by Amanda Twigg
“I have urgent business wi—”
“Having trouble?” Dannet appeared in the doorway.
“No! Yes. What are you doing here?”
“They dragged me back from the cadet academy this morning.”
She flung her arms around her brother and squeezed. Their auras touched, and the familiar smell of fighting leathers and machine oil soothed Landra. She didn’t let go. She couldn’t. This was her safe place, next to her brother.
“Steady on, Lan. Are you trying to hug the breath out of me?” He nudged her away and peered into her face. “Are you all right?”
“No.” She wanted to tell him everything.
“I know what you mean. They didn’t give me time to eat before escorting me out of Cadet Hall. I’ve never seen such tight security around the apartment. Bexter came back with me, and I didn’t think they were going to let him in with all this fuss.”
All this fuss? Could this be about my promotion?
A glance at Dannet convinced her that not all the trouble was over her new role. If the news was even out. If he knew that he’d been passed over as chief elect, she was sure his mood would be different.
“Maybe this will cheer you up.” Dannet handed her a palm-sized wire cage with a purple bead at its center.
“Why?”
“I know you like puzzles, so I made you a trick ball.”
She didn’t have time for toys and set it down. “No. Why are you back early?”
Dannet’s eyes widened. “Haven’t you heard? Everywhere is on lockdown.” He glanced back to the door. “Putting Warrior Fourth Thisk on guard seems a bit extreme, though.”
She couldn’t argue with that, even knowing her changed status. Her brother’s half-story surged her frustration. “What’s going on? Why is security tight?”
Dannet ran both hands over his short hair. His rounded face and big eyes looked stricken to stillness. “I really thought you would know, Lan. A Templer tried to assassinate Chief Hux, and now Warriors are snapping at everyone. They’re seizing swords from harmless citizens, freezing accounts in the tally halls so no one has credit to eat, and searching children. It’s awful. They sent all the first-year cadets away and put a curfew on Templers. I was escorted home.”
Landra absorbed the news but could only focus on one fact. “A Templer did what? Is Father hurt?” She tried to fit this information together with the previous night’s events.
“He’s fine. It was a priest who dressed up in soldier uniform and joined the Warrior Hall candidate tour. The fool pretended to cast a Soul spell, dancing around in circles and everything. Then he slashed Chief Hux in the ribs with a dagger.”
Landra’s empty stomach danced. “How can you call him Chief Hux at a time like this? He’s our father.”
“Have to. It’s an academy rule.”
Not one I’ll do well with. “ I saw today’s newsletter. The incident wasn’t reported.”
“No, and it won’t be. As far as I can tell, they’re trying to keep it quiet. How they’ll manage that with the Warriors so edgy, I’ve no idea. Every citizen with a hint of Templer blood is being questioned. The assassin’s already on the exile train, and more Templers are likely to follow. This could start a purge.”
Dread rattled through Landra’s frame as she stared at her brother’s warm blue aura. Back when she was a twelve-year-old with emerging visions, hiding her magic had seemed wise, but now it left her with no one to turn to for advice. She didn’t like keeping secrets from Dannet, and now she had two. Agitated dots mottled his aura in a display of anxiety, and she didn’t want to land more grief at his door.
“Landra! I want to tell you something.”
His serious tone and use of her full name caught her attention, and she tilted her head back to look up at his face.
Bigger. Older. Don’t go away again.
He dragged his sleeves down over his wrists and pulled his lanky frame to order. The cadet uniform fell into crisper pleats than usual, and his boots gleamed as if he’d polished them for a week. He sucked in a deep breath and stiffened.
“Landra, I think Chief Hux means to announce me as his successor,” he blurted, and air rushed out of him in a relieved sigh.
Her mouth sagged open. The Collector suddenly seemed too large and pink to stay hidden beneath her jacket. Her brother’s upturned chin and glinting gold eyes betrayed pride, and she swallowed hard, trying to choose her next words. “Why do you think that?”
“It just makes sense. If something happens to Chief Hux without a deputy in place, the leadership goes up for grabs. I can’t see the Warrior Council letting that happen. I came through the concourse. The ceremonial plinth is half-built and the ceiling is covered in Warrior colors. They’re getting ready for a promotion ceremony.”
Oh, Dannet.
A mixture of guilt and dread rooted Landra to the spot. She stared, barely knowing what to say. “You can’t know Chief Hux means to name you.”
Dannet puffed out his cheeks. “True, and I know what you’re thinking. He might choose his Warrior Second. Tasenda’s a good woman and a great fighter, but I can’t see this position going outside the Hux family. We’ve ruled the base since before homeworld Templers exiled us here. I don’t think he’ll break with tradition now.”
Landra coughed. “I wasn’t thinking of Tasenda.”
“Then who?”
Her stomach churned. She wanted to tell Dannet her news. She wanted to give him the Collector, but Father had already rejected him for the post of chief elect. “Surely, you don’t want to become chief. It’s not a normal life.”
Dannet sighed. “It’s not that I want the position, Lan. Honestly, my investiture as chief elect will come as a relief. I’ve grown up knowing this day would come, and waiting’s been the hardest part. At least now, something is happening.”
Landra rubbed her lip. Once Dannet’s width matched his height, he would have the look of a chief, and he wanted to rule. She wished Father was here to sort out this mess.
“I have to see Chief Hux before breakfast,” she said.
“Is that all you have to say? I thought you’d be more pleased.”
She stared at her brother. His gold-flecked coloring was all Hux, but his mouth turned down at the corners rather than up like Father’s and his broader forehead gave him a Fourth City look. Still, she could visualize him strutting through the halls in the gold-fringed chief’s robe.
Why didn’t Father choose you? It would have been better all around.
“All of your achievements make me proud,” she said. Dannet didn’t deserve deceit, and she knew right then she would share her secret.
Before she could speak, the door swung open.
“Time for food,” Thisk said.
“One moment, sir.” Dannet reached across to tug Landra’s collar high. “No need for anyone to see that bruise,” he said in a soft voice by her ear. He wet his thumb and rubbed it across her brow.
“Ow!” The pressure enlivened pain. From the Collector’s handle. “Don’t make it bleed.” She tipped her head aside to avoid the question shining her brother’s gold-flecks eyes. He would have one truth today, but it couldn’t be now. Not in front of Thisk. She darted out into the corridor under the guard’s judgmental scrutiny.
Her appearance was shoddy and showed signs of her illegal fight with Father, but there was nothing to do about that now. At least she looked better than the Warrior Fourth, and she could sort it out later, along with speaking to Father, visiting the medic, beginning her new training, and, above all, talking with Dannet. Her life as chief elect was starting to look busy.
Chapter 3
Shouting from the food hall reached them while they were still in the corridor. Landra picked up her pace, Dannet matched her stride, and Thisk followed like a shadow. They turned into the communal area to find it unusually deserted–with empty benches, washed-down tables, and dimmed lights. Pink aura light gleamed from beneath the kitchen door, but the shouting had stopped.
L
andra’s heart pounded louder in her ears than the clanging cogs of the homeworld clock, which hung on the wall. “What happened?” she asked.
“Who knows?” Dannet crossed to wind the clock’s mechanism.
“Is it really useful to know the time according to the turning of a planet in the distant sky?” she asked. “This is hardly the…” She’d been going to say time.
“It’s a wonderful piece of machinery, Lan. If it ever stops, the settings will be impossible to calibrate.”
It wasn’t something Landra could worry about. The atmosphere felt wrong in the food hall. She touched a solitary sandwich, which sat like a blemish on the cold food counter.
Hard, old, and…
“Barthle’s pastries!” She said.
“What?” Dannet asked.
“I can’t smell Barthle’s pastries. I’ve woken up to that smell for as long as I can remember. Didn’t realize until now. This place isn’t right without it.”
“Mist-rotten shelk!” Barthle screamed from inside the kitchen, accompanied by the sound of crashing pots.
Thisk stepped between Dannet and Landra, his sword drawn and his mouth working as if he were rolling a pea over his tongue. “Stay here,” he said, his aura roaming in wavy patterns. He pushed the kitchen door open.
“What d’you want?” Chef Barthle’s deep voice growled. Thisk ducked beneath a flying pan.
“There’s no food,” Barthle said, storming out of a second rotating door. He left it spinning on well-oiled hinges. Dark smudges covered his cheek, stretching up into his hairline and partially obscuring his insignia. He’d abandoned his work tabard, showing off more stains on his under-uniform. The blazing blue of his aura matched the furious gaze he turned on Thisk. He slid his attention over Landra and let his focus settle on Dannet. “Hey, boy, you were always good at tinkering with machines. My oven’s down and the water’s colder than a remote land glacier. Can you fix it?”
Thisk puffed out his cheeks and rammed his short sword back into his chest sheath. “Is that all this is about? I thought something was really wrong.”
“Wrong? Of course something’s wrong,” Barthle said. He waggled an angry finger at Thisk until he noticed the Warrior’s hair insignia. “With respect, sir. Do you know I had to send the early shift to ring sixty-four food hall, and it’s a good thing Chief Hux is in a meeting. I’ve not missed taking him a hot breakfast in eighteen years of service.” He turned to Dannet again. “Can you help, boy?”
“I’m a second-year engineering cadet, sir. Not qualified yet.”
“Well, you’ll do for now. A fancy engineer is on his way, but only the mist knows how long that will take.”
“I’ll give it a go,” Dannet said, but Landra recognized the uncertain twitch in his cheek. “Come with me?” he whispered to her.
They followed Barthle into the kitchen and had to skirt around a chef support worker who was retrieving strewn bowls from the floor. Another chef cadet stuck firmly to his work bench, eyes pinned on the fish he was gutting as if it held the answers of the mist. Of the four work counters, one with a metal surface sat askew from the wall, and the pink magical glow blossomed from behind its casing.
Barthle waved his hand at the misplaced unit. The whole system went down, so there’s no hot water or heat for cooking. Unless it gets fixed, we’ll be on cold rations and scute.”
“Sounds good to me,” Thisk said, picking up a carrot. He bit off the end and relaxed against the wall.
“Well, it’s not,” Barthle said, unable to contain his frustration.
“Not sure what I can do, Chef Barthle, but I’ll take a look.” Dannet crossed to the unit, tugging Landra along by the sleeve. He lifted a pan off the stove. “We need to move these.” Once Landra had helped him clear the surface, he set a flat palm over the metal surface and twisted dials.
“It doesn’t take an engineering education to try the on switch,” Barthle said.
“No, sir, but there’s a procedure.”
Landra often forgot how young her brother was because he’d assumed a fatherly role during Chief Hux’s absences. Just now, his teen-blemished skin and wide eyes made him look even younger than his nineteen years.
“Can you do anything with it?” she whispered.
“Probably not. I’m a good engineer, but this isn’t my field. Come around back with me while I take a look.”
Dannet squeezed behind the counter and crouched, but Landra hesitated at the limit of the pink glow until he tugged her down. Prodding a decaying tree root that coiled on the floor, he pulled a face. “This stuff’s rotten.”
She watched her brother scrape blackened tendrils from the long rods which filled the cabinet. A whiff of rotting vegetation met her nostrils and the remaining fronds fell away, leaving dirty scars on the metal. Beetles scattered and scurried down the rods.
Landra’s face twisted in disgust. “Is it infested?”
“More like decrepit. These dead tree roots are the power delivery system and should connect with the heat rods.”
His aura pulsed like a speeding heartbeat, but it couldn’t match pace with Landra’s rhythm. Sections of the vegetation glowed with a similar signature to aura light. The vision wasn’t useful when she needed to focus on Warrior skills for her new role.
Dannet poked at the coils. “I can’t fix this, and a qualified engineer won’t do any better. There’s not much in the system with moving parts. I think it’s more of a problem with the magical energy flow.”
He lifted one of the weighty coiled roots, and Landra flinched at an aura spike. She traced the power along the tree root, which emerged from a hole in the floorboards. Magic flowed in a pink stream along the coils until a decaying section of fibers blocked its progress. Everything beyond the break was blackened and dull, allowing magic to spill out.
“What will you do?” she asked.
“Don’t know. Only a Templer can salvage this. Just as well the problem’s confined to the oven.” He glanced up to the lights clasped in wooden claws on the ceiling. “If the damage reaches further, all Hux Hall power will fail. It could take out an entire sector.
“Do many systems rely on magic?” she asked.
“Most. Warriors might have ruled here since our exile to this world seventy years ago, but priests still wield some control. Chief Hux can’t banish them completely because we need their magic.
It was a sobering thought. Dannet dropped the coil, and Landra jumped back when the impact exploded brighter light into the cabinet. Her aura edges tattered from the surging power breaching her limits. She tugged her brother’s arm, because he sat amidst the energy swell, scraping dead growth from the rods as if nothing were wrong.
“We need to get out,” she said.
He didn’t move.
“Now.” She dragged him free. “You need to let Barthle know about his oven.”
“If I must,” he said.
She didn’t envy him the job of delivering bad news to an enraged chef, but the power was still mounting inside the cabinet and they needed distance. With them barely clear, a snap of energy rocked the oven, blowing out a ball of visible light and puffing smoke into the kitchen. Landra staggered sideways, coughing.
“What did you do?” Barthle stormed toward the pair. “You blew up my oven!”
“I didn’t. I…” Dannet stumbled away from the blast and spluttered. He shook his head and tapped his ear.
Barthle waved his hands toward his precious oven. “Just look at it.”
“I can’t think what happened,” Dannet said.
Landra knew what had happened. She’d seen the power grow in the broken root until the fibers couldn’t hold it any longer, but she couldn’t let Barthle know that. The chef picked up a tenderizing mallet and loomed over Dannet, fury in his eyes and temper flashes streaking through his aura. It wasn’t fair. Her brother had never claimed to be a qualified engineer, and the accident hadn’t been his fault. She stepped in front of Dannet, and Thisk positioned his large frame
between Landra and Barthle.
“Stand down,” Thisk ordered, more command in his voice than Landra had ever heard from her father. It looked as if the chef would take the Warrior on until a whoosh of the swing door signaled the engineer’s arrival.
A small woman marched in, pinched lips in her pixie face and three bars hatched across soldier tracks in her ginger hair. The addition of an “E” identified her as an engineer.
Barthle ground his teeth, but his aura settled from furious lines to angry bubbles. “At last!” He turned on the woman. Three engineer support soldiers, one Templer, and five guards followed her through the swinging doors to gather at her back.
Landra stilled, her gaze settling on the Templer’s red robes and the T-specialization insignia cut into his hair. He posed tall and serene, as if unbothered by the heavy soldier guard or the swords they levelled in his direction. Flowers decorated his chest-tall staff, but his aura barely differed from those of the surrounding soldiers, with only thin slivers of pink differentiating his Soul from theirs.
Her breath caught. Do you see me, Templer? I see you.
His aura didn’t waver under her scrutiny. He opened his robe to reveal practical engineering trousers and boots of deep red. “May the mist protect you,” he said, offering his upturned palms in Landra’s direction.
She flinched from his spreading aura.
“Nothing to fear, citizen,” one of the guards said. “We’ve got this shelking Templer under tight control. If he so much as twitches, I’ll run him through.”
“Exactly,” Barthle said. “There’ll be no mist worshipping in my kitchen. We’ve no need of homeworld religion here.”
A weak smile tugged at Landra’s mouth. Seeing the abuse directed at the Templer, it didn’t look fun. Who would choose that life?
Thisk pushed her toward the door. “Time to leave.” They regrouped in the food hall.
“Well, that was an eventful breakfast,” Dannet said, a strained laugh playing like music beneath his words. Despite his nervous outburst, his young face had already relaxed into its natural lines. “I don’t know what I did wrong in there.”
