The World Awakening

by Dan Koboldt

  “Go ahead,” Quinn told Jillaine.

  “Are you sure?”

  That I don’t want you to watch me? Absolutely. “I’ll be fine.”

  She glided away down the slope, light and elegant as a feather.

  “Well, here goes.” He nudged the saucer from behind. Gently at first, which made it drift forward encouragingly. Then he tried it too hard, and nearly shoved the thing out from under himself. “Whoa! Damn.” Once he had his balance again, he gave the saucer a slow, steady push. It crept forward to the edge. A little more. He reached the edge, tilted over, and started gliding down the slope. Gravity took it from there, pulling him down the incline faster and faster. His cloak flapped behind him in the wind from it.

  That’s what I’m talking about. He tilted the saucer down a bit on one side, then the other, testing his ability to steer. It took a bit to get the hang of it, but he figured he could at least avoid major obstacles. He centered it again and then bore down on the front edge. It shot him forward, and the wind in his ears became a roar. “Woo!”

  Moric and Jillaine, previously two specks against the distant greenery, grew larger as he gained on them. Which he seemed to be doing quickly and rather recklessly. He eased back on the saucer and let the lip come up, which helped a little. The slope plunged downward. He gained on them fast. Too fast. He leaned to one side to give Moric a wide berth. Otherwise he’d have plowed right into him. He shot past, startling the man as he careened down toward the bottom of the hill.

  Flat ground raced up to meet him. At the very bottom, the edge of his saucer scraped the ground and almost sent him tumbling. He pinwheeled his arms backward, overcompensated, and fell right on his ass. “Oof!” His saucer dissipated into a cloud of dust.

  Moric and Jillaine glided to a stop beside him, both wearing identical expressions of amusement.

  So much for the grand entrance.

  “Are you all right?” Jillaine asked.

  Moric chuckled. “Not as easy as it looks, is it?”

  “I like to learn things the hard way.” Quinn stood and brushed himself off. The magic had fled when he fell, and now he lamented the hint of emptiness it left behind. “Where are we going?”

  A chime sounded. It sounded like it came from above, only there were no overhead speakers here. A second, identical-sounding note followed.

  “I was about to say to ‘find the members of the council,’ but it seems they’re expecting us.” Moric stepped off his platform and dismissed it with a wave. “It might be safer to walk.”

  Chapter 12

  Interrogations

  “If you want to win big, you have to bet big.”

  —Art of Illusion, June 25

  The first time Quinn saw the Enclave’s amphitheater, he had to prove his abilities to the crowd. Even with the dire threat of execution looming over it, the whole occasion had felt more like a carnival than a life or death trial. Now, as he approached the west entrance with Moric and Jillaine, he got another vibe entirely. It was already crowded with magicians, and all of their faces were grim. The last few stragglers who entered just before them avoided eye contact. The normal hummingbird-buzz of light conversation was notably absent, replaced instead with low mutterings of discontent.

  If this were a theater in Vegas, Quinn would have taken one look and decided to call in sick.

  “Something doesn’t feel right,” Jillaine said.

  “I know,” Quinn said.

  Moric said nothing. His face might as well have been chiseled in stone.

  Quinn yanked him to a halt by his sleeve. “Moric?”

  He halted and looked down at Quinn’s hand until he let go. “There were a lot of questions after your abrupt departure,” he said. “The Enclave wants answers.” He strode in.

  Quinn turned to Jillaine. “I think he’s still mad at me for spiriting you away.”

  “That’s not why he’s upset.”

  “Why, then?”

  “He’s the one who found you, and argued that you should be taught with the other students. He vouched for you more times than you realize.”

  “I’ve kept my promises to him. Even he admits that.”

  “Maybe he’s still not sure where your loyalties lie.”

  We’re not talking about Moric anymore. He had to say this just right. “I’m a magician, and I’m loyal to the Enclave. I can’t say that was always true, but it is now.”

  She rewarded him with a smile, and a little sparkle to her eyes. “You still have a lot of trust to rebuild. This is how you go about doing that.”

  “All right, lady.” He pointed a finger at her. “But stick around, because you’re next.”

  She half-rolled her eyes at him, but she kept smiling. “Just go.”

  “I’m going.” He turned and marched into the amphitheater with all the false bravado of a stage performer.

  The scene within proved even worse than he’d predicted. Virtually every magician of substance at the Enclave waited there, seated in row after row toward the front. All of them wore dark robes with their hoods drawn. The unhappy murmur of conversation fell away to silence as he entered. They were looking at him. No, not just looking. He could feel their gazes, but every time he saw a face he recognized—Sella, Anton, even good old Leward—none of them would meet his eyes.

  Like jurors with a guilty verdict.

  Captain Relling, former head of Alissian operations and now the Enclave harbormaster, sat in the second row, all the way to one side against the wall. She looked so like her sister Kiara that he did a double take. She stared at him with open ferocity. Moric had gone to take a seat beside Sella. He didn’t have to squeeze in; there was a gap in the front row there. As if she’d saved the seat for him. Which was either extremely polite guesswork, since Moric had arrived with him, or . . . oh, shit. They’d already known. He’d known. And he’d brought Quinn here with virtually no warning to face them all.

  Damn, at least the last time Moric had brought him here for trial, he’d given him the courtesy of a heads-up. How far I’ve fallen.

  Given the face of such hostility, he felt that bluster was his best friend. “Well, it’s good to be back here. How are you all?”

  Not so much as a flicker of a response rippled over the audience. They sat in silent judgment of him, waiting for something. An apology, perhaps, or a confession. It depended on what they’d figured out since he’d left, what Relling had told them, and what Moric had revealed. Hell, even Anton could have shed some light on things if he cared to. There was no way to be certain. The only thing he knew was that this crowd needed some major winning over.

  “I suppose you have questions.” He took a breath, and let it out slowly. “Ask, and I will do my best to answer them.”

  A few heads turned to look in Sella’s direction. The white-haired, matronly woman sniffed, and fixed him with a hard stare. “Why don’t you start at the very beginning? What’s your name?”

  “It’s Quinn, actually. But my family name is Bradley, not Thomas.” That one cost him nothing. Lots of people knew both his stage name and his real one.

  “Are you actually from Landor?”

  “No.” There was no point in sticking to his cover identity any longer, useful as it had been.

  “Then where are you from?” Sella demanded.

  “Felara.” He saw Moric’s frown, and knew he wouldn’t get away with that one. “But I was born on another world. We call it Earth.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “There’s a portal between Earth and Alissia.”

  “What do you mean by portal?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a doorway of sorts. A threshold. You walk through it, and then you’re in the other world. Both sides have a sort of cave around them.”

  An odd thing happened then. Sella looked over at Moric, and something passed between them. They seemed in a rather intense—albeit quiet—conference with each other.

  Anton took the opportunity to step in. “Is it a
natural phenomenon?”

  Quinn shook his head. “I don’t think so. At least, we wouldn’t call it such on my world. And it gives off a strange sort of energy when you’re around it. A buzzing feeling.” He couldn’t describe it any better than that, but the sensation of being near the gateway was unique and inexplicable. Almost like standing near a powerful electrical transformer, hearing the hum, but not being able to see inside the box.

  “Magical?”

  “I guess it could be. Honestly, we’ve been studying the damn thing for years and we don’t know.”

  “Who is this ‘we’ you speak of?”

  Uh-oh. This had strayed into dangerous territory. For him to blow his own cover was one thing. Burning Kiara, Logan, Mendez, and Veena was quite another.

  Sella came to the rescue. She broke off her sidebar with Moric to demand, “How long has this gateway been in existence?”

  “At least fifteen years, but maybe longer. It’s well hidden on our world.”

  “Did you feel anything when you walked through it?” Moric asked.

  “Cold. Like one of Sella’s lessons at the stream,” Quinn said.

  “He wouldn’t have felt it,” Sella said to Moric.

  “He might have.”

  “He’s still a student.”

  “Not any longer, I should think.”

  Sella gave him a cool glance. “Only because he’s been deceiving us.”

  “He has,” Moric said. “But he’s also been using magic.”

  She snorted. “You’re as blind as I was.”

  Moric gestured vaguely in Quinn’s direction, but didn’t look at him. “Check him yourself.”

  “Fine.” She stood with a huff, and set about straightening her robes. Which wasn’t necessary at all, but spoke to her current mood. Then she fixed her predatory gaze on Quinn and marched right up to him. “Show me your magic, boy.”

  For the first time that he could remember, Quinn had everyone’s eyes on him and absolutely no inclination to perform magic. “Um, I don’t feel like—”

  “I’m not interested in your feelings. Show me!”

  Quinn sighed, and lacking any better idea, he opened himself up to the magic enough to summon back the flying saucer. It took shape in pure white form beside him. He didn’t want to risk climbing on it, given how badly that had gone before, but he gave it a little push and set it gliding around the amphitheater for effect. Let no one say Quinn Bradley refuses to entertain.

  Sella sniffed in apparent disdain. “A little flashy for my taste. Do something about this.” She made a casual twisting gesture and set Quinn’s cloak on fire.

  “Oh, come on!” He started to yank it off, but caught himself. She wanted magic. And the flames that licked up the edge of his cloak, while alarmingly close to the crotch, didn’t emanate nearly as much heat as true fire should have. The magic welled up inside of him almost on its own. He imagined it became the frost of Felaran mountains, and sent it whooshing down his body like a wave. It snuffed out the flames with a soft whump and a brush of ice-coolness down his legs. He might have just given himself frostbite, but at least the fire was out.

  “Satisfied?”

  Sella grunted. “Doesn’t mean he can tell us if the gateway is what you think it is.” She turned her back and marched back to take a seat beside Moric.

  “Wait, what do you think it is?” Quinn asked.

  “That is not your concern,” Moric said. “We will be asking the questions.”

  His wooden tone was irritating. He’d been so eager to get Quinn and Jillaine back here, apparently to facilitate this little interrogation. “Then ask one.”

  “Why did you come here?”

  “You know why. So that I could learn magic.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  Damn. So much for getting away with half-truths. “My former employers told me to come, to learn about your relationship with the Valteroni Prime.”

  Stark realization passed over Anton’s face, and disappeared just as quickly. If he made the mental leap to Quinn’s involvement in the vote, he didn’t bring it up. Doesn’t want the aiding and abetting charges.

  “Why are they so interested in the Valteroni Prime?” Sella asked.

  “They want to remove him from power.” That was the truth, if not the whole of it. Maybe it was the stage magician in him, but he thought he should hold back a little.

  A few of the magicians began muttering to their neighbors. The distress was palpable, as was the displeasure. They really didn’t like the idea of aliens meddling with their local politics. If only they knew.

  Relling took the news stoically. The snarl had disappeared from her face, replaced with something closer to thoughtfulness. Quinn would have killed to know the reason why.

  Moric stood and made his way to the front. “I would like to say something about Richard Holt, since I didn’t have the opportunity to do so before the council took its vote.” He shot Quinn a dark look. “Richard Holt has done more for Valteron than the past three primes put together. He came to power in the midst of a civil war, put an end to the violence, and made his adversaries into trusted allies. What other political leaders can we say that about?”

  The audience had gone still. No one offered up an answer.

  “Exactly,” Moric said. “He also opened his gates to thousands of starving refugees, providing them food and shelter. His navy protects our ships and shores from piracy. And his discretion helps ensure that no one can find our island unless we wish it.” He turned to Quinn, but asked the question loud enough for all to hear. “Why in the name of the gods would anyone want to remove this man from power?”

  Quinn was beginning to wonder that himself. Yet he’d promised to give answers, so he offered up the best one he could think of. “Because he’s from my world, too.”

  Chapter 13

  Unexpected Parties

  “At this moment, there are too many unknowns. What happened to the Victoria being just one salient example.”

  —R. Holt, “What Is Our Endgame?”

  The magicians told Quinn to return to his quarters in the Landorian tower while the council talked things over. It wasn’t a prison sentence per se, but it had the ominous feel of one. Return to your quarters until we come for you. Jillaine promised she’d come to him later; she wanted to put her role as a council member to good use.

  At least I have one champion in there.

  At least, he thought he did. Because two hours had passed, and no one had come. He took that as a bad sign. The last time he’d been here, he’d had three visitors before he set his saddlebags down. This time, not so much. Not everyone had been in the amphitheater when he made his confession, but rumors spread like wildfire in the Enclave. No one here could keep a goddamn secret.

  Other than me, I suppose . . .

  The only upside of returning to the Enclave is that he could openly practice magic without worrying about being burned at the stake. The trouble was, he didn’t know how to do much that was practical. Hell, he didn’t know how to do much that was impractical, either. So he focused on what he could manage: pushing small objects around, levitating things, making a flame appear and disappear. The process was surprisingly similar to mastering sleight of hand tricks. He got better with repetition. It gave him something to practice, something to focus on. Something to keep his mind off the fact that his fate might be decided in a room on the far side of the island.

  Of course, it being Alissian magic, it also made him drowsy. He must have drifted off at some point, because he woke to the sound of an insistent knock on his door. About time. He tucked his spread of gold and silver coins—a small fortune by this world’s standards—back into his purse, stumped to the door, and yanked it open. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten—”

  His words fell away, because the last face he expected to see was Captain Relling’s.

  This can’t be good. He took an instinctive step backward, and tried to remember where he’d put his swo
rd. Maybe she’d come to finish the job she started in that shack near the harbor. “What do you want?”

  Uncertainty warred with the usual scowl on her face. “Just a word in private, if you don’t mind.”

  “I do mind, actually. I haven’t forgotten what a private conversation with you is like.”

  She held out her hands so that he could see they were empty. “I’m not armed.”

  He should tell her to get lost, and to keep the hell away from him. But he was bored, and frustrated with the council’s silence. “I suppose I have a minute.”

  She checked both directions down the hall, entered, and pushed the door shut behind her. Almost like she was worried someone would see. Which she didn’t need to worry about, because everyone on this island was avoiding him like the plague.

  Quinn took up a position on the far side of his room, which wasn’t nearly enough distance to make him comfortable. He’d seen how fast Relling could move. She had her sister’s sense of efficient brutality. Warily, he said, “So, Captain Relling. Here we are.”

  She grimaced. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been called that.”

  “At least five years, if I’m not mistaken. That’s a long time to stay under cover.”

  “You can’t begin to imagine.”

  “So, are you here to ask me whose side I’m really on?” That’s all anyone seems to ask me lately.

  “No, I think you made that obvious when you blew your own cover today.”

  “I’m putting my cards on the table.”

  She nodded, and the thoughtful look returned to her face. “What I can’t figure out is why you didn’t blow mine.”

  “Oh. Did you want me to?”

  “Of course not. But calling me out could have taken some of the heat off, and strengthened your cause. It would have been good strategy.”

  “In the short term, maybe.” He gave her a wink and a smile. “I’m more of a long-term guy.”

  “What’s your objective? Blackmail won’t work with me.”

  He nearly laughed out loud. That’s exactly the sort of thing Kiara would say. “You’ve been part of the community for a long time. I didn’t think calling you out would help anyone.”