Revolutionary Magic (with Bonus Content)

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  "Let's just say there are factions, and the emperor is one of them," he said.

  "What are they?" I asked.

  He raised an eyebrow. A green piece of wood in the fire popped, sending out sparks that had to be stomped out.

  "Meslav. Check the back of her neck for me," said Rarog.

  A sudden coolness hit the back of my neck as Meslav lifted my hair. Once confirmation had been given, Rarog mulled the information, rolling it around in his mouth as if it were a marble.

  "The Uthlaylaa," he said, coming to some conclusion. "They are sometimes called the Archivists. Think of them as keepers of vast libraries. You should be honored that your memories were important enough for collection."

  What he was willing to tell me about them was unclear at that moment.

  "Those aren't librarians," I said. "They're spies, collecting important information."

  With a heavy-lidded stare, Rarog shrugged, dismissing the suggestion. "Who's to say why they're collecting. It's not for me to know."

  "You're going to send me back, aren't you?" I asked as the stone sunk in my gut.

  "Perceptive you are, Princess. Once you stopped cooperating, it was time to return home. Someone is waiting for you, someone who desires your company very much," he said, baring his surprisingly white and whole teeth.

  "What will they do with the worm on my neck?" I asked.

  "It depends," said Rarog. "Where are the Uthlaylaa?"

  "I shot one in the face. The other returned through a portal," I said, leaving out Ben and Trisella.

  "Then when we return, I'm sure your memories will be collected. If the worm had been from the Uthlaylaa you'd shot, it'd have fallen off already," he said.

  The stone in my gut sunk further, but I kept a brave face while Rarog studied my reaction.

  "How will we get back to Russia?"

  The spy-master winked. "Don't worry. It'll be on an airship. We'll leave in a few days. Until then, you'll be our guest."

  "Since I'm going back, can you at least tell me what's going on? Where did these Uthlaylaa come from? Where did it go when it went through its portal?" I asked.

  He laughed. "I suppose it won't do any harm since you'll forget everything that I've told you once it harvests the worm. The Uthlaylaa come from a place that's almost all used up. There's very little left of it and they need a new home."

  "It's not the Uthlaylaa that want to colonize us," I said. "You called them Archivists."

  "Yes," he said, a darkness falling into his gaze. "Though it's not my place to reveal everything. But these two realms are close to each other, close enough that sometimes people or things can pass back and forth, and they have been for a few millenniums, only now there is a great need to hurry the process."

  Chloris would have been from this place, this Otherland. The other things we'd encountered this last year came to mind. How many other creatures had come over in the past millennium? How many lived among us and now that the other side wanted to invade, whose side would they be on?

  Rarog watched me carefully, as if he expected some response. The apartment. He'd been there but then gone, without a trace.

  I lowered my voice as if it were a secret. "You come from there. Otherland."

  "I see why they want you back," said Rarog. "Yes and no. My ancestors came from the other realm...what did you call it? Otherland?" A pleased grin formed on his lips. "I like that. Very fitting."

  When my gaze flit to Nikodim, who was poking the fire with an iron, Rarog shook his head. "No. Like you. They come from a place that was once called Bosporus, a part of the Russian Empire."

  The room grew quiet with only the fire making noise, popping and crackling. I was irrevocably trapped.

  "So this is an invasion? Otherland is invading," I said.

  "I'd think of it more that they're escaping here," he said.

  So the memory thieves were sent over to collect information, to help with the invasion. I'd killed one, and the other had gone back through the portal with Franklin. We'd solved the mystery, but that hadn't been enough. Larger forces were at work.

  "That's enough answers for now," said Rarog. "I'm sure when you return, you'll learn more than you care to know. Now, I must send a message to our ride, so that we may return home."

  "Why not use a portal like the Uthlaylaa?" I asked.

  He shook a finger at me. "Tsk. Tsk. No more questions, but remember what I said about factions. Be glad that it's we who have you. There are worse, much worse."

  Rarog nodded to the two assassins before he stepped outside. Keeping my head slumped, I tried to take in the details of the room. I sat in a chair with the assassin Meslav at my back. Whether or not he still had the dagger at my side, I didn't know.

  The other assassin, Nikodim, was standing next to the fire, a small, light wooden table between us. He had a blade on his hip, but he was too far for me to reach. Not that I thought I could best two men in a fight with a belt knife.

  The education I'd acquired for myself had taught me the use of the rapier and pistol. I'd neglected to learn the arts of fighting with dirtier weapons, and I regretted that decision now.

  These three men had every advantage. Or two men and something else—I did not know what manner of creature Rarog was.

  They had every advantage. Except one. I was important. Though they’d threatened me with violence, they were tasked with returning me to Russia. And the worm on my neck, though I wished it wasn't there, made me even more valuable. I assumed that if the Uthlaylaa didn't harvest it, the memories would be lost. If there were factions, Rarog's would want to trade me, or at least access to the worm, for favors. I might not know anything about Otherland, but power always beget factions, and I knew how to exploit them when necessary.

  When Nikodim leaned over to poke the fire with an iron, I kicked the table into his back, sending him face-first into the flames. His screams rent my ears as he stumbled out, hair on fire, trying to put himself out.

  Moving forward, I didn't try to escape out the front door, but grabbed the iron Nikodim had dropped. I couldn't fight effectively with a knife, but I was an expert with a rapier.

  Standing at guard, I faced Meslav. He sprung back towards his cot and retrieved a short sword, the kind that could be hidden beneath a cloak.

  Nikodim was beating himself about the face. He was only smoking now, but his whimpers could be heard above the fire.

  Before Meslav could advance, I hooked the logs in the fire and flung them into the room. One of the burning logs tumbled onto the cot and leapt into flame immediately.

  Meslav flew at me in a rage with dagger and sword. The iron was much heavier than a rapier. I brought my wrist up to deflect his attack as I moved around the table, using it as a shield.

  Had I a rapier, I would have had the advantage, since my weapon was longer than either of his. The second rule of a duel was that he who was nearest, would hit first.

  The heavy iron made my warding weak as it strained the wrist to hold my weapon.

  The assassin attacked with vigor, slashing towards my head. I deflected the blow and hit him in the chest with my weapon, forgetting that I had not a rapier. The hit punched him backwards, but did not kill as I would have desired.

  Flames consumed the mattress and the curtains on the other side had caught, tendrils of fire climbing greedily. Smoke filled the upper third of the room.

  Keeping low in a crouch and holding the iron at high ward, I advanced. Meslav kept glancing to the fire.

  I timed my attack with the weakness of his gaze. The eyes could reveal much, and Meslav had not the discipline to maintain his.

  Though the heat on my back suggested a wall of flame and soon my skirt would catch, I ignored it. This time, I adjusted for the lack of a sharp point on the iron and parried with the forte before jabbing the weapon into his neck.

  His throat collapsed beneath my blow and he dropped his weapons. I turned in time to see Rarog coming through the door, eyes ablaze. The heat in the cottag
e had become unbearable; my lungs were on fire.

  Rarog stood right next to the flames, his clothing cooking off his body, but he seemed unaffected. He spread his arms wide and a great wind entered the cottage, stoking the flames higher.

  The flesh of his arms began to disintegrate, and his flesh seemed to be turning to wind, swirling around his form. Whatever creature he was to become, I would have no chance against it, especially if it could survive the burning cottage.

  I lunged for the fallen short sword and ran at Rarog, plunging the blade into his chest before he could completely transform. His blazing eyes dulled to coal black when the iron sunk into his chest.

  Flames leapt around us. Rarog sunk to his knees as the wind died. Clothing burst to fire as I fled the burning cottage, tumbling to the ground outside to smother my skirt. Then I scrambled to a safe distance, coughing and wiping the soot from my eyes. The cottage, along with the steam carriage next to the building, burned to the ground.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Delirious from my battle and near immolation, I stumbled back towards Philadelphia, using the faint glow in the low clouds as my guide. Along the way, I dropped the short sword.

  The burns and bruises I'd acquired in the fight plagued my awareness as I plodded. I wanted to sink into a warm bath after covering my wounds with healing salves.

  The events of the last few days whirled though my head as I took stock. Ben Franklin had been sucked into another realm. Adam Smith was dead. The Society thought I was a Russian spy, which while partially correct, was further from the truth than anyone could dare think.

  Rarog had confirmed that someone or something planned an invasion, or in fact, they'd already invaded Russia and planned on expanding their hold on this existence.

  I had every intention of scribbling down these events, so that I might begin our defense, but as I neared the city, I felt a sharp pain on the back of my neck. When I reached under my hair and touched the worm, it felt a little loose, as if it were about to fall off.

  The meaning of its impending death brought both elation and fear. When the Uthlaylaa died, their worms died with them. This meant that Ben had slayed the creature and still lived. I couldn't know for certain, but it seemed the likely result. It was hard to imagine another reason the memory thief would perish in its homeland. In my heart of hearts, I hoped this was true, as it would mean we had stopped both the Uthlaylaa and the spy-master from accomplishing their tasks.

  It was a Pyrrhic victory. We had won, but at great cost to both Franklin and I. Ben was stuck in another realm, while I was alone in a Philadelphia without friends. I was sure he'd make it back eventually, but what troubles could happen before that day.

  And the worm's death meant that my memories would soon fade. Already I felt a fog entering my mind, like mists rolling in from the low fields.

  I was near the city, maybe half a mile from the bridge that crossed the Schuylkill, but too far to make it back before I lost my memories I guessed.

  Though I was exhausted, I lifted my charred skirt and hurried down the two-track road, keeping my feet in one of the wheel paths. If I could get back in time, I could pen my thoughts.

  If not, I would be bereft of my memories, so I would no longer be able to help. Once the memories were gone, would I go back to Russia? I hoped that my true inner self would be revealed if cut from the knowledge I had gained and stay in Philadelphia, but I feared unconscious desires.

  The nearer I got to the city, the more the fog enveloped my thoughts. As I crossed the wooden bridge, my boots clicking across the structure, memories faded like stars against the morning.

  Already it was difficult to remember simple facts about the last year. I sensed the outline of the section that would go missing, realizing that most of the knowledge I'd gained would be silenced.

  Quickly, I molded my inner desires, not to rail against the coming loss, but focusing my will so that when I emerged, I would continue the fight. For it wasn't just Philadelphia that was at risk, or even America, but the whole world. Even without my memory, I had to ready myself for battle.

  As the remaining streets passed beneath my feet, I found it hard to keep moving forward, my urgency slowly draining. It was clear that I would not get back in time to leave myself a second letter, the first having burned up with the assassins in the cottage.

  Which meant that I would have nothing to link me to these critical events. What would I become when those memories were gone?

  Stumbling to my door as the city woke, I punched in the code before that memory disappeared. Horse-drawn carriages passed, carrying goods to other cities. Overhead, I heard the whine of an airship.

  The door clicked behind me and I looked around. My belongings had been delivered. I thought I was to live with Ben at the estate, but I guess plans had changed. I felt like I should have remembered this, but my head was hazy and my thoughts distant.

  Why again was my skirt charred along the bottom as if I'd been standing in a fire? I examined myself, finding fresh bruises and burns. I wanted to collapse onto the ground.

  The circumstances of the events eluded me. I turned back and forth, expecting the glimmer of recognition to spark the appropriate memory. Maybe I was exhausted from travel, or something...something else...

  My gaze fell upon a letter with Ben's seal on it and the address written on the outside. It was Ben's handwriting. The crisp parchment snapped open after I ripped the wax away. Placing my nose to the paper, I smelled the fresh ink. It wasn't but a few days old at best.

  Beloved Ekaterina,

  I hope you will enjoy your continued stay in Philadelphia. This home will serve you well and I've taken the liberty of setting up your printing shop, the Patriot Letters, within walking distance.

  I know you wish not to receive my charity, so the loans that were taken from the Bank of North America are solely in your name, though I have vouched for them. It is all I can do until you are a full member of the Society.

  After my impending trip, I hope to continue our investigations. These finds trouble me and I believe we stand at greater thresholds. Please keep your gaze wary and your guard impregnable until I return.

  Concordia parvae crefount.

  Small things grow great by concord.

  Your indomitable friend,

  Benjamin Franklin

  It seemed I was a printer now. An appropriate profession for my new life in the Americas. With no connections other than my friend Ben, who would be absent for a time, I would have to survive on my industry alone. Fitting.

  I stepped back outside, letter in hand.

  Philadelphia. The capital of the United States.

  Though I was new here, having only arrived a few months ago, it felt like the home I'd never had.

  The springtime air was fresh with accents of coal fires. A transcontinental airship was lowering itself at the Camden Yards, immigrants ready to make their way in the States about to burst from its hold.

  Though my exhaustion was bone deep, I was refreshed by the restless outline of the city. Its industry called to me, revealing previously unknown aspects of my desires.

  Though I'd been born a Russian Princess, founded an empire, and spent the majority of my life traveling through the palaces of Europe, I'd never truly been ready to settle in one place until now.

  This was my home. Philadelphia.

  ###

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  Also by Thomas K. Carpenter

  THE DIGITAL SEA TRILOGY

  The Digital Sea

  The Godhead Machine

  Neochrome Aurora

  GAMERS TRILOGY

  GAMERS

  FRAGS

  CODERS

  ALEXANDRIAN SAGA

  Fires of Alexandria

  Heirs of Alexandria

  Legacy of Alexandria

  Warmachines of Alexandria

  Empire of Alexandria

  Voyage of Alexandria

  Goddes
s of Alexandria

  MIRROR SHARDS ANTHOLOGY

  Mirror Shards: Volume One

  Mirror Shards: Volume Two

  THE DASHKOVA MEMOIRS

  Revolutionary Magic

  A Cauldron of Secrets

  Birds of Prophecy

  The Franklin Deception

  Nightfell Games

  The Queen of Dreams

  Dragons of Siberia

  Shadows of an Empire

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Thomas K. Carpenter resides near St. Louis with his wife Rachel and their two children. When he’s not busy writing his next book, he’s playing soccer in the yard with his kids or getting beat by his wife at cards. He keeps a regular blog and can be found on twitter under @thomaskcarpente.

  To learn about new releases from Thomas K. Carpenter, and receive free books and gifts on occasion, sigh up for his newsletter.