rounded features and a scarred lip. I recognized him. It was Seil, Mira¡¯s lackey who I¡¯d fought a few months ago. He¡¯d hit me on the back of the head with a club. According to the scroll, his full name was Seil Zolomein.

    ¡°They been here most of a year, then,¡± Gail said.

    ¡°Exactly,¡± Whitford said. He pulled a thin-bladed black dagger seemingly out of nowhere and used it to slice the letter open, drawing the point against the top edge of the envelope like he was performing surgery. ¡°The garrison reported them missing four days ago, so they have a head start.¡±If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    ¡°Is this a capture, or a kill?¡± Gail asked.

    My stomach flipped at the question. I¡¯d fought the spirits of runaway students before, but I never been asked to hunt people.

    I¡¯d wondered about what I¡¯d do if I ever got that assignment.

    In the privacy of my mind, I¡¯d promised myself that I¡¯d refuse a request to hunt a runaway outright. I was never going to hunt and hurt people for the Antorxians, and I certainly wasn¡¯t going to drag them back here. I¡¯d fail an assignment before I crossed that line.

    As I stared at Reeve Whitford¡¯s stern, demanding expression, that resolve didn¡¯t waver. But I did decide outright declaring my refusal wouldn¡¯t be productive. A silent rebellion wouldn¡¯t be any more damning than a loud one, and would be considerably less likely to get me stabbed, either by the Reeve or by Gail.

    ¡°Bring them back alive if you can,¡± Whitford said. ¡°Bury them in the swamp if not. Obviously the military has their details. They¡¯ll be killed on sight if they actually make it out, and I¡¯d rather some of ours have the chance to learn from the experience than wasting it on idiots with crossbows.¡±

    Gail took the information without emotion. She might as well have been listening to the details of the Reeve¡¯s breakfast order.

    ¡°They were last seen heading south off the mountain down the old foot track,¡± Whitford went on. ¡°That would have them going through the South Wilds Wetlands. The screamers would have stopped them taking the direct route out across the shallows, so it¡¯s likely they¡¯ll be following the old trade track on foot.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t familiar with all the swamp¡¯s geography, but I knew the general area he was talking about. It was a messy, constantly shifting wetland broken up by land banks, like much of the swamp, but in the South Wilds, the land banks joined up, forming a long, meandering path that could be walked without ever setting foot in water. I hadn¡¯t heard of the screamers before, but it was safe to assume they were some kind of local spirit life.

    I glanced at Gail. She was only half listening, probably already thinking about how we were going to catch up with them. I wasn¡¯t going to waste any energy on planning. My objective in this was to let them escape. With a four day head start along a restricted path, it seemed a fairly safe bet that they would.

    I didn¡¯t want to fail an assignment, but if letting them go meant failing then I was willing to do it. It would take two failures in a row to trigger the failure¡¯s fate, and between my own abilities and help from the group, I felt safe in leaning on that leeway.

    Gail was lost in thought and I took advantage of the lull to ask a question.

    ¡°What constitutes failure for this assignment?¡± I said to Whitford.

    If there was some wriggle room, I might be able to thread the needle of letting them go without failing.

    ¡°If they escape, obviously,¡± Whitford said.

    There didn¡¯t seem to be much wriggle room there.

    ¡°What if we kill them?¡± I asked instead. ¡°Do we need to bring back proof of their deaths?¡±

    His expression turned to cruel amusement. ¡°Why would I need proof? Do you think you could deceive me with a false report?¡±

    I shot a glance at Gail, who was starting to look irritated at me.

    ¡°I suppose not,¡± I said, though I didn¡¯t know exactly what he was talking about.

    ¡°Those images are likenesses of the runaways,¡± Whitford added. ¡°Though I doubt you¡¯ll need them. There aren¡¯t that many sorcerers running around the southern swamp that you¡¯ll have trouble identifying them.¡±

    He looked at Gail, then at me, as if he was anticipating another question.

    ¡°What if they¡¯ve already been killed by the wild spirits of the swamp?¡± I asked.

    ¡°So far they haven¡¯t,¡± he replied. ¡°But if you become convinced of that during the pursuit, then I¡¯ll count it as a neutral result. It won¡¯t count against you as a failure, but I won¡¯t reward your effort.¡±

    That seemed like a possible way out. I¡¯d just need to become convinced that they¡¯d died during their flight through the swamp. It shouldn¡¯t be that hard. In all likelihood they would.

    That seemed to burn through the last of his patience for questions.

    "Go, now. The runaways may already be four days ahead of you, and you only have seven to find them and report back.

    ¡°Reeveship,¡± Gail said as a farewell, turning away from him.

    She headed towards the door, folding the scroll as she went and stuffing it into a sling bag that hung around her shoulder.

    I went quickly after her.

    ¡°Are you ready to go now?¡± she asked as we walked away down the corridor.

    ¡°I need to stop at the barracks first,¡± I said. ¡°I have something to take care of.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad. I was worried you¡¯d be leaving unprepared.¡±

    We walked a dozen feet in silence before I decided Gail probably wasn¡¯t one of the students who¡¯d skewer me for asking a question.

    ¡°What did he mean about us not being able to deceive him?¡± I asked.

    Gail was quiet at first, answering after what felt like a calculated pause.

    ¡°They can feel a lie in your maja,¡± she said. ¡°And so can I, in case you were tempted.¡±

    ¡°How can they feel it?¡±

    She looked away from me to face in the direction we were walking. ¡°Your maja twists depending on what you¡¯re thinking and planning. It can betray your thoughts as easily as your face and eyes, and most mages have less experience in schooling their maja than their expression.¡±

    I followed her in silence for a minute. I¡¯d read something similar, but in a context where it was used as a technique to anticipate an enemy mage¡¯s moves in combat.

    I let my eyes unfocus as we walked, feeling for her maja, looking for any sign of what she was talking about.

    She was a ball of crackling energy next to me. Her maja gave a sharp, prickling impression, like straw husks on bare skin. I could feel movement in it, making me think of mice moving in straw, but it was constant, with no clear change from one moment to the next. Would it change if she lied?

    ¡°You¡¯re Cortissian aren¡¯t you?¡± I asked.

    ¡°I was,¡± she said easily.

    Her maja continued its steady, rustling motion.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you feel guilty about killing those Cortissian spies?¡± I asked.

    I¡¯d intended the question to provoke her, so that I¡¯d feel any change in her maja. The sharp look she gave me made me regret it.

    ¡°Why are you bringing that up now?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I was just curious,¡± I said. ¡°We have to work with each other.¡±

    ¡°No I didn¡¯t,¡± she said. ¡°They were stupid to come here, and stupid to try and stand against me. Death was the best possible end they could expect to find this side of the swamp. Giving it to them was my kindness.¡±

    The feeling of motion in her maja did change as she spoke, stilling at her admission, becoming more active as she spoke about death. The prickling feeling of her maja became more intense towards the end. Unfortunately, it was all noise to me. I didn¡¯t have the ear for it. It was like hearing a new language for the first time.

    ¡°I have to stop by my dormitory on the way out, as well,¡± Gail said as we reached the tower¡¯s main stairway.

    ¡°You¡¯re in a dormitory?¡± I asked.

    The students of higher ranks were given their own small stone houses to live in, but I didn¡¯t know where the older students who still hadn¡¯t made it past Initiate were staying. I¡¯d seen them around the academy, people in robes the same shade of gray as mine, but I hadn¡¯t seen where they were coming from.

    ¡°We used to be in the barracks by the wash house. We all start there. Those of us who failed to reach Potentiate moved out to a building the garrison wasn¡¯t using,¡± she answered.

    ¡°You¡¯re allowed to do that?¡± I asked.

    ¡°We weren¡¯t allowed, we simply did it. That¡¯s what having power means,¡± she said.

    This time I felt another fluctuation in her maja, a rustling like someone had just upended an entire bin of straw, and the entire pile was moving and rustling, threatening to spill out.

    We started heading down the stairs. My thoughts were already rushing ahead to when we left the tower and headed back to the cells. I didn¡¯t want to bring Gail to the barracks. She¡¯d terrify Tom, apart from anything else.

    ¡°Shall we split up and meet at the gate?¡± I said.

    ¡°Fine. Meet me there in an hour.¡±

    We were only halfway down the stairway to the ground level of the tower, but it seemed like she was done letting me slow her down. She leaped the remaining steps on our current flight, throwing herself down the staircase, pivoting on the landing below, then darting out of sight back in the other direction.

    I paused on the stairs, watching her go. I hadn¡¯t even felt her maja flare. She must have done that entirely through body reinforcement techniques.

    I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d be able to do that, even with the speed-enhancement technique I¡¯d learned from the notes on the Behr¡¯s body.

    I walked the rest of the way to the ground floor at my purely mortal speed. It gave me time to think. I wasn¡¯t going to actively hunt the runaways, and they had enough of a head start that I didn¡¯t feel like I¡¯d need to drag my feet much, but I couldn¡¯t ignore the possibility that Gail did have the skill, speed, and magic needed to catch up with them, potentially dragging me along with her.

    If we did catch up with them, I didn¡¯t know what I¡¯d do. Just stand aside? Run away? Neither option sat well with me. The alternative was even less palatable ¡ª that I¡¯d find myself taking the insane path of trying to fight Gail.

 31. Lost in Deep Water 2/7

    Arcometi of the Ordered Death was sitting on its web when I got back to the cells. The spider spirit claimed to be an exalted being, powerful and ancient, but it also hid every time someone it didn¡¯t know came by the cell. I was sure it wasn¡¯t more than six months old.

    It had forged itself a corporeal body towards the end of spring, and since then it had got gradually heavier and denser, until it was indistinguishable from a real spider. Its web had become richer in maja as well, easily as dense as my maja-infused ink, and one week during summer it learned how to speak.

    ¡°Arcometi,¡± I said.

    The spider twitched on its web then hopped down to sit on the wall next to me. It waved its front legs pleadingly, the sunlight from the window glinting in its four front eyes.

    ¡°Servant,¡± it said. ¡°I have needs.¡± Its voice had a deep, rumbling quality, but was so quiet that I wouldn¡¯t have been able to hear it more than a foot away.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have time for that. I¡¯m leaving for a few days. I won¡¯t be here to feed you.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± it hissed. From the emotion in the sound, I might as well have told it the world was ending.

    ¡°Ask Adrian to feed you while I¡¯m gone,¡± I told it. ¡°Say it¡¯s a favor for me.¡±

    ¡°He will not,¡± Arcometi said. ¡°Servant, he tried to kill me.¡±

    ¡°Kill you?¡±

    ¡°He threw his shoe at me.¡±

    I could easily imagine that. Adrian hated spiders in general and Arcometi in particular.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure that doesn¡¯t pose a threat to a spirit as powerful as you,¡± I said.

    ¡°It¡¯s true. It did not. But he will not feed me.¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯ll have to forage on your own,¡± I said.

    I looked up at the web spun across the window. It was larger than anything the spider had spun last season, dotted with small insects.

    I¡¯d been taking the webs every time the small spirit renewed them, and Arcometi never seemed to mind. It didn¡¯t eat the insects it caught. The web¡¯s real purpose was to gather maja from the Fold somehow, a corporeal spirit¡¯s version of mortal accumulation. It¡¯d be enough for the spirit to live on for several days, even if it wouldn¡¯t be growing particularly quickly on that diet.

    ¡°I refuse,¡± the spirit said. ¡°You will stay and feed me.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, I can¡¯t,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll try and find Terese and ask her to keep you fed.¡±

    ¡°No. That one also wants to kill me.¡±

    ¡°Not everyone wants to kill you,¡± I said.

    ¡°All of them do. I am surrounded by enemies.¡±

    ¡°Stay here. Keep spinning webs,¡± I said, moving away. ¡°I¡¯ll feed you when I get back.¡±

    I went to my bed, digging under my mattress for a small stack of salvaged paper and my charcoal pencil. I didn¡¯t want to leave the mountain without writing equipment, and the pencil was easier to use than pen and ink.

    I pulled my journal out of my pack and stared at it. I couldn¡¯t risk it in the swamp. Water would destroy it, washing the ink away and ruining the paper, and even the oilcloth of the scout¡¯s pack wouldn¡¯t save it from being submerged. With the tip of my sword, I made a cut at the top of my mattress and buried the journal inside the padding. It was probably the least imaginative hiding place possible, but I didn¡¯t have much time.

    I didn¡¯t have time to paint a Storm¡¯s Gate on my hand, and even if I had, it wouldn¡¯t have stayed intact for long. Between the heat and the humidity, it would start to bleed before dusk and melt into a black smear by morning. In any other environment I might have tried it, but in the swamp I didn¡¯t see the point. I kept my brush in the bag, as well as a small gum-like ball of dried maja ink. I¡¯d be able to apply cantograms out there if I had to.

    My personal stash of oat cakes followed the pencil and papers into the pack, and then a filled water-gourd I¡¯d bought from Olner for the price of a single Sky¡¯s Appetite canto. Apparently the canto¡¯s utility in blocking weaker maja aspects wasn¡¯t being widely exploited by the students, it being a narrow application of something in a narrow field, only useful against rare aspects.

    I was shocked when Olner claimed that cantograms were confusing and temperamental. It¡¯d only taken me a few weeks after my arrival to learn how to scribe the simpler ones. It had taken a lot of failures and research to get them working, but I didn¡¯t see why anyone couldn¡¯t learn to use them with a similar amount of effort.

    I sat on my knees staring at my bed, trying to think of anything else I¡¯d need. I wouldn¡¯t take my robe or my cloak. Just the thought of putting them on in the summer heat was disgusting. If it rained while I was out there, that would only be welcome. Fresh water might be an issue. Finding drinking water in the swamp was always difficult, and had to be worse in summer. After a moment¡¯s hesitation I grabbed my soot-stained cup and threw it into my bag, along with my fire-striker and a pouch of Tom¡¯s tea-substitute. If I was desperate, I could make tea, which had to be safer than drinking the swamp water cold.

    I could have spent another hour thinking and planning, but I was on a schedule. Eventually I stood up and left the cell, heading back towards the main entrance.

    I spotted Tom coming in as we passed through the common room. He froze for a second, then headed straight for me.

    ¡°Dorian-¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t stop,¡± I said, cutting him off. ¡°I might be gone for a few days. Will you be alright with your assignment?¡±

    His eyes went wide. ¡°I have to translate a bit out of a book in the library.¡±

    I looked from Tom to the door. Gail would probably be waiting for me by the gate by now. If I was lucky. If I wasn¡¯t, she might have left without me.

    This was a particularly cruel assignment for Tom. He hadn¡¯t even been able to read before coming here, and six months of sparse lessons hadn¡¯t done any miracles. He¡¯d definitely need help for this.

    ¡°From what language?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Jason says its ¡®Old¡¯ something.¡±

    ¡°Old Irisian?¡±

    ¡°That sounds like it.¡±

    Jason shouldn¡¯t have been allowed within ten feet of any Old Irisian text, but he was the only other person in the group who¡¯d have a clue. If it was a particularly simple and literal passage he might be able to manage it.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Get Jason¡¯s help with it,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll be back before deadline day and I¡¯ll double check it. Don¡¯t hand it in without showing me.¡±

    ¡°All right,¡± Tom said.

    I turned and headed for the door.

    ¡°If you see Adrian, tell him to feed Arcometi,¡± I called back.

    There was no reply from Tom as I left the barracks and stepped out into the baking heat of the late morning sun.

    Gail hadn¡¯t left without me, and she wasn¡¯t at the gate. She was just outside, leaning against the wall of the barracks. She¡¯d positioned the robe over her shoulders so that a fold of fabric covered her head and shaded her face. I pulled up my own scarf and wrapped it loosely around my head. We¡¯d all learned to cover as much skin as we could bear when we had to go out under the midday sun.

    ¡°I slept here when I first arrived,¡± she said. ¡°There were twenty of us. Half of them were gentled in the first two months.¡±

    I hesitated. Thoughts of my assignment sank into the background.

    ¡°Are you okay with that?¡± I asked.

    ¡°With gentling?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°No. If it were up to me, I¡¯d just expel them. Let them fend for themselves in the wild. Most would die anyway, or become possessed, but at least it¡¯d be in their hands. That¡¯s cleaner, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I agree.¡±

    Despite everything she¡¯d said so far, and how casually she asked about killing the runaways, her answer helped something in my gut relax. At least I¡¯d be traveling with someone I could view as human.

    ¡°Down the south path, then?¡± she asked.

    I nodded.

    ¡°Do you have food and water?¡± I asked. I didn¡¯t want to find out an hour into the journey that she expected me to share.

    ¡°I have some. I won¡¯t need much.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°Maja can keep you on your feet in place of food,¡± she said, setting off towards the ramp that led down to the bottom terrace. ¡°And I keep myself cold with Winter aspect.¡±

    I stood in place for a second. The prospect of being cold was suddenly the most important thing in the world.

    ¡°How do you use that?¡± I asked, hurrying to catch up with her.

    ¡°I use it internally. Just a little, to keep the temperature down.¡±

    ¡°How did you learn it?¡± I asked.

    I wasn¡¯t expecting an answer. It was the kind of information students traded, threatened, and occasionally killed for.

    My expectation seemed to be right. Gail was quiet all the way to the ramp, then down to where the grounds met the gate.

    She kept her silence all the way up to the gate. When she finally spoke I realized she must have been thinking all that time.

    ¡°Have you ever been so cold that you thought you were already dead?¡± she asked, pausing just short of the gate. ¡°After you stop shivering, after the point that you start to feel hot. You forget where you are, you stop needing to breathe, and even your heart feels like it¡¯s stopped, but somehow you¡¯re still awake?¡±

    I slowed to a stop next to her. I thought about the night I¡¯d spent down in the swamp, back at the start of spring, soaked by rain and exposed to the night¡¯s chill. I¡¯d known that I was in danger from the cold, but it hadn¡¯t been as deep as the cold she was describing.

    ¡°No,¡± I said.

    ¡°That¡¯s what it takes. You have to freeze to death, then come back.¡± She set off again, walking through the gate.

    I followed a few seconds later, wincing as the sharp attention of the gate¡¯s defenses washed over me.

    So many maja aspects needed traumatic experiences to unlock. It sounded like Gail had found what she¡¯d needed to use Winter aspect before she ever even came to the academy.

    As we walked down the academy road, I experimentally pulled a cord of maja from my core and wound it through my arm. I thought back to the night in the tree, soaked-through with spring rain and near frozen from the cold air. I pushed the memory onto my gathered maja, but it didn¡¯t take. The energy seemed to squirm, but remained as it was, unaspected.

    Next to me, Gail gave a laugh.

    ¡°Are you trying it?¡±

    I let go of my maja.

    ¡°It won¡¯t work,¡± she said. ¡°You can¡¯t just throw any old idea at maja and have it take. It has to be pure, and you have to understand it on a primitive level. For something like Winter, it takes coming close to death to gain that understanding.¡±

    We walked in silence for a while after that. I¡¯d come across the idea that aspects needed understanding before. From Lectuous¡¯s riddle of Thought, to the relatively simple process of learning Fire aspect, both methods needed understanding. Jason¡¯s description of the method for unlocking Blade aspect suggested that there was a learning process involved. Piercing paper, silk, and tin with a knife, over and over implied an understanding that would come with repetition. It was possible that someone with the right experiences might need less work to reach that understanding. A mage who¡¯d lived their life as a leather worker or a butcher might already understand the meaning of a blade in a way that a scribe¡¯s apprentice would struggle with. The only blade I¡¯d used regularly was the small knife I¡¯d used to put nibs on my pens, and I didn¡¯t see that leading to a useful aspect.

    A few hundred feet down the mountain road we reached a place where the wind-ragged shrubs opened up in a narrow gap, a foot wide. Gail stepped off the path and pushed through the gap, disappearing down into a dip.

    This had to be the southern path, the other way down the mountain, leading to the South Wilds Wetlands.

    I paused at the edge of the road. From here, I was going to be in danger, from the terrain, from mountain spirits, and even from Gail.

    I reached down and untied the cord around my wrist. I freed the reed ring and slipped it onto my middle finger. I looking around, trying to pick up any warnings, but the prey spirit scrived into the ring didn¡¯t appear and after a few seconds I set off after her.

    The path turned out to be narrow and overgrown, used rarely enough that the shrubs and weeds had taken over, making moving along it more like wading than walking. I found myself walking ahead of Gail, using the tip of my sword to push the thornier plants out of the way and snap through branches.

    It was slow going, and we were already far behind. Privately, I¡¯d already resigned myself to failing this assignment. I wasn¡¯t going to drag the runaways back to the academy, and I certainly wasn¡¯t going to hurt them. If I saw evidence that they¡¯d died in the swamp then that would be ideal, but I wasn¡¯t going to hope for it. It felt like a safe conviction to hold, when they were so far ahead.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see how we could even catch them after a four day head start,¡± I said.

    ¡°You heard the Reeve,¡± Gail said behind me. ¡°They¡¯ll have to walk a winding path to avoid the screamers. If we travel across the water, we can catch up.¡±

    ¡°What are the screamers?¡± I asked.

    ¡°A spirit that lives in the water in the South Wilds. It¡¯s only a threat to people who enter the water with it.¡±

    ¡°And how will we go straight through that?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll enter the water with it.¡±

    The walk seemed harder after that. Wading through the swamp was enough of a nightmare without hostile spirits making it harder. If I was failing the assignment anyway, couldn¡¯t I just stay at home?

 32. Lost in Deep Water 3/7

    An enormous toad blocked our way. It sat in the middle of one of the muddy landbanks south of the mountain, six feet high and more than ten across, its eyes moving independently as tracking things only it could see. It was brown-skinned, with a pair of fleshy horns rising from ridges above its eyes, and mottled black shapes that almost looked like paintings running down its back. It was clearly a spirit, and fully corporeal. Given its size, that meant it was probably a local power in this part of the swamp.

    Gail came to a stop. She let out the smallest sigh, looking more like someone who¡¯d come across a fallen tree they¡¯d have to climb over than a powerful, probably dangerous spirit.

    ¡°Spirit, move aside,¡± she called.

    The toad¡¯s eyes swiveled to point at her the second she spoke. It stared at her for moment, then belched a wordless croak. The noise went on for several seconds, loud enough that it made ripples dance across the surface of the muddy puddles between us.

    ¡°Spirit, move aside, or I¡¯ll toast your skin off and leave you dissolving in the water.¡±

    The toad turned to face her fully and hunkered down, lowering its head like it was going to charge.

    Gail pulled on her maja, the sensation of prickling straw washing out from her like the heat from a fire. I grabbed the hilt of my sword and drew it. The short blade wouldn¡¯t do much unless I found a weak point.

    The toad responded by parting its jaws. A blob of pink bloomed out from between its lips, and then a giant pink tongue was flying at her.

    I pulled on my maja, squeezing it into place along my spine and the back of my head. A thudding pain sprung up behind my eyes as the reactions-enhancing technique took effect.

    The tip of the tongue became a blob of wax, oozing through the air towards Gail. With the world slowed I had time to see her casually step aside, hold out her hand, and release a cloud of energy that tinted the air a sickly green.

    The cloud engulfed the tongue, blackening a section of pink sin over a few fractions of a second. The outer surface corroded into a mess of holes and leaking flesh, and when the tongue reached its full extension it snapped. The blackened section tore like wet paper and the severed end slopped to the mud, contracting like a worm.

    The severed end of the toad¡¯s tongue smoked with free maja as it flew back into its mouth. It opened its jaws again, this time to belch with a croak of wordless anger.

    Gail took a relaxed stance, but from close up I could tell she was still tense. Her voice was as calm and authoritative as always when she spoke. ¡°Now, stand aside.¡±

    The toad wasn¡¯t listening. It rose up on its legs and started charging at her, its padded toes plowing up the mud as it covered the ground as fast as a charging bear.

    I readied a blast of Force aspect, but Gail was ahead of me. She threw out her hands and summoned a torrent of Force that stopped the toad in its tracks. It fought against the onslaught for a second, then leaped out of its path, straight up. It soared through the air, then came down right on top of Gail. She angled her arms up to deflect it, but the Force she was using wasn¡¯t enough to stop something that heavy falling straight at her.

    The toad landed across her body, squelching her into the mud. A second later its jaws were around her, lifting her off the ground, and tossing her back into its mouth.

    I¡¯d seen a toad eat a mouse, once, and the effect was disturbingly similar.

    Its jaws snapped shut. Gail was gone. The toad¡¯s eyes turned on me.

    The pressure behind my eyes from the reflexes technique built to a sharp pain, and I knew from practice that it would only get worse. The configuration of maja that made the world seem to slow to a crawl was powerful in short bursts, but it was an imperfect technique. It put stress on the body that only built up as it was used.

    I let go of my maja, letting it flood back into my core. The speed of the world returned to normal.

    The toad was staring at me with slowly swiveling eyes. It looked like it was about to charge me any second, but for now was locked in place.

    My breath tightened in my chest. I could imagine myself being eaten up as easily as Gail had been. Easier, even. With the reactions technique, I might have been able to dodge the leap that caught Gail, but it wouldn¡¯t matter if it got close to me.

    ¡°I apologize on her behalf,¡± I said clearly.

    The spirit was still a few seconds. It didn¡¯t relax, but it didn¡¯t throw itself at me either. One of its eyes twitched to follow something in the trees, then returned to me a second later.

    ¡°Do you have a name I can call you?¡± I asked it.

    Its mouth parted and a pair of words tumbled out.

    ¡°Hungry Year.¡±

    ¡°Hello, Hungry Year. I¡¯m Dorian, a sorcerer from the mountain.¡±

    I gestured behind me at the looming silhouette of the peak just visible through the mist, though there was no way the spirit could have missed it. It was the most spiritually significant object for a hundred miles.

    ¡°Lots of food comes from the mountain,¡± Hungry Year burbled.

    I kept my expression fixed as its eyes swiveled away, then back to me.

    From a few yards ahead of me, I felt a sudden spike of familiar maja. Bristling straw and sharp spines. It felt like being attacked by a broom.

    Gail was still alive in there and was fighting to get out.

    ¡°Will you do me the favor of spitting out my colleague?¡± I asked.

    ¡°No,¡± the spirit said.

    ¡°What if I do a favor for you in return?¡±

    The toad focused on me, seeming to think about it. Its eyes twisted to stare past each other, before focusing back on me.

    ¡°Yes. Favor,¡± it said. ¡°Give me larger meal. I will let the small meal go.¡±

    I kept my expression neutral as I heard what it wanted. I didn¡¯t have a larger meal for it. Gail was a more advanced sorcerer than me. Even if I vented all of my maja, it wouldn¡¯t add up to larger meal.

    ¡°I¡¯ll have to think about that,¡± I said. ¡°But I still think you should spit her out. She won¡¯t sit well.¡±

    Even as I spoke, I could feel Gail¡¯s maja raging. If she applied all her maja at once as Force, or Corrosion, or even Winter, she could probably kill the spirit from the inside. For now it felt like she was trying to get out without spending more power than she needed to.

    ¡°They all go down in end,¡± the toad said sagely.

    ¡°You¡¯ve never tried a sorcerer that powerful before,¡± I said. ¡°If you don¡¯t spit her back up, she¡¯ll probably kill you. She is a bad meal.¡±

    ¡°I ate bigger,¡± the toad gurgled.

    I took a breath and let it out as a sigh. This was going to take a while, and I didn¡¯t want the spirit to take me by surprise while I was thinking up arguments. I pulled the loop of cord off my wrist and slipped the reed ring onto my finger.

    The pierced bird appeared almost immediately, not close to the toad, but in a tree to my left. It manifested as a fluttering ball, sitting on a branch. It turned its head, looking at me with an eye stabbed through with a thorn. What was back there? Probably not the runaways, this close to the academy, but probably not a spirit either, with Hungry Year so close. Whatever it was didn¡¯t seem to be moving out of its hiding place.

    I turned my attention back to the toad. I could still feel Gail¡¯s maja, ebbing and flowing like she was fighting a magical tug of war with the thing. I was expecting her to escape any moment, but every moment passed with no sign of her. I started to worry the thing might actually be able to keep her down. What was something like this doing at practically the foot of the mountain?

    ¡°How did you come to be so close to the academy?¡± I asked it.

    ¡°Food told me to come,¡± the spirit replied.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    ¡°Someone told you to come here?¡± I asked.

    There weren¡¯t many candidates for who that could have been.

    ¡°Told me I would find bigger food here, if I let it go,¡± the spirit said.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t a pair of students from the academy, by any chance?¡±

    ¡°It was food from the mountain.¡±

    It sounded like the runaways had come across the spirit first, and bought it off with the promise it would get to eat the people sent to chase them down.

    ¡°I can point you at even bigger food, if you spit her out,¡± I said. Spirits were true to their nature. If the trick worked once, the chances were it would work again.

    The toad made a squeaking noise as air escaped its mouth. I could feel Gail¡¯s maja working, and see wisps of green energy seeping out from between its jaws.

    ¡°What bigger food?¡± it asked.

    ¡°I know a powerful spider spirit called Arcometi. If you let us go and return, I can order it to come down the mountain to be your meal.¡±

    I kept to technical truths, worried that even spirits might be able to tell a lie. The spider was powerful, by its own reckoning. And I could order it to come down the mountain, even if I knew it would ignore me.

    When I saw that the toad was actually starting to consider my offer, I decided that the spirit probably wasn¡¯t that complex. Just something of hunger and ambition, biting off more than it could chew over and over, and somehow succeeding, until it had become something huge.

    The toad made a low bubbling sound. Its eyes crossed and uncrossed, then it lifted itself up to its full height and focused on me.

    ¡°We have deal, Dorian of Mountain.¡±

    As it spoke, there was a massive surge of maja from inside it, a rash of prickling straw. The energy swelled up, then vanished as the entire mass was aspected at once. I recognized the pattern. I¡¯d done it myself.

    A second later the toad exploded. Its skin popped open like a bursting corn kernel, red-brown spirit flesh blossoming out as its body was practically quartered by the blast.

    Gail crouched in the ruin of what had been its stomach. The robe she wore around her head and neck was blackened and covered in green-yellow slime, her hair looking ragged and singed.

    She stood up slowly, meeting my eyes over the smoking ruin of the spirit¡¯s body. Apart from the superficial damage, she seemed fine. She didn¡¯t even seem to be injured from when the the spirit had fallen on her.

    ¡°What were you doing out here?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Trying to negotiate your release,¡± I said.

    ¡°We don¡¯t beg for favors from spirits. We use them, or we brush them aside.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not at the point where I can just brush everything aside. I¡¯m not sure you are either.¡±

    She made a disgusted noise and turned away from me. She pulled off the robe she was wearing as a cloak and shook it out. A lot of the sickly color seemed to disperse from it, giving off the same green light as the Corrosion aspect I¡¯d seen before. Maybe the toad had been using its own Corrosion.

    The fluttering of wings caught my eye, and I turned to see the pierced bird flitting around the branches it had been sitting on before.

    Gail set off walking again, striding through the scattered pieces of spirit.

    ¡°Wait,¡± I called after her.

    I took a few steps towards the trees, changing angle until I had a clear line of sight to where the bird was sitting.

    Just behind the next cluster of trees, hidden by leaves, was a cantogram. Someone had peeled the outer layer of bark off a tree and carved the symbol into its trunk. I recognized it immediately, the Wraith¡¯s Lantern canto. It was a cantogram that would create light, at the cost of gradually inducing a wasting sickness in anyone who was exposed to it. This one had a modification; in the empty space at the center was the carving of an eye.

    ¡°Gail, stop,¡± I called. The cantogram was angled to face directly at the road.

    She stepped into line with it and the symbol on the tree gave off a sound like two wooden blocks knocking together. A sound like hissing started up, and the carved design started to glow.

    I spun on the spot and threw out my hands, throwing a rolling wave of Force at Gail¡¯s back. It knocked her forward, pushing her out of the way just as the cantogram activated.

    Bright white light shone out of the trees. It was focused in a beam, bathing the section of path where Gail had just been standing in blinding white. I covered my eyes the second I saw the light, and only lowered my arm when it¡¯d passed.

    There were still spots in my eyes as I pulled my arm away from my face. I could make out Gail lying face down in the mud a few yards ahead.

    All that was left of the canto on the tree was a smoking mess of scars. Whatever maja-rich material it had been set with hadn¡¯t stood up to the energy it¡¯d channeled.

    Gail threw herself to her feet and rounded on me, but the dark expression on her face slipped away when she saw the spot where she¡¯d been standing.

    A large, irregular patch of ground was a completely different color to the rest. It was lighter, and the mud was covered in a thin crust, as if it¡¯d spent an afternoon baking in bright sun.

    ¡°What was that?¡± she asked.

    I turned away from her and walked up to the tree. I could just about make out the remains of the cantogram where the wood hadn¡¯t burned away.

    ¡°A cantogram-based trap,¡± I said. ¡°The toad spirit was manipulated to wait for us here, and I think the runaways set this trap as well. It must have been Gortan Oake. Seil didn¡¯t know anything about cantos.¡±

    She came up and stared at the cantogram for a minute. If she thought she could memorize it from the mess left behind after it burned out, she was out of luck. Eventually she turned away, heading off down the road.

    ¡°Be sure to warn me if you see another,¡± she said.

    I spent the minute examining the center of the diagram, which had been relatively well preserved. I took a few seconds to pull out some paper and record the way the eye had been connected to the rest. I wasn¡¯t sure I¡¯d be able to do anything with the information. Just drawing an eye didn¡¯t have any magical effect. There had to be another component to it I wasn¡¯t seeing, maybe a scrived spirit with orders to activate the canto at the right moment. There was no sign of any spirit, now.

    When Gail was more than fifty yards ahead of me I bundled my papers back into my pack and set off after her.

    I passed by pieces of spirit flesh on the way. The air was thick with maja, a tingling cut-grass smell, all of it smoking off the fragments of the toad. In another time, this might have been a good place to accumulate. The maja in the air here wasn¡¯t any less dense than what had been coming out of the maja spring we¡¯d found on academy grounds.

    I noticed one of the pieces of flesh was moving. It was an irregular pink lump, about a foot across, twitching and stretching back and forth. It had four stubby nodes that looked like they could have been the start of limbs all waggling uselessly in the air, and as I paused to watch, I saw a slit open into a wide mouth. The spirit was regrowing itself a body. This piece of flesh must have been core to it, somehow, or it was just the biggest intact piece. A second later a pair of dimples appeared, becoming tiny eyes.

    It was still alive, powerful enough to survive the damage to it had taken to corporeal form. It wouldn¡¯t be as big as before when it recovered, but maybe that would be better for it. It wouldn¡¯t have so much trouble finding meals bigger than it could handle.

    It had been a dangerous spirit, one of the threats that stopped students from just running away, but now it was just another part of the swamp¡¯s background spirit life.

    I used the tip of my sandal to flip the lump over, and it immediately started wriggling away on its stubby limbs. It went straight to the nearest piece of brown-red flesh, opened its flat line of a mouth, and started chomping on it.

    I turned away from it and hurried after Gail.

    ¡°Was that Corrosion aspect, you were using back there?¡± I asked, a minute after I¡¯d caught up.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said easily. ¡°The spirit too. Most of my efforts were going to keeping it off me with my own mastery.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯d tell me how to learn Corrosion?¡± I said.

    ¡°Drink acid,¡± she replied.

    I wasn¡¯t completely sure if she was giving me the technique, or suggesting that I should go and kill myself.

    The rest of the day passed with only a few scuffles with minor local spirits. A possessed vine curled down out of a tree like a snake to try and choke Gail, only to turn black and slough to the ground. A spirit in the shape of a giant wasp stung me and immediately died, and half an hour later a smaller version of it hatched out of my skin, the swollen spot itching and stinging the whole way through. At one point we passed a pile of mud which was singing quietly to itself in nonsense words. It didn¡¯t respond to any of my questions, but also didn¡¯t seem to pose any kind of threat.

    We didn¡¯t see any signs of our prey until dusk of the first day.

    Just as the sun was sinking into the swamp, we came across a stretch of stagnant water wider than the others we¡¯d passed. The bank was choked with weeds and cattails, the surface further out rippling with mortal insect life and the movement of underwater fish.

    About thirty feet out into the water, a ragged piece of gray fabric floated on the surface, caught in a bloom of submerged weeds. A Potentiate¡¯s robe.

 33. Lost in Deep Water 4/7

    The robe hadn¡¯t been there more than a couple of days, going by its condition. Unless some other Initiates had been out in this dangerous part of the swamp, it was from one of the students we¡¯d been sent to bring back.

    I walked out onto a muddy outcropping stopped at the water¡¯s edge, staring out at the robe. Gail came to stand beside me a minute later. She followed my gaze to the tattered fabric.

    ¡°It¡¯s probably from one of our runaways,¡± I said.

    ¡°Agreed. They must have tried to wade out.¡±

    She reached up and twisted her hand in the air. Her maja flared, and the robe shot up with a spray of rot-scented water.

    The fabric hung in the air, slowly unfolding. It was stained in places with blood.

    ¡°They were injured,¡± Gail concluded.

    ¡°So one of them is dead, at least,¡± I said, looking at the bloodstained robe.

    ¡°It¡¯s possible,¡± Gail said.

    ¡°If we agree that he¡¯s dead, then that¡¯s one less runaway we need to account for.¡±

    She thought about that for a few seconds, before saying, ¡°You¡¯re right. This is the start of screamer territory. They probably drowned him.¡± She released her grip on her maja and the robe fell, hitting the surface with a wet clapping sound.

    I surveyed the way ahead. The only way forward if we wanted to follow solid ground was to our right, a winding bank of mud and stunted trees that looked like it might go around for miles just to reach the far bank.

    The other side was no more than forty feet away in a straight line, but there was no visibility in the muddy water. It could have been ankle-deep or deep enough to disappear into and it would look the same.

    If we were going to catch up, this is the place where Gail wanted to leave the path and enter the water. After seeing the bloodstained robe, I had reservations.

    ¡°What are the screamers like?¡± I asked.

    Gail slowly approached the edge then stepped out, dipping her foot into the shallows. She waited for a minute, watching the surface.

    Just when I thought she¡¯d been wrong about screamer territory, the fluttering of brown wings caught my attention at the edge of my vision. I turned to see the pierced bird spirit flitting through the air. Behind it, the water was churning. Something was emerging from the surface.

    ¡°Like that,¡± Gail said.

    A mangled form slowly rose out of the water, the shape of it setting my heart racing.

    My first thought was that it was a corpse. A misshapen head sagged on top of a bloated torso, while a wrapping of aquatic plants and dead leaves bound its stunted arms and legs to its body, like it¡¯d been dressed for burial. Its skin was the same murky green as the water and its long hair was the black of rot. Its eyes were closed, and where its feet met the water a thick vine emerged from the legs before disappearing into the murk. The vine was supporting it.

    I drew my sword, but the spirit didn¡¯t move from the water. It stayed where it was, swaying gently like a cattail stalk.

    As soon as I could think past the pounding in my ears, I started to see problems with the body.

    The arms and legs weren¡¯t fully formed, just approximations of limbs that were amalgamated into the central trunk. Its face was barely human, the eyelids bulging too much to be natural, the nose just a triangular stub, with asymmetrical cheeks and a mouth that was nothing but a ridged slash above the chin. It wasn¡¯t a corpse. It was child¡¯s clay sculpture.

    ¡°That¡¯s part of it, anyway,¡± Gail said. She reached out with her foot and dimpled the water further in with the toe of her sandal.

    The false mouth of the corpse-thing bulged open. A noise emerged from the hole. The scream didn¡¯t sound human or animal, more like the blowing of a whistle, or the ringing of a crystal glass. The noise jabbed at my ears like needles. My skull tingled, and even my blood felt like it was shaking. It was a noise suffused by maja, a magical attack as much as an unbearable noise. I dropped my sword to cover my ears, but it barely helped.

    Gail stepped back out of the water and the sound stopped.

    I lowered my hands. I noticed they were shaking when I crouched to pick up my sword.

    ¡°That¡¯s just one,¡± she said. ¡°The spirit that makes them will throw up more if we step out any deeper. If we block our ears and strike before they can scream, we can probably fight our way through.¡±

    I stared at the corpse-like thing, my heart pounding, needles of pain still lodged in my ears from the noise.

    ¡°How big is its territory?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Several miles across, at least.¡±

    I shook my head. Maybe Gail could do it, but I¡¯d had enough trouble with the behr. I knew from experience how difficult and exhausting fighting in the water was, and I didn¡¯t even know any aspects that would hurt it. I turned to the right, looking down the land bank.

    ¡°If we ran along the path, we might still catch up,¡± I said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you really believe that,¡± Gail said.

    The water started thrashing a little further out. Another of the corpse-figures rose above the surface. This one was different to the first in small details, but broadly the same.

    I looked from one to the other.

    ¡°I can¡¯t fight through miles of water.¡± I said.

    ¡°You feel like you have the strength to.¡±

    I looked up at her, then away.

    My accumulation had come a long way since my last big expenditure of maja, when I¡¯d revolted against Master Sectus. I estimated that I¡¯d at least doubled my stores from the time I¡¯d arrived.

    Practice had made me better at accumulation, and the more maja I had, the more I could drag back from the fold when I accumulated. I still didn¡¯t have the power to fight a running battle for miles.

    Gail had been here longer than I had. She¡¯d probably been accumulating for longer, with more access to resources like the maja spring. She might even have a spirit siphon of her own, and she didn¡¯t seem like someone who¡¯d feel bad about using it. I wasn¡¯t surprised she had more power than me to throw around.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I have the aspects,¡± I said instead. ¡°I know Force and Wheel, but I don¡¯t think either would help much here.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s it? How long have you been here?¡±

    ¡°Six months.¡±

    She wrinkled her nose. ¡°If we build a fire, we can teach you the Fire aspect. That¡¯ll do some damage to them.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not putting my hand in fire,¡± I said.

    Gail made an annoyed sound. ¡°Then you suggest something.¡±

    More of the screamers appeared while we talked, like town guards coming to investigate a noise. Each one that rose above the water was the same kind of deformed corpse, all misshapen and clearly unnatural on a second look.

    Now that I knew they weren¡¯t about to just throw themselves at me, I was able to look at them more carefully.

    They all had the same vine emerging from their legs, each one coiling away in the same rough direction.

    ¡°Are theses all one spirit?¡± I asked.

    Gail followed my gaze. ¡°If it is, the central body is out of our reach, and probably too powerful to face directly. Unless you have a poison or something like it that will spread through those vines.¡±

    I continued following the vines with my eyes, trying to track them through the murky water. Whatever the spirit was, it must have been huge. With a lot of work, I might be able to get my spirit siphon scroll onto one of the false corpses, but that would barely be a pinprick to something this big.

    ¡°Is it intelligent?¡± I asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you¡¯d tell. They don¡¯t speak, only scream.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to try speaking to it,¡± I said.

    Gail raised an eyebrow, then held out her hand for me to go ahead.

    I turned to the closest corpse, thought back to Lectuous¡¯s riddle, and threw a burst of Thought aspect maja at it.

    <Do you understand me?> I sent.

    A second later, another corpse rose out of the water, this one only a couple of feet away. I got a good look at it as I stumbled back, watching the water drain away from its bulging features. This close I could smell rot and stagnation rolling off it, maja smells that tingled in my throat.

    When I was sure that it wasn¡¯t going to scream or attack me, I sent another thought.

    <If you understand me, please pull back some of the bodies.>

    The water started churning. More of the mud-molded corpses appeared, rising out of the water like soldiers waking up in camp.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Gail asked.

    ¡°Trying to communicate with Thought aspect,¡± I said.

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not working.¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s working. It¡¯s just not helping.¡±

    <We¡¯re willing to barter for passage through your water,> I sent to the closest extension of the spirit.

    After a few seconds, no more of the corpses had appeared. I took it as encouragement.

    ¡°Do you have any idea what it wants?¡± I asked Gail.

    ¡°It wants to scream at us until we lose our balance, and then it wants to drown us in the water.¡±

    ¡°Does it eat the people it drowns?¡±

    ¡°How could I possibly know?¡± Gail said, then after a second added, ¡°I¡¯m going to start burning them soon.¡±

    ¡°Just hold fire for a minute.¡±

    <We can offer food, maja, or information,> I sent at it. I was sure we could find something to feed it if it was only killing people for meat. After half a minute with no response, I followed up with, <Is there anything else you want?>

    After another few seconds, the corpse thing closest to me started to change. Its torso bulged, then rippled, then burst open. A single dark green vine extended from the cavity, supporting a hairy head-like clump at its tip. The vine extended out over the water, then reached out over the muddy ground. It stilled for a moment, then the hairy shape at its end cracked open. From inside, something dark fell to the ground.

    The tendril withdrew to the water, hovering around the body. I leaned forward to peer at what it had dropped.

    The object was about the size of my hand, brown, approximately rectangular with bulging sides. It was covered in a tough-looking hairy skin that made me think of boar hide. Without any other context I would have thought it was someone¡¯s rawhide coin purse, but after seeing the vines, and smelling the pond-scum stench of the spirit, I couldn¡¯t see it as anything other than a seed.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Gail asked, interested.

    <Is this the price?> I sent at it. <What should we do with it?>

    The vine still protruding from the corpse-thing¡¯s chest made a sweeping motion, then plunged and slapped the water.

    <I don¡¯t understand.>

    The motion repeated, this time hitting the water more emphatically, making a splash so large that the spray dusted the bank.

    <You want us to throw it into water?> I sent.

    At that the vine slowly withdrew into the corpse-thing¡¯s chest, the clay-like flesh of the extrusion closing up around it. Message delivered. It wanted us to throw the seed into water. But not this water, or it would do it itself. It wanted us to bring it somewhere it didn¡¯t already control.

    ¡°It wants us to help it spread,¡± I said.

    Gail thought for a few seconds, then shrugged one shoulder. ¡°Easily done. I¡¯ll leave it to you.¡±

    I swallowed, then stepped down to the edge of the water. Crouching, I reached out and picked up the seed. The surface of it was wet, but the hairs clung to my skin, reminding me of seed burrs. It felt strangely warm in my hand, like a freshly baked pie.

    I rose slowly, watching the water for any more disturbances, but the remaining corpse things just floated above the water.

    <I¡¯ll throw this into water somewhere else in the swamp,> I offered. <In return, you¡¯ll let us cross through the water?>

    I waited for any kind of reaction. Eventually the corpse furthest from us started to sink slowly into the water. Another followed, disappearing into the murk with a went slopping sound. Another two sank, and then the rest. Within a couple of minutes there was no sign of them. It was the clearest invitation I could imagine.

    I turned to Gail. ¡°I think I¡¯ve negotiated our passage,¡± I said.

    She looked from me, to the water, then back at me. She looked pleasantly surprised.

    ¡°I¡¯ll let you test the strength of your negotiations,¡± she offered, not moving from where she stood.

    I stared at her for a second, then turned back to face the water. Screamers aside, I really didn¡¯t want to get wet again.

    ¡°If the screamers come for me, will you help me get out?¡± I asked.

    ¡°No,¡± she answered. ¡°I¡¯ll use your distraction to rush past them.¡±

    ¡°What if you need my help with the runaways?¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± she said. After a second she conceded, ¡°I promise not to throw rocks at you while you¡¯re drowning.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said. I turned back to the water.

    I reached out and tapped the water with the tip of my sandal. When Gail had done it, it had prompted a reaction. This time there was nothing.

    I took a step out into the water.

    The mud under the surface bubbled slightly as my sandal came down. My foot sunk to the ankle in silt then stopped. I could feel something under the muddy bottom, like ridged stone or hard roots. It felt sharp enough that I¡¯d be worried about it cutting my feet if I weren¡¯t wearing sandals, but it seemed to be supporting my weight.

    I took another step out, this time the water coming up to my knee.

    Against the hot summer air, the silty water was a mixed comfort. The muck in it clung to my skin and pants legs, and I knew from experience that washing it out would be a nightmare, but at least it was a relief from the heat.

    A few more steps took me ten feet out from the bank. At its deepest, the water didn¡¯t come up past my stomach and I continued walking. I kept imagining my toes touching one of the sunken corpse shapes, imagining the rough slime-covered skin against mine, but so far I hadn¡¯t met anything but silt and the strangely ridged surface at the bottom.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    I turned around and looked back at Gail.

    ¡°I think we have permission to cross,¡± I called to her.

    She looked at the water, eyebrows raised speculatively. She stepped down the bank, repeated her tapping the water test, then after a few seconds of silence started wading out. There was no reaction from the spirit.

    The two of us continued wading across the water. We dragged ourselves out to walk across the next bank of muddy ground between wet stretches, then struck out across the next shallow stretch of wetland. I occasionally caught sight of shapes moving just below the surface, and ripples crossing our path with no obvious source, but the screamers themselves didn¡¯t make another appearance.

    With the spirit placated, the journey became no harder than my trip out to fight the moonrise Behr for Tom. Easier if anything, since this part of the swamp didn¡¯t seem to have any leeches, mosquitoes, or other pests. There wasn¡¯t even any other local spirit life.

    With every stretch of water, we bypassed miles of meandering muddy pathways. My concern went from being that we wouldn¡¯t catch up, failing our assignment without ever exercising a choice, to the fear that we would catch up, I¡¯d be forced to choose what to do. Eventually that morphed into the fear that we¡¯d already passed them, and were now traveling out further than they could possibly have reached on the land trail.

    We were making so much progress that it was a surprise when night fell. One minute we were wading across the water in a deep purple dusk, the next the sun had disappeared below the horizon, casting the swamp into shadow.

    ¡°We should stop for the night,¡± I called back to Gail.

    ¡°Agreed,¡± she shouted.

    I led us to the bank and hauled myself out. The land here was muddy and the warm air smelled of something fetid.

    I reached the next bank and hauled myself out. Gail followed a minute later, soaked up to her shoulders.

    I busied myself looking for a good place to set up. The ground between stretches of water was soft, but the layer of grass covering it here would stop it soaking me through if I sat on it. There were trees with places to sit in the branches as well, but having tried that before I knew how uncomfortable it would get.

    I left Gail behind to walk out into the trees a little way to a place I could wring out my shirt. It was still damp when I put it back on, but even after sunset the air was still warm. It would probably dry before I fell asleep. I dropped my pack to the ground and opened it, checking on my supplies.

    Everything important was wrapped in a waxed canvas sheet. It wouldn¡¯t survive being immersed for more than a second, but it had protected the food and writing supplies from the splashes it¡¯d been hit with so far. The hair-covered seed was there as well, still warm but otherwise inert.

    I hoisted the pack back onto my shoulder and headed out to find Gail.

    She was standing with her eyes shut and hands pressed together. As I broke out of the trees, her maja surged in a flare of dry needle-points. A wind blew up out of nowhere, shaking the grass and pulling up dead leaves. The artificial wind flapped at her clothes, and even from ten feet away I could feel the heat of it blowing off her.

    She maintained the magic for minute before lowering her hands and opening her eyes. She saw me staring and shot me a glare.

    ¡°What are you looking at?¡±

    ¡°Just wondering what that was,¡± I said.

    ¡°Fire and Wind aspects.¡±

    She turned away, pulling the robe she was wearing as a cloak off her shoulders and throwing it over a branch.

    ¡°You know a lot of aspects,¡± I said.

    ¡°Yes. I collect them,¡± she replied over her shoulder. ¡°You should too, unless you want to die.¡±

    ¡°I would if I could,¡± I said. ¡°How do you learn Wind?¡±

    ¡°Climb to the peak of the mountain and throw yourself off.¡±

    I stared for a second, then turned away. I went to a patch of ground under one of the trees and sat down on a raised mat of dry earth that had formed between the roots.

    A dozen feet away, Gail was climbing into a tree and settling down on a spot where two branches met. Either she had a magical way to ignore discomfort, or she¡¯d just been conditioned to it. Before settling down, she pulled a long pin from a hand-sewn pocket and placed it on the branch next to her. When she pulled her hand away, it stood where it was, balancing upright on its tip. I wondered if it was a spirit-scrived object, like my ring.

    I looked around for any sign of the pierced bird spirit, but it was nowhere to be seen. If I was in any danger here, then it was too subtle for the spirit to see.

    I moved my pack so I could lean back on it and pulled out my notes on the Wraith¡¯s Lantern trap. I spent a while studying the connections between the eye design and the rest of the canto.

    When I glanced up at Gail a few minutes later she seemed like she was already asleep.

    I couldn¡¯t help but feel jealous of her command over magic. She was so much more advanced as a sorcerer than me. Was that just the difference spending a year here made? If that was it, then I should have been at least as half as advanced as her, but I wasn¡¯t. She¡¯d demonstrated three aspects that I would have classed as rare. Corrosion, Wind, and Winter. She had Fire and Force as well, both relatively easy to learn.

    I only knew Force, Wheel, and Thought. I¡¯d never been tempted to try and learn Fire, and I hadn¡¯t picked up Agony even after being subjected to it by Mira. Thought was my only rare aspect, and it had limited uses.

    What was the difference between us? I was studious, and I¡¯d studied, and my bet that focusing on structured magic would give me more flexibility had been right. But flexibility wasn¡¯t necessarily what counted here.

    Our assignments expected us to travel, search, find, and fight. The ability to heat a room or amplify light didn¡¯t come into it. I¡¯d come here as a village scribe, and I couldn¡¯t help but think I¡¯d been learning the magic useful for that scribe¡¯s life.

    I comforted myself that no matter what happened, I at least wouldn¡¯t be much help bringing the runaways in. I wouldn¡¯t be able to prevent it, either.

    What would happen if we actually caught up with them? How would I stop Gail from killing them or bringing them back?

    However I imagined it, I wouldn¡¯t be able to. I could push her around with Force, assuming she hadn¡¯t learned Stillness, but I had no defense against Corrosion. Winter would slow me. Fire would burn me. Several minutes of preparation would get me a Storm¡¯s Gate canto to use, but it would be a single bolt of lightning in terrain that didn¡¯t favor it.

    Had I wasted my time at the academy?

    And if I couldn¡¯t fight a student just a few months my senior, how would I ever fight a graduate sorcerer, or a Reeve, or a Master?

    It was a surprise to realize I¡¯d even been considering fighting with the staff, but now that I had, confronting the thought made me even more hopeless. If I hit an academy master with my most powerful Storm¡¯s Gate, would it even land, or would it hit a hidden defense? If it landed, would it hurt them? Could even lightning stop a Reeve¡¯s heart?

    Beyond knowledge of aspects, I was lacking knowledge of how mages fought, what they were vulnerable to. Short of experimentation, I wasn¡¯t sure how to find out. It wasn¡¯t information available in the library. But there was no other source of knowledge here. Trying to get it from anywhere else was like trying to get blood from a stone.

    I found myself wishing I had my journal. Writing helped me order my thoughts. Sometimes I felt like my hand was as important as my head for my ability to think.

    I glanced over at Gail. Shock ran through me when I realized one of her eyes was open, a point of bright blue in the fading light. She was watching me.

    ¡°You¡¯re in over your head, aren¡¯t you,¡± she said quietly.

    ¡°It¡¯s the first assignment where I¡¯ve had to hunt someone,¡± I answered.

    Her eye rolled up to gaze at the foliage above her.

    ¡°It will be familiar enough work, soon enough.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want it to be familiar.¡±

    She sighed.

    ¡°I was like you, back at the start.¡±

    I puzzled over the statement for a few seconds, wondering exactly what she meant. She spoke again, removing the need to ask.

    ¡°A moralizer,¡± she clarified. ¡°I came from a village in northern Cortiss. I said my prayers every night, and honored my elders every day. I¡¯d even reconciled myself to marrying the dolt the village chiefs picked out for me. I was chained to that pathetic life, and how I wailed when the Reeve scout came for me.¡±

    She turned to lay on her side across the branch, looking as comfortable as if it were a feather bed.

    ¡°Did they have arranged marriages where you came from?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Not in Kirkswill,¡± I said.

    I¡¯d heard of things being that way in some other Losirisian villages. Kirkswill had a mayor chosen from among the townspeople, but there were villages run by chiefs or councils of elders. The more rural the towns got, the more deeply stuck in their old ways they were.

    ¡°Well, let me tell you, what I saw then as a nightmare was actually my salvation.¡±

    ¡°What about the assignments?¡± I asked. ¡°What about gentling? Isn¡¯t that just as bad?¡±

    ¡°The assignments? I¡¯m not talking about the freedom to ignore my responsibilities,¡± she said. ¡°My freedom here started with what I was able to think. I grew up in a place of very narrow thought. Here, my eyes were opened. ¡®It is not to receive, but to take.¡¯ The Path spoke to me. I didn¡¯t have to suffer through what the world had foisted on me. I had it in me to take the future I wanted.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not how it was for me,¡± I said. ¡°I was taken from a good home. I¡¯d already chosen my future. So had the others in my group. The people I knew who got the failure¡¯s fate would have gone back home, if they could.¡±

    She twisted on the branch, turning to look away.

    ¡°I won¡¯t disagree with you about the war beasts,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯d kill Sectus if I could.¡±

    I sat up, looking at her. ¡°Would that even put a stop to it?¡±

    ¡°It might. Grandmaster Korn must know how it works, but beyond that the knowledge is kept secret. I think Sectus guards it to protect himself from being replaced. The ceremonies are private. Only Sectus, the failures, and whatever apprentices Sectus can control are there for it.¡±

    I thought back to the account I¡¯d read from Reeve Paladius¡¯s apprentice, Saverell. The transcript had been from a hundred years ago, before Master Sectus had been in charge of the infirmary and gentling. The details of how it worked hadn¡¯t been common knowledge even then, even among the Reeves.

    Having read about the spirit that dwelt in the gentling scar, what Saverell¡¯s subject had called the Companion, what it did and how it worked, I might know more about gentling than some Masters.

    ¡°How far would you be willing to go to stop it?¡± I asked her.

    She turned back to face me. She stared for a few seconds and turned away.

    ¡°You¡¯re really in over your head.¡±

    ¡°The gentled are so docile because a possessing spirit eats all of their negative thoughts and feelings,¡± I said, venturing the information to see how widely known it was, first of all, and to show her that I was serious.

    She didn¡¯t move her eyes from the foliage above her.

    ¡°What type of spirit?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    Some sources called gentling the Gift of Kuhxos, so I¡¯d been thinking of it as the Kuhxos spirit, but I was aware that wasn¡¯t the name it had for itself or how it identified itself to those it controlled.

    ¡°Interesting, nevertheless.¡± After a minute of silence, she went on, ¡°I wasn¡¯t lying, earlier. There¡¯s a recipe for a fulminating draft in the library. Drinking it will bring you close to death, but you¡¯ll have a good chance of learning the Corrosion aspect from it. Any experience that brings you close to death has a chance to relate an aspect. The moment between life and death is reality at its most extreme, where the mortal experience is its most pure. That purity is what resonates through maja. Weaker experiences are usually muddied, or contradictory. They unleash too many competing influences to properly crystalize.¡±

    I sat in silence as she spoke. When I replied, I tried to pretend she hadn¡¯t just taught me more about the underlying function of aspects than I¡¯d learned in the last six months.

    ¡°Can any pure experience become an aspect, or are there only a limited number?¡±

    I¡¯d told Adrian that there wasn¡¯t just an aspect for everything. I¡¯d feel stupid if I¡¯d been lying to him.

    ¡°The types of aspect are limited, from what I¡¯ve seen,¡± Gail said. ¡°But I think that has more to do with the limitations of mortal experience. We can only fully comprehend so much. Force and Fire are easy to grasp. They¡¯re pillars of the world that we encounter every day. If we drink acid, we start to understand what corrosion is. Opening a lock is so varied and complicated I doubt anyone could understand it well enough to develop a lock-opening aspect.¡±

    ¡°You implied you¡¯d learned Winter aspect from an experience before you came here,¡± I said, treading carefully around what I thought was a delicate subject. ¡°How did you recognize it as an experience that could become an aspect?¡±

    ¡°Because it never left me,¡± she answered. ¡°In some ways, that moment became part of who I was. Of course I¡¯d try it.¡±

    I turned away, making a routine scan of the swamp for any threats. I didn¡¯t have any experiences like that. I¡¯d lived a sheltered life, before being taken from the village. Staying awake until dawn reading a law text probably didn¡¯t translate into any aspect I¡¯d want to use.

    The only moment that had really stayed with me in that way was the night of the failure¡¯s fate. The night I¡¯d spent frozen in darkness, Stilled by Sectus.

    I didn¡¯t want to touch the memory with my maja, but I forced myself to focus on it. When it was chillingly clear in my mind, I pushed it onto my maja.

    There was no reaction. The energy continued to swirl, giving off its cold, deep sensation.

    ¡°What about learning aspects you were the victim of?¡± I asked.

    Gail had her eyes closed now, but she answered anyway.

    ¡°Some aspects impart their understanding. Force is the one people always mention.¡±

    ¡°I know Force. What about Stillness?¡±

    ¡°Stillness isn¡¯t the experience of being made still,¡± she said. ¡°To wield Stillness, you need to learn it in a way that gives you power over it. It needs to be your choice. It has to be something you impose, on yourself or others. Sit or stand in a place that makes you want to move. Stay there until you know what it costs to be still.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve learned that one, too, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°Force is so common, and Stillness is a good defense against it,¡± she said.

    ¡°Are there any that you can teach as easily as Force?¡±

    She opened her eyes and looked at me as if she¡¯d just thought of something.

    ¡°Where did you hear that fact about gentling?¡± she asked.

    I blinked at her. I wasn¡¯t sure I wanted to answer, and I wasn¡¯t sure why she suddenly wanted to know. As I thought back on the conversation so far, I noticed a pattern.

    ¡°Are we trading information?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Cordially,¡± she confirmed.

    I decided I could give her the overview without exposing anything I wanted to protect.

    ¡°Around a hundred years ago, a gentled war beast killed the Reeve it was assigned to. The investigators found that the possessing spirit was to blame.¡±

    ¡°The spirit took control of the war beast? Why?¡±

    ¡°To protect the secret of its existence.¡±

    Gail sat up and twisted on her branch to face me.

    ¡°Are you giving me information that could get me killed?¡± she asked. In defiance of all reason, she seemed excited at the prospect.

    I thought back to the transcript and the attack from the war beast just when they were making progress in the interrogation.

    ¡°It¡¯s possible,¡± I said. ¡°It depends how similar the spirits riding with each war beast are.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s probably just one spirit,¡± Gail said. ¡°Powerful spirits aren¡¯t restricted to a single location. They can exist in multiple places at once, connected through the Fold.¡±

    I swallowed, chewing the inside of my cheek. If that was true then all of the gentled war beasts could be tied to a single entity, the spirit that did the work of keeping them docile. But even if it was true, it didn¡¯t represent any grand revelation. I¡¯d already known a powerful spirit was involved, and I still didn¡¯t know much about it.

    After a minute I realized I¡¯d been sidetracked.

    ¡°Were you going to tell me something about teachable aspects?¡± I asked.

    Gail was lying back down on her branch, eyes closed, with one arm slung over her head. If she¡¯d responded by pretending to be asleep, I¡¯d have believed it. Instead, she answered.

    ¡°Force, Fire, Weight and Wheel can be taught through infliction,¡± she said. ¡°Strength, Blade, Fear and Steel can only be taught through experience, but the techniques are quite reliable.¡±

    ¡°Will you share those techniques?¡± I asked.

    ¡°They¡¯re in the library,¡± she said flatly.

    ¡°We don¡¯t currently have access to the library,¡± I said.

    Not to mention that every author in there buried their insights in a mountain of waffling.

    She sighed, but didn¡¯t sound annoyed.

    ¡°The ritual for learning Strength involves breaking bundled sticks with your fists. You start with five bundled twigs and go up from there. The thicker your go, the easier it is to coalesce. The trick is to stop before you hit something you can¡¯t break. That locks you out of it forever. Blade, you have to stab through different materials until you coalesce the experience of piercing through something solid. Steel I haven¡¯t learned, but I know it comes from blocking blows with a steel plate. Some students carry small bucklers to gradually learn as they defend themselves. As for Fear, I don¡¯t know the details. I haven¡¯t found anyone who knows who¡¯d share it.¡±

    I listened politely at first, then pulled out my scrap papers and pencil and started making notes. What she¡¯d said about the Blade aspect matched up with what Jason had said, which was enough to convince me that she was telling the truth about the others, or at least not knowingly lying.

    My last round of questions seemed to have exhausted her patience. She didn¡¯t speak again while I was scribbling on the paper. By the time I¡¯d finished she was either sleeping, or doing a perfect impression.

    It was still early in the evening, but I was tired enough to sleep, and uncertain enough when my next quiet night would be that I wanted to take advantage of that.

    I checked my reed ring, looked around to make sure the pierced bird wasn¡¯t anywhere in sight. Despite being out in the open, I couldn¡¯t see any spirit life, or any other life. The screamers were nearby, but I decided to believe in the deal I¡¯d struck. Trusting the pierced bird to wake me if there was trouble, I leaned back and closed my eyes.

    Thinking about my journal, and spirits, and how I could possibly put any of the techniques for learning aspects into action, I pushed through the heat into a shallow sleep.