Lokant

by Charlotte E. English

  ‘Mr Vanse - yes - ah - I’ve a feeling you may be out of luck there, sir, but I’ll enquire.’ She was gone before he could ask what she meant. He took a seat, composing himself to wait with much impatience.

  ‘I’m afraid the boy was taken ill last week, sir,’ she said a little later, strutting back into the office on heels that clicked against the tiled floor.

  ‘Taken ill,’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes, sir. He’s expected to be confined to the sanatorium for some weeks.’

  ‘Which sanatorium?’

  ‘I don’t have that information, sir. Is there anything else I can help you with?’

  He left the office in a black mood. That a boy of nineteen years should suddenly fall so violently ill as to require weeks of quarantine and care was highly doubtful.

  Krays again.

  He visited the boy’s parents. That they knew something was obvious; they were both tight-lipped and unhelpful, though they dutifully repeated the same tale that the secretary had given him. They were obviously afraid of something.

  Krays had that effect on people.

  Not for the first time, he regretted the impossibility of working backwards through time. His Library hovered on the edges of the time flow, barely touched by it. He could stay in there for years, and when he left the premises and returned to the regular time stream he would find that little time had passed beyond its borders. His body didn’t age as long as he stayed in the Library. These things were useful, but there were frustrating limits to the technology. Lokants had worked for centuries on the problem of moving themselves about in time, but to no avail. He couldn’t jump back to last week and extract Orillin before Krays could reach him.

  And curses to that.

  On, then, to Glour, trying not to wish he’d listened to Andraly years ago and tracered all the hereditary draykoni. Another female, this next one, older than Llandry Sanfaer by more than fifteen years. He knew that much about her; he knew her name, Avane Desandry; he knew she was a sorcerer.

  He knew absolutely nothing else.

  Cursing the ineptitude of agents who got themselves hauled off by Krays, Limbane began the tiresome process of tracking down one human (sort of) in the middle of several hundred thousand of the creatures.

  ***

  The Library really did go on forever.

  Or so Eva was convinced. She had spent what felt like an entire day wandering the halls, drifting through library after library, and they never ended. The Lokants probably did have books on absolutely everything somewhere in this building.

  What interested her particularly was the quantity of books that obviously had nothing to do with her world, or Cluster as Limbane had said. The prospect of other worlds out beyond the confines of her own was an inspiring one.

  Or it would have been were she not feeling so essentially self-absorbed. For Limbane’s revelations had shaken her to the core. He had spent some time training the Lokant side of her, teaching her in particular the ability that he called translocation. It required some manner of implant, which she now wore buried somewhere in her body, and continued with a great deal of rigorous mental training as he taught her to access and use the PsiMap. She didn’t mind the work. Learning these skills would make her more effective in the ongoing struggle against Krays’s enigmatic projects, and besides, the training kept her mind busy, preventing her from brooding.

  Now Limbane had left the Library, leaving her training in hiatus. He’d said he couldn’t spare another Lokant to finish the training just now, and awarded her a short holiday to recover her focus and spirits before the next lesson.

  She had spent it wandering the corridors of the Library, feeling confused and so very low in spirits that she hardly knew what to do with herself. She was thinking back over the years of her life, reliving every relationship she’d had with every friend, every colleague, every lover. She thought of the students who’d worshipped her, the tutors whose favourite she’d always been, the colleagues who’d deferred to her, the shopkeepers who saved the best products for her and charged her lower prices.

  It wasn’t fair to say she had never encountered opposition. There were certainly forces stronger than her Lokant mind. Hatred, resentment and envy were stronger; she’d encountered those before. She had taken on the prejudices of others and failed to overcome them. She was not an unstoppable force by any means.

  But nonetheless she enjoyed a far greater level of social success than was common. Her summoner ability too: she was one of the strongest ever recorded in Glour, that she knew, but now both of these defining characteristics were called into question.

  How much of her success was down to her own efforts, her own personality and her own determination? And how much of it was due to her essentially cheating with her Lokant magics? Could she trust the sincerity of any friendship? Had any of her romantic relationships had any true substance? And could she truly call herself a summoner, let alone a former High Summoner, when her ability was unfairly augmented by her Lokant heritage?

  She had no answers to these questions and she knew she never would. It would never again be possible to trust in anybody’s affection for her, because she would never be able to measure how much of it was real and how much was imposed. Limbane assured her that she would learn to control her mind; she would no longer employ those abilities across the board and without intent or knowledge. But that wasn’t enough to reassure her. She knew she wouldn’t trust herself again.

  Given the nature of these reflections, she was not pleased when the door to her sanctuary creaked open and Tren wandered in, hands in his pockets and a tentative smile on his face.

  ‘Found you,’ he said lightly.

  ‘So you have.’ She returned her gaze to the books in front of her, studying them with a show of absorption. Most of the titles were in languages she couldn’t read, but she didn’t see why that should be any obstacle to her studying them instead of talking to Tren.

  ‘I was looking for you,’ he persevered.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Um, I was worried about you.’

  ‘I’m fine, Tren, just been busy training with Limbane.’

  ‘Uh huh.’ His tone was profoundly sceptical. ‘Ever since Limbane’s little lecture you’ve been looking like somebody died.’

  In a way, she thought, somebody did. Evastany Glostrum as she’d known herself had died. She didn’t know how to live with her new self.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she repeated. ‘It’s just that the revelations have come thick and fast lately and I’m trying to keep up. This place, the Lokants, hereditary draykoni and now my heritage... I need a bit of time to think about everything. That’s all.’

  ‘That’s true enough. I’m reeling a little myself.’ Tren wandered the room for a few minutes, jingling something in one of his pockets. The insistent sound disrupted Eva’s concentration and she scowled in annoyance.

  ‘You know,’ Tren said at last, ‘if you’re thinking you just manipulated everybody into liking you, you’re wrong.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? I’d be thinking the same thing in your position. But you’re wrong. That can’t be the whole story. There are too many good reasons to admire you.’

  En Diraja o Mahj read the spine of the book directly before her eyes. She repeatedly gravitated back to it because, unlike the rest on this shelf, she could at least decipher the letters. The characters on the rest were incomprehensible, written in an alphabet she’d never seen before.

  ‘I’ve no doubt Vale would agree with me,’ Tren continued, annoyingly persistent. ‘He knows you well. He knows you, not just the persona you put on for the world. He married you because he loves you, and that’s an emotion that’s far too complex to be imposed from outside. You could encourage people to admire you, worship you, make them infatuated with you, that’s probably true. But to force real love on someone? Real friendship? I think those things are beyond your ability.’

  Limbane had sai
d something similar, but it hadn’t soothed her in her present mood. It still didn’t now.

  ‘I’m not married,’ she said, suddenly feeling more tired than annoyed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Vale didn’t marry me. We ended our engagement. It was probably lucky for him.’

  That statement was met with complete silence. She turned to look at him at last, her irritation returning. ‘What? I told you that before.’

  His brows went up. ‘Er. I’m fairly sure you haven’t mentioned it, no.’

  She spluttered. ‘I recall with perfect clarity my saying to you “I’m still Lady Glostrum, Tren.” And you have been calling me that ever since, so I believe you must remember it too.’

  ‘That’s not exactly perfectly clear communication, is it? I thought you meant you’d opted to keep your own name after marriage. It seemed like a perfectly rational decision to make in your situation so I didn’t enquire further.’

  ‘Why in the world would I do that?’

  He held up his hands. ‘All right, never mind that. You’re not married. I get it. But everything I said still stands.’

  ‘Does it? How do you know Vale didn’t shake off my manipulative influence and change his mind? Cast me off?’

  ‘Impossible.’ He said it with total confidence.

  ‘I could tell you that’s what happened.’ She lifted her chin, looked him straight in the eye.

  ‘You’d be lying.’

  ‘All right, I’d be lying. I ended it. But I maintain that you can’t possibly know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Um. Can I ask why you ended it?’

  ‘No,’ she snapped.

  ‘All right,’ he said mildly.

  She maintained a mulish silence for some moments more. Then she let out a long sigh.

  ‘I’m being terribly petulant, aren’t I.’

  He grinned. ‘A little bit.’

  ‘It’s just that I feel like I’ve lost all certainty. How can I possibly know, ever again, that I have real friends? I’m glad I ended the engagement; how could I be married, when I’d be eternally wondering whether my husband married me voluntarily or because I in some way forced him into it? It’s rearranged my whole future.’

  ‘I can only repeat everything I said before. You may have doubts, but I don’t.’

  ‘You’re just being stubborn.’

  ‘One should exercise one’s talents,’ he replied gravely.

  She smiled in spite of herself. ‘I suppose you’re good for me, wretch. You keep me from taking myself too seriously.’

  ‘That’s a bad habit.’

  ‘Right,’ she said, taking a deep breath and straightening her spine. ‘Enough moping; there’s work to be done.’ She couldn’t just believe Tren’s words, but he was right to pull her out of her poor mood. She would deal with that issue again later.

  Something passed swiftly behind Tren’s eyes and he moved to block her path. ‘Wait.’

  She looked up, puzzled. His tone had lost all its notes of levity, settling into something more serious than she was used to hearing from him.

  ‘I wasn’t really speaking on Vale’s behalf,’ he said in a rush. ‘I was speaking for myself.’

  She tried to think back over everything he’d said in the last twenty minutes or so. ‘What? When?’

  ‘I know you.’ His hands jangled in his pockets more agitatedly than ever, and she realised that he was extremely nervous.

  ‘Probably you do, yes. What’s the relevance?’

  ‘I’ve seen you in good moods and bad. I’ve seen you in control and completely at a loss. I’ve seen you upset and grieving, and I’ve seen you happy and confident. Now I’ve seen you suffering something wholly unknown to you before: self-doubt. Lack of confidence. I know you. And I like what I see.’ He paused, cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘I love what I see.’

  Eva could only stare at him, stupefied. ‘That’s a lot of words. My head’s spinning and I can barely understand what you’re saying. Can you just keep it simple please?’

  ‘Simple. Okay. I love you.’

  ‘Um.’ She blinked. ‘Well, that’s straightforward enough. Mhm.’ For an instant her heart swelled with happiness and something like relief.

  Then it all drained away.

  ‘Oh, Tren, don’t you see. That just makes everything worse. ’

  He blinked, shocked. ‘What? How can it possibly...?’

  ‘Don’t you realise how absurd that sounds?’

  Now he looked hurt. ‘Absurd? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Consider the disparity. I’m more than ten years older than you. We come from completely different backgrounds, move in different circles - we don’t even have anything in common, Tren! Nothing! You can’t possibly have an honest affection for me. It’s infatuation if anything, and that’s probably just because you’ve spent enough time with me to be thoroughly manipulated.’ To her embarrassment she felt tears prickling behind her eyes.

  ‘You’d better keep away from me for a while, and maybe it will pass.’

  He muttered something that sounded like a curse. ‘I don’t - I can’t - I don’t even - I mean, you can’t seriously...’ His face registered pain, and her heart twisted with guilt. ‘Ah, fuck,’ he said softly. ‘It was exactly the wrong time to tell you that, wasn’t it?’

  Thinking of escape, Eva turned away, but Tren grabbed her arm.

  ‘Look, I can prove it. You think you’ve imposed some perfect image of yourself on me? You think I can’t see the truth about you? I know you too well. I know the good things about you, and the bad. Did you encourage me to see your conceit? Your vanity? Your irritating need to be right? Your inability to fail gracefully? Those things weren’t part of your plan, were they? But if I could see those things in you, then how can I be wrong about the good? I’ve long since stopped seeing the perfection that you project for the world in general.’

  Conceit. Vanity. Failure. Those words hurt.

  ‘Thank you for that. Is this how you talk to all the girls?’

  ‘No. Just you.’

  ‘Lucky me. Anything else to add?’

  ‘Yes. Those are your weaknesses. Want to know about your strengths? You’re more truly good-hearted than I’d ever expected from an aristocrat. You’re much smarter than me, and almost everyone else too. You’re funny and witty, you care about things and you’re capable of love, even though you try to deny it. You’re strong-willed and determined and hard-working. And you’re beautiful, more so every year. You shouldn’t think that people are only drawn to you because you’re a partial. All those qualities are as obvious to others as they are to me.’ He was gripping both of her arms hard enough to hurt, his face uncomfortably close to hers. ‘Come on, believe me. It’s not like you to wallow in self-pity. You’re too rational for that.’

  ‘Please let go of my arms.’

  He didn’t. ‘Is that it? Nothing else to say?’

  She struggled until he let her go. Her arms hurt; she massaged the pain away, looking at him helplessly. Was he right? How could she possibly tell?

  ‘Could you just leave me alone for a while?’ She turned her back on him, shutting out the look of pain on his face. She crossed to the door quickly before she could change her mind, and left him alone in the library.

  ***

  Realising Eva’s intent, Tren made to stop her as she brushed past him, but he was too late. She was gone.

  Idiot, he cursed himself. Eva could be difficult occasionally; he knew that, and he ought to have handled her with greater care when she was in such a delicate frame of mind. Stupid, to burden her with that when she already had so much else to come to terms with. And he’d made such a royal mess of it all.

  He hoped he hadn’t ruined his chances completely. A flash of panic lanced through him at that prospect, and he shuddered. One mistake and he might have fucked everything up forever.

  ‘If she doesn’t want it, I’ll take it.’ Andraly stood in the doorway, wearing an inviting expressio
n. She wandered into the room, stopping far too close to him. ‘Though I have to say, you aren’t great at sweet-talking a girl.’

  ‘Huh. What?’

  ‘You heard me.’ She smiled up at him.

  ‘I thought you were angry with me.’

  She frowned in annoyance. ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘You were quite vocal about it when you found me standing outside your tower.’

  ‘Oh, that,’ she shrugged. ‘I wasn’t really that unhappy to find a good-looking boy on my doorstep, trying to get in.’

  He backed away several paces. ‘Look, apparently you heard some of our conversation so you’ll understand if I don’t take you up on your, er, offer.’

  Andraly chuckled. ‘How about if I change the offer?’ She slid her chestnut wig from her head, exposing white hair bound into braids. Each one of these was quickly unbraided until her hair hung loose.

  ‘Now, watch closely,’ she commanded.

  ‘Er, I really need to-’

  ‘Watch!’

  Unfortunate that she was standing between him and the door. He glowered at her, his temper wearing thin.

  His irritation turned to shock as her features blurred and altered, becoming more delicate and refined. Her eyes grew in size and changed colour; her body lost some of its voluptuous curves and became slimmer and a little taller.

  After a few seconds, Eva stood before him. Eva exactly as he knew her, down to the tiny half-dimple that appeared in one cheek when she smiled.

  ‘What the -’ He backed away, stumbling over furniture as she followed him around the library.

  ‘Impressive, isn’t it? Are you sure you won’t change your mind?’

  ‘That’s a sorc trick,’ he gasped. ‘How did you...?’

  She wrinkled Eva’s elegant nose. ‘Illusions are sorcerer territory, yes, but this level of sophistication is rare. That, as you must know, is because you would have to build all the personal details yourself. Nobody really knows another that well. But that is not what I am doing.

  ‘This, dear boy, is pure Lokant. It’s a mental trick, see. I encourage your own mind to tell you that it’s Eva that you’re seeing. It’s completely convincing to you because it’s built from your own impressions.’ She kept coming on relentlessly, closing the gap between them. Tren found himself with his back to the wall, his exit cut off by the approaching Eva-lookalike.