Eve of Destruction

by C. E. Stalbaum

  Eve sighed and tossed the paper down in disgust. It seemed like every other article was about some new “innovative triumph” by the Dusties, and reading about those was about as satisfying as cleaning up the freshman dormitories after orientation day. Instead she reached into her satchel and pulled out the book Maltus had given her.

  She had already flipped through enough of it to be utterly awed by the formulae and theorems inside; most of them explained spells she hadn’t even conceived of before. She wanted to bury herself in it, but she had also brought her class books with her. Before leaving Lushden, she’d made a promise to herself to read through them as much as possible during the ride. It was a token consolation that made her feel a bit better about abandoning her studies mid-semester, but so far she had barely opened them. They were like children’s books compared to the one Maltus had given her.

  Either way, it was a moot point. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on much of anything for the last several hours. If she wasn’t wallowing in grief, she was struggling to bury flashes of rage like the one bubbling inside her now.

  “This election scares me,” she murmured.

  “I’m pretty sure it scares anyone with half a brain,” Zach replied, sighing and tipping up the brim of his hat. “You wouldn’t believe what I put up with overseas.”

  “You mean dealing with the Esharians?”

  He snorted. “Goddess, no. Most of the locals were great—nice, helpful, everything you could want. I meant the soldiers in my unit.”

  “I still can’t believe you did it,” she told him, smiling. “You actually went and became a shuvo.”

  His face darkened, and she immediately wished she could take it back. It was a term her father had used a lot when they were younger, an old slur magi used to describe a military hardhead. It implied they had no ability to think on their own, among other, less flattering things.

  “You have no idea what it was like,” Zach said. His voice had an edge to it, but it sounded more like annoyance than anger. “I grew up with your family in our nice little neighborhood…but it was never real to me until I saw it first-hand.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This conflict, this festering resentment between the magi and everyone else,” he explained. “A lot of the guys were from the west coast, well past Vaschberg. The things they said were just…well, worse than anything you’ve ever heard, and it wasn’t just mealtime drek. They meant what they said. I felt like I had to lie about where I was from.”

  “Why? It’s not shameful to come from a nice, educated town, you know.”

  “You don’t get it,” he insisted. “It doesn’t work like that, not with a group of soldiers. You bond in really odd ways. Hating someone or something keeps them sane; it lets them justify what they have to do. There are certain realities you just have to accept living like that.”

  “Like dumbing yourself down so you can fit in?”

  He shot her a cold glare and then turned away. He was sitting up fully now, arms crossed even more tightly, and Eve knew she’d hit a sore spot. She should have regretted it. This wasn’t an inquisition; he had nothing to prove to her. But the rage twisting in her gut begged her to make it one. She just wanted someone to fight so she could let it all out, and he was a convenient target.

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “That was stupid.”

  Zach took a deep breath and seemed to blink his annoyance away. “I’m just saying it’s real, and you need to remember that. The moment we get off this train you’re going to be surrounded by thousands of people who hate you—and a lot of them would hurt you, given the chance. I know everyone is sick of hearing about it, but Kalavan really did change everything.”

  Eve closed her eyes and rubbed at her forehead. Yes, it had changed everything, and it was one of those rare events where everyone could remember exactly where they’d been when they’d first heard the news. She’d been sitting in her room pouring over a treatise on kinetic energy when the headmaster had sent out the announcement. He hadn’t waited for the students to read about the tragedy in the morning paper; he’d called an open forum to explain what had happened to everyone on campus.

  She hadn’t believed it at first, and a part of her still couldn’t. She was one of the top students in her class, and she could barely weave enough energy to heat a tub of water. The thought that somehow a single man could muster enough power to eradicate an entire island…

  It seemed impossible, but then she was still just a krata and not a real mage. She couldn’t even weave enough power to invoke the Flensing yet, not that she would have wished to if she could. From the time she was eight years old and her mother first began to teach her about the Fane, Eve had been warned about its perils. The Flensing was a constant reminder of the cost of their power, and a mage who became reckless or greedy enough could literally kill herself by weaving too much energy. Many saw it as a curse, but her mother had always told her it was a blessing from the Goddess, a shield to protect the world from those with an endless thirst for power. It was what the magi had told the public for generations, and it was why the Enclave insisted the torbos had nothing to fear.

  It was also a lie.

  “My father told me once that if the torbo masses ever really understood the power of the Fane, then the whole country would cease to function,” Eve said softly. “Their fear would turn them against us. Even the clergy wouldn’t be safe.”

  Zach shrugged. “Honestly, I’m more aghast at how few people know anything about history. It’s all there if you read closely enough. The soldiers I keep telling you about? They believed that magi were dangerous, but they couldn’t really articulate why. They could tell you that magi destroyed Vakar, but not how or why or anything specific. And on top of that, they had no concept of the Fane, not really. To them it was basically mysticism, and that made it even more terrifying.”

  Eve nodded distantly. She understood well how ignorance often lead to fear, which could then very easily be twisted into violence. But at the same time, her years at school had opened her eyes to how horrifying some knowledge could be. In the end, her father was probably right; the torbos were better off not-knowing. Especially about the Flensing—specifically, that it wasn’t quite the crippling limitation the Enclave made it out to be.

  Every mage had to draw upon her own life-force to touch the Fane, and it was that consumption that ultimately brought on the Flensing. But there was another path to power, and despite the Enclave’s tireless efforts to bury the knowledge of this technique, they had never been completely successful. Her mother had warned her about it for many years, and her instructors at the academy had begun to toss out their own subtle warnings the farther she advanced in her studies. It was essentially the giant balma in the room at any university—the thing weighing on everyone’s mind that no one was willing to talk about.

  In academic circles many of the magi referred to it is as “sundering,” but the Edehan priestesses simply called it “Defilement,” an irredeemable desecration of the Fane. It had allegedly been created by Edeh’s long-dead husband, Abalor, and his servants, called Balorites, had used it to try and destroy the Fane many times over throughout the centuries. Eve didn’t know how much of it was true and how much was Enclave propaganda, but she did understand how the technique was supposed to work in theory.

  Defilers drew their energy from the living things around them—plants, vermin, even people—all to avoid the effects of the Flensing. Without that check upon their power, even a run-of-the-mill mage could weave enough energy to kill. A master could…well, Kalavan had shown what a master could do. A single mage, Oscar Vacal, had destroyed an entire island to fuel his power.

  Maybe it would have been better if the Enclave told the public the truth. Maybe then their rage would be directed at the Defilers themselves, or toward any who helped renegade magi acquire the knowledge. Maybe the Dusties wouldn’t blame every single magi for the weakness of a few. Maybe her mother would still be alive.
r />   Eve sighed. No, none of that was likely. As hard as it was to admit, the Enclave was probably right. The less people really knew about Defilement, the better.

  “You know, I never had a chance to ask you something,” Zach said. “Did you actually know Vacal before he went crazy and destroyed Kalavan?”

  She nodded solemnly. “Everyone did at Rorendal. He was very popular, at least with the students. His ideas were…controversial.”

  Zach raised an eyebrow. “The newspapers made him seem like a magi supremacist. They said he especially despised President Janel.”

  “He thought Janel’s election was the beginning of the end,” she said distantly. “First we elect a torbo president, then next the Industrialists rise to power. He said it would destroy Arkadia and possibly the Fane.”

  “Sounds like a demagogue to me,” Zach grunted. “Tossing around dangerous hyperbole to a bunch of young students who trust you to be impartial.”

  Eve shook her head and locked eyes with him. “But what if he was right? It looks like Chaval’s going to win, doesn’t it? Then the Dusties are in charge, and what happens next?”

  He pursed his lips. “There’s a big leap between one election and the country falling apart. We’ve endured a lot since Independence—I’d like to think we aren’t that fragile.”

  “Maybe not,” she conceded. “But you can understand how appealing those ideas would be to a bunch of young magi living in the middle of this Dusty revolution.”

  Zach studied her for a moment. “Even you?”

  Eve closed her eyes and rubbed at her nose. She could lie, of course, but he would see through her easily enough. And besides, he was her best friend even if he was a torbo. If she couldn’t trust him, then who else?

  “At first,” she admitted. “It was hard not to. Once I started studying in earnest, learning about how the forces of the world really worked and how they all interacted with the Fane, it was…well, it was easy to start thinking that I was better than everyone else. Certainly better than a bunch of uneducated kreel who couldn’t appreciate art or philosophy or anything about the Fane.”

  “And then you start to wonder why those people are allowed to be in power at all,” Zach added. “Maybe why they’re even allowed to vote.”

  She made a face. “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but it’s the next step,” he told her. “I may just be a poor shuvo and all, but I had a lot of time to read when I was overseas. I gathered up every history book I could find, and everything you just said has been spoken before by someone—usually right before things got ugly.”

  Her first reaction was to lash back at him, to defend her position—but then, it wasn’t her position, at least not anymore. So then why did it feel so personal when he attacked it?

  Vacal had told a bunch of scared students exactly what they wanted to hear—namely, that they and their families weren’t to blame for the country’s problems. Quite the opposite, actually; he blamed everything on the Dusties and their sympathizers who just couldn’t accept their place in life.

  The problem is that he was wrong. No one was blameless here. And if things were going to get better, people on both sides were going to have to realize that.

  Eve smiled tiredly. “You’re not just a poor shuvo, by the way.”

  Zach cocked an eyebrow. “Did you forget the part where I said you’d have to pay for everything? I can’t even afford a ticket back.”

  She laughed. “You said before that Kalavan changed everything. It didn’t change me.”

  “You’re not telling me you still believe Vacal’s nonsense?”

  “No, but it wasn’t Kalavan that changed my mind.”

  He just stared at her, head shaking in confusion.

  “It was you,” she whispered.

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “You were you,” she told him. “One night when I was reading one of Vacal’s books I started thinking about where you would fit in this new world of his. You’re smart enough to go to school, but your family couldn’t afford it. I’m not sure what he would expect you to do. It was like he couldn’t even conceive of a torbo being smart enough to do anything on his own.”

  “I suppose that’s a compliment.”

  She shrugged. “It was meant to be. I eventually threw out his books and dropped his class. I wrote you a letter about it but decided not to send it. I don’t even remember why.”

  He reached out and squeezed her hand. She looked into his deep blue eyes, and it was like she’d suddenly opened a box of old memories. As children, she had always expected them to both go to the university and maybe even become teachers together. Once she got older and realized how he wouldn’t be able to afford it, she still had girlish fantasies of marrying him once she finished and living happily ever after…

  But that was a long time ago. Not in raw years, perhaps, but they had both changed a lot in their time apart—much more than she would have ever expected. Speaking about politics and Vacal, however, she realized grimly that perhaps she hadn’t necessarily changed for the better.

  Eve started to lean forward towards him when the curtain to their private cabin whooshed open. A gangly, middle-aged man loomed in front of it, his face flushed. Across the aisle behind him she could see his own empty seat with a half-finished bottle of brandy resting on the table.

  “Mage,” he sneered. There was no mistaking the revulsion in his eyes, and Eve scrunched back into her seat.

  “Do you mind?” Zach asked. “No need to be rude.”

  “You want me to just sit here and listen to her lies?” the man growled. “We’ve done that long enough. I think I’ll have security throw you off this train at the next station.”

  “What?” Eve stammered. “I haven’t done anything! I paid for my ticket like anyone else.”

  “We’ll see what the police say about that. A mage sitting here talking treason...that will get their attention.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Treason? What are you —”

  “Keep your voice down,” Zach said calmly. “Sir, there’s no reason for you to be upset. Why don’t you just have a seat and we’ll be quiet the rest of the way.”

  He snorted. “I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you, boy? Just sit tight until you get where you’re going, then you’ll go right back to drekking on us torbos. Isn’t that right?”

  Zach brought himself to his feet. He might not have been particularly tall, but he was as solid as they came. Even Eve found herself recoiling back from the intensity of his glare. He rolled up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo on his bicep that she had never seen before—it was the insignia of the Arkadian Army, if she wasn’t mistaken.

  “I cleaned up the mess at Kalavan,” Zach told him coldly. “I saw the bodies. I saw what happened first hand, and I fought like hell to kill the bastard that did it and all those who supported him. I bled for this country. What have you done?”

  The man swallowed heavily and leaned back. The rage in his eyes drained away, and confusion quickly rushed in to take its place. Whatever he’d been expecting when he tossed back that curtain, a soldier certainly wasn’t it.

  “I appreciate your service,” the man said gingerly, “but why in the Goddess’s name would you travel with one of them?”

  “Because she’s my friend, and she’s not a threat to anyone,” Zach replied. His voice was so calm, so measured, Eve barely recognized it. “She can say and think whatever she wants, just like you can. That’s freedom—that’s what this country is supposed to be about. Now if you don’t mind, sir, we would like to be left alone.”

  Zach grabbed the curtain and waited for the other man to back off. It took a moment, but eventually the drunkard turned away and stumbled back to his cabin. Zach shut the curtain, then let out a deep breath and rolled down his sleeve.

  Eve shook her head. “I…how did you do that?”

  His eyes popped up to meet hers. “You learn how to deal with people,” he said with a shrug, “and not just with y
our gun.”

  He sat back down, and it was like he’d flipped a switch—one second he’d been an entirely different man, a proud and strong warrior, and then in the next he was back to being the little boy she’d grown up with. She’d seen the exact same transition at Radbury, and it made her realize that despite all their years together, she might not have known him as well as she thought.

  Eve got up and slid onto his chair. She melted into his lap and grinned up at him. He adjusted himself in the seat and put an arm around her, smiling back wryly.

  “Comfortable?”

  “Definitely,” she whispered. “And thanks.”

  His smile faded. “Expect a lot worse in Vaschberg. We’ll have to be careful.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes. He was probably right, and she knew it should have worried her at least a little. But for some reason, sitting here with him again made it feel like everything would work out for the best.

  ***

  “You ever catch a look at her?” Hanos asked as he twirled the small bottle of Polerian brandy in his fingertips.

  “You break that thing and I’m going to shoot you,” Agren snapped. Every time the train bumped, he felt his heart skip when his partner toyed around like that.

  “Relax, vassa. I swear, you’re as jittery as a priestess at a whorehouse.”

  Agren sighed and glanced out the cabin window. They weren’t quite halfway to Vaschberg yet, but with any luck they’d be getting off when the train stopped at Olastown. Then the police would come aboard to investigate why two of the passengers had died in their cabin. Of course, by the time things heated up, he and Hanos would already be at the bank waiting for their payment to get wired to them. Twenty thousand drakes to take out a shuvo and a mage—this Soroshi guy paid well, whoever he was.

  “I caught a glimpse of her,” Agren said after a moment. “Pretty little thing, if you ask me. I bet she’s spreading for that shuvo she’s with.”

  Hanos chuckled. “I wonder who they pissed off.”