by Alex C Vick
"He knows I'm here," I said hastily. "I had to promise to meet him in a couple of days to let him know I was OK."
"Wait," said Art.
"What?" I said.
"Your sponsorship application said you were an only child," he said.
I winced. "You saw that?"
"Of course. All the magical families get copies."
"I thought I'd be less likely to be sponsored if I said I had a brother," I admitted.
"Serena…" Art's expression was completely closed off.
Afraid I'd ruined the fragile trust between us, I put a hand on his knee to stop him from moving. "Don't. Please. I came into the city because I was worried about someone and I wanted to help them. I promise that's the truth."
He looked down at my hand and I quickly removed it. "Sorry," I said.
"No, it's OK." He reached for my hand and cradled it in both of his before turning it over and tracing a slow circle onto my palm with his forefinger.
"Is this all right?" he said, keeping his gaze on my hand.
I was speechless. My skin was tingling all over. All my senses had narrowed to the touch of his finger. He looked up when I didn't answer. My mouth opened but no sound came out. I nodded.
"Do you…?" He stopped, closing his eyes briefly. "Do you ever become accustomed to this?"
"This?" I managed.
"The way this feels. I tried to ignore it in the corridor. But your hand…"
"It doesn't always feel like this," I said, half laughing. We stared at each other.
"You said you came here to help someone. Tell me?" he asked.
Concentrating with an effort, I described meeting Peric, Savra, and Marty—the mage-sickness, Marty's reaction to the main doors, and how worried I was about what had become of them. Art's expression softened. Thank Androva. He believes me.
"When Petro claimed to know nothing about their arrival in Vayl, I decided to apply for sponsorship," I added. "So I could stay and investigate."
"Is that everything?" he asked.
"Well…"
Should I own up to being a magician?
"I mean, is that everything about why you came to Vayl?" he clarified.
My cheeks heated up in anticipation of what I was about to say.
"In the spirit of being absolutely truthful, I also hoped I might see you again."
"Oh." Art tightened his grip on my hand. He smiled. "That's… that's nice."
A hint of magical energy brushed against my wrist before he spoke. "I can put your mind at rest about the Ricard family. They obtained sponsorship. I just countersigned the forms."
"Ricard? That's Peric and Savra?"
"Yes," he said.
"I'm so glad. I'd been thinking the worst. Where were they last night? Why didn't Petro know about them?"
"He did. Look, Serena, they have sponsorship, but that doesn't mean they're fine," said Art warningly. "Their mage-sickness is in its final stages. And the boy may not survive the cure."
Shocked into silence, I didn't reply.
"I'm sorry, Serena, that's just the way it is. You must know the Ricards are dying."
"And Marty?"
"Curing mage-sickness is a delicate procedure. I don't know the specifics. Not yet."
"Not yet," I repeated. "Does that mean you will?"
"Maybe. If I accept the Board's offer. Can we talk about something else?"
Art let go of my hand and got to his feet. "All this introspection is making me feel like I'm being assessed, and I could do without that right now."
He helped me up. "I'll tell you later," he said. "I just need a break. Listen, do you want to go outside? We're only two floors away from the crystal. We could take some food up to the viewing platform and watch the sunset."
"I'd love to see the crystal," I said. "But could we visit Peric and Savra tomorrow? This bag belongs to them. They left it outside the city, and it has lumien in it."
"All right. I'll ask for permission in the morning."
"He's named after you, you know," I said. "Marty—Ammartus."
"I guessed," said Art. "It happens. I wish it didn't, but I can't help the family I belong to."
He went to the kitchen and got some food while I wrapped up my ankle and put my boot back on. Soon there was a small pile of bread, cheese, and fruit on the counter along with a bottle of water and two plates.
"I'll just put this in a bag," he said. "Can you grab a blanket from the spare—I mean your—bedroom? That one." He pointed to the door.
There was a folded grey blanket on the end of the bed. When I held it against myself as I closed the door, it released an echo of magic that definitely belonged to Art. The cool tingle of energy was familiar.
I had yet to figure out why force fields on this world were so deadly to non-magicians. Art's magic didn't feel sinister in the slightest. Yet cotidians only used bottled magic. The market was proof of that.
Projected magic was considered dangerous enough that amulets were worn at all times to announce it. What happens at this bonding ceremony? Perhaps that horrible-sounding dagger did something to a magician's magic as well as their personality. But who would willingly go along with such a thing if it was the cause of all the mage-sickness?
"You OK?" said Art.
I nodded. He wasn't the only one who could do with a break from thinking.
"I'm fine. Lead the way. I can't wait to see the famous Vayl Crystal close up."
10.1 Gentus, That Evening
Gentus Bavois. Journal Entry 23,879. Year 6015. Day 98.
I feared this. Even though I never believed it was possible, the fear remained. Now I know why. It was so that when it happened, I would pay attention. And I am paying attention.
My daughter-in-law came to the Board of Mages this morning with some information and a proposal. She told us a cotidian arrived in Vayl yesterday with some A-grade lumien. Unfiltered. Adelle suggested that we take this girl into our home and make her welcome. While we wait for her to come of age we can gain her trust and investigate the source of this unique and dangerous magic. I agreed. As did the rest of the Board.
But I have no intention of waiting. We've come too far. Sacrificed too much. I will protect our way of life no matter the cost.
11 A Story And A Spark
We climbed slowly, Art allowing me to set the pace. At the top of the second flight of stairs there were two sets of doors. He opened the larger set.
"Wow," I murmured. I'd been expecting paving stones, but the top of the tower was more like a garden.
I looked at the crystal. The visual impact this close was staggering, as if a brilliant purple-and-silver star had fallen from the night sky and landed right in front of me. The crystal itself was quite small. The power of the light radiating from it suggested something much larger.
"It's impressive, isn't it?" said Art.
"It's beautiful," I agreed.
He took the blanket and placed it on the ground with the bag of food.
"Do you want to take a closer look before we eat? No one will disturb us."
We were on the tower's rooftop, but it was unlike any rooftop I'd ever seen before. Most of the space was covered by a thick carpet of blue grass. Flowers added a splash of colour here and there. There was a turret in each corner. One of the turrets contained the entrance to the stairwell we'd just climbed. A low wall ran from corner to corner, enclosing the large square space. The crystal was in the centre, on a silver pedestal, high enough to capture the sun's rays.
"Are you sure no one else will come up here?" I asked.
"It's unlikely," he said. "It's market day. Once the tours are done, the roof is always deserted."
"Tours?"
"This is the day we showcase our city." He grinned and bent his head in a small bow. "Shall I give you the tour?"
I smiled back. "Why not?"
We walked along each of the walls in turn while he pointed out the city's landmarks.
"If I were doing this for real, I'd be obli
ged to remind you how wonderful it is to live here. Not forgetting the perfection of the sponsorship model, of course."
"To be fair, you did say that," I pointed out. "When we first met."
He paused. "I did, didn't I?" He looked at the road beyond the city, where we'd had our conversation the day before.
"What's the matter?" I said.
"Nothing."
His expression was hard to read.
"So," I said, moving past the subject of sponsorship, "what's the deal with the crystal? Petro told me it was a symbol. Something to strive for, he said."
"I guess," said Art. "Although we won't get there in my lifetime. Let's have something to eat, and I'll explain."
We put our blanket on the grass, and Art divided the food between his plate and mine. I soon discovered eating with my hands in front of a boy I liked wasn't the easiest thing to do. If I wasn't dropping food all over my top then I was chewing a mouthful of hair by mistake.
I took a few sips of water. "When's your birthday?" I asked. "I think you're a little older than I am."
I licked my lips, checking for stray crumbs. Art stared, and I covered my mouth with my hand, suddenly aware of what I must look like.
"I—"
He broke off, coughing. A few crumbs landed on my knee from his mouth, and his expression turned to one of horror. "I'm so sorry," he said.
There was a beat of silence, then I giggled, and once I'd started I couldn't stop. Art laughed too, and we admitted our shared difficulties with the food.
"I don't believe you nearly ate your hair," he said. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."
"It's true," I said. "My curls have a life of their own sometimes."
"I like them," he said. He lifted a hand. "Can I?"
"If you want," I replied. Despite my casual tone, my heart was suddenly beating very fast.
Art took a handful of my hair and twisted it gently around his fingers.
"It's soft," he said, surprised. "I didn't expect…"
His smile faded. "I hardly recognise myself when I'm with you. You make me laugh. You make me feel brave."
I remained silent, scared of saying the wrong thing. I wanted to kiss him. I like him so much.
Art removed his hand and stood up. He scuffed the grass with his boot. "I should tell you about the crystal," he said.
"OK."
He gave me a small smile. "OK. The crystal was found by chance. When they were building the tower right after the war ended, a few different sites were tested for excavation, and one of them contained the crystal. Nothing like it has ever been found again, though not for want of looking."
"When you say 'nothing like it,' what do you mean?"
"The crystal contains magic that wasn't put there by a magician. There are a lot of stories about this world we inhabit," said Art. "Stories about the magic in the rock, the earth, and the forests. But they're only stories. Hundreds of years old, most of them. Very few records survived the war, and we had to depend on the memories of survivors."
He sighed. "There weren't many survivors either. And their stories seem a little far-fetched now."
"Tell me about the forests," I said. I knew for a fact there was a lot of living magic in the trees just beyond the city.
Art helped me up. He walked to the nearest wall and pointed.
"The fountain?" I said. "I saw it yesterday."
"The earth beneath the fountain is from the place where the crystal was found. The tree is a replica of the ones that grow nearby. They are supposed to be magical."
"Oh," I said.
They're definitely magical. But why don't the Xytovians know it?
"The earth has special properties," Art continued. "It's made into the clay we use for filtering. But as for the magic trees? I can guess what you're thinking." He shook his head. "It sounds like fiction. It is fiction. But the stories persist."
I made a noncommittal noise. "So why is the crystal something to strive for?"
We turned around. The setting sun's golden rays were barely touching the crystal, and its radiance had quietened to a shimmer, making it possible to see the mix of purple and silver energy more clearly.
"The use of magical weapons during the war was extensive," said Art. "I told you about the Gallium Dagger."
"Yes. You mentioned it."
"Fortunately there wasn't enough gallium to make very many of them. But there were Poison Spells too, used indiscriminately toward the end. Each faction caused a huge amount of damage to the other. Some bloodlines were wiped out. And those that remained were damaged."
"Damaged how?" I asked.
"The crystal is a symbol of purity. Its energy is concentrated. You can make three mystrons of A-grade lumien per four mystrons of its unfiltered energy."
"Yes." I thought back to what Petro had told me. "And a magician would generate only two mystrons of A-grade from the same quantity."
"Exactly. But did you know that right after the war, it was less than half that?"
"No. I didn't."
But I still don't understand why it matters so much.
"This is probably going to sound like a stupid question," I said, "but why is A-grade better?"
Art blinked, controlling his expression with difficulty. "I… er… I suppose it's not a stupid question if you genuinely don't know."
"I don't," I said.
"Unfiltered magic is weaker, unstable magic. It's because of the poison. We—I mean magicians—can't use it for certain spells. Nothing long-lasting. Nothing medicinal. And it is considered dangerous to anyone underage."
"Poison," I repeated. I shivered. "I get it now. That's where mage-sickness comes from, isn't it? Not from exposure to magic but from exposure to poisoned magic."
"Yes," said Art. "Although the poison and the damage is less with each generation. Magicians haven't suffered from mage-sickness for a long time. But even with filtering, a percentage of cotidians still do."
I frowned. "And yet magicians and cotidians still live side by side?"
"What's the alternative?" said Art. "There is no currency but lumien. Spells facilitate everything. Law and order. Healing. Entertainment." He shrugged. "The infrastructure relies on magic. And cotidians were a part of the war too. Back then, society was integrated. A cotidian even invented the Gallium Dagger."
"Why would they do that?" I asked, unable to hide my shock.
"I don't think it was intended to be used as a weapon," he said.
"It's a dagger," I said slowly.
"Fair point," he said. "Anyway, that's why A-grade is better. It's stronger and safer. Even the handful of magical families who rejected the pact still agreed to filter their magic."
I wrapped my arms around my body and walked right up to the wall. I felt sick. They don't know the living magic is there because their own magic is too damaged to reveal it.
"Serena, are you all right?" said Art. "I'm sorry. I had not thought you knew so little of Xytovia's history."
"It's not your fault. What's the deal with the purple colour? Is that…?" I hesitated. "Is that from the poison?"
"No," he said immediately. "Not at all. I mean, the crystal is purple, and it's better than B-grade. The filtering process to A-grade just happens to remove the colour too."
I was glad. There was so much blue and purple on this world. It would have been terrible if it was all a toxic side effect. Not to mention that I did have sort of a thing for Art's eyes. Which was beside the point, obviously.
"Can we take a closer look at the crystal?" I asked.
"Of course. But there's a Protection Spell ten feet out. We won't be able to go beyond it."
"A Protection Spell? For us or for the crystal?" I asked.
"I don't know. It could be both."
I stepped back onto the grass. It was springy underneath my boots as I walked forward. I stopped a couple of times to admire the flowers, cradling their soft petals in my hands. The low hum of living magic increased in intensity the longer
I held them, tickling my skin. I was kind of relieved I could still feel it. My head was spinning from what Art had told me.
When I judged I was ten feet away, I stopped, tipping my head back to stare at the crystal on its pedestal. It was shaped like an inverse pyramid with many glittering facets, presumably from where small, amulet-sized pieces had been carved off.
"How do I know where the Protection Spell starts?" I said.
There was no answer.
"How do I…"
I looked over my shoulder and stopped mid-sentence. Art was staring at me, eyes wide and lips parted.
"What?" I said.
"Serena," he said, his voice faint.
I turned around. "Are you all right? Are you…?" I trailed off, following his gaze as he looked me up and down. I gasped with horror. I was glowing with magical energy, my force field announcing its existence as clearly as if I'd shouted to the sky that I was a magician.
It was the living magic. After that horrible story, I lost my focus.
"You… you're past the Protection Spell," said Art. "You walked through it like it wasn't even there."
"Oh," I said inadequately.
Art collected himself. "That secret you were going to tell me. Does it have anything to do with the fact that you're covered from head to toe in A-grade lumien?" he said.
"Yes. Pretty much."
"It's a neat trick," he said, stepping closer. "Where did you hide the bottle? And how did you manage to open it without me seeing?"
"Er… I didn't," I said. "This is… well… it's me. It's my magic."
He kept walking. "No, seriously, how did you do it? I've never seen—"
"Don't!" I said, trying to lean away from his outstretched hand. In my haste, I overbalanced, almost stumbling as my boot landed on an uneven piece of grass.
"Watch your ankle," he said, taking hold of my lower arm. Time seemed to come to a stop. Our eyes met. He went still. I knew my eyes would be outlined in silver, the same as his. There was nothing I could do. I'd only felt it twice in my life before, but the sensation was unmistakable.
Art has a spark of magic inside his head. And my force field created it.
12 Impossible Magic
Art kept hold of my arm, taking short sharp breaths. "What's happening?" he said. "What is this?"
