by CM Raymond
“Before long, people started to use their powers for ill. And one day, a group of magicians, a group from The Queen’s Boulevard tried to take the Capitol with their magic. Power begets a lust for power, and these men wanted more. They were thirsty for it.”
He pulled his drink away from his lips. “And what did they accomplish?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. How could they? They were amateurs at best. Saul had a military guard and Adrien oversaw the most powerful magicians for miles around. They put down the uprising in mere hours, but its effects lingered on. Adrien closed down the Academy to any new students. It stayed closed until the first years were on the verge of graduation.
“When he reopened for new students, he had instituted an admissions policy that only allowed the best and brightest from what had become the noble class. The damnedest thing is that we all voted for it. Even I voted for it, Ezekiel! And why not?”
Her voice firmer as she relieved her memory. “We were all scared to lose this place, scared of what magic could do if it was left uncontrolled. And we trusted Adrien with our lives. I trusted him.”
The woman’s eyes glossed over and she turned out of pride toward the window looking out on her garden, her little wild patch that remained in Arcadia. The old man gently squeezed her arm and allowed the space she needed. Finally, she turned back to her friend.
“He changed everything. Adrien didn’t just regulate the magic that could be taught, he also changed the teachings about its purpose. I know now that this is why the other students needed to go before his new class could be initiated. No longer was magic for the common wealth, but for the good of the state, which amounted to nothing more than the good of Adrien.”
“But, Saul wouldn’t have let him do this.”
“At first, Saul had no idea. Adrien was curing a disease that needed to be addressed. Over time, the uprising ceased, so we all thought Adrien had made the right decision. But a year into Adrien’s solution, it started to become clear. The two would fight into the early hours of the morning over the fate of Arcadia. And then—” A coughing fit came over the woman, and her pale face turned pink, then red.
The old man leaned over and held her in his arms. Compared to watching her suffer, the story of Arcadia held little weight. Ezekiel reached out in thought as subtle as prayer. His eyes turned, and the tiniest waves of power left his body.
Her coughing stopped, she leaned back and raised her eyes to his. “You have learned things.”
He smiled. “You thought I was only taking it easy these last forty years? I have learned much. I could help you, heal your body.”
She patted his hand. “Magic can only sustain us so far, my friend.”
He shrugged, “As much as we know, all magic is limited. But I have seen things. There are powers from the Matriarch and Patriarch that have yet to be understood or revealed.”
She nodded. “In them is our hope. But it is a hope in a future that I will not see, and that honestly, I don’t want to see. I am happy to have seen you again. I must rest now, Ezekiel, but the story isn’t over. There is one more thing you must know.”
“Yes?”
“There was never any proof, and even if there was, it wouldn’t have amounted to anything. But your student—Adrien—he murdered Saul.”
Ezekiel closed his eyes and absorbed the shock. If that was true, then his protégé was truly gone, his head dropped, and hung low. “How could he have done such a thing? They were closer than any friends I have ever known,” he asked, his pain laced in every syllable of his words
Her voice was firm, but little above a whisper. “All things can break, Ezekiel, but all can be rebuilt. You are here now, here to make things right. Here to put an end to Adrien’s rule.”
****
Parker sat on a flour sack at the opposite edge of the market from the Pit. His canvas bag, a relic older than him, was wedged between his legs. The satchel was now stuffed full of his tools and the winnings from his first—and last—fight in the Pit.
Taking a beating wasn’t his idea of a livelihood, but he was behind for the month and desperate times call for idiotic measures. Between his earnings and his partner’s winnings, it was well worth taking a few lumps. Not to mention, it was likely the word of his exploits would spread throughout QBB. And being the badass kid from Queen’s Boulevard for a few weeks would have its perks.
Eyes open for his friend and partner, he scanned the crowd as he gnawed on a slice of stale bread. His jaw hurt with every bite, and he knew he would dream of Wildman Hank’s fists tonight. With his other hand, he held a handkerchief some admirer from the crowd had handed him on his exit from the Pit to his bloodied nose.
The theatrics may have worked to win the fight, but it also cost him some blood and a powerful blow to the face. Part of him was glad that the strategy he used today was a one-time use kind of card. His ears were still buzzing as he watched the crowds shift around the vendors’ stalls in the square.
The morning was his favorite time of the day. Arcadia was fresh and buzzing with new life. It made him feel like things could actually be different. Most of the citizens were rushing throughout to get a jump on their day’s work.
“What the hell happened to you?” he asked Hannah as she wove her way out of the crowd. Her beautiful nose was swollen to the size of an apple and raccoon eyes spread out from its mass. Parker couldn’t help but think she was still a knockout, even with the adjustments to her face. He chuckled at his friend, “Looks like you were the one in the ring.”
“No biggie,” Hannah said, adjusting her wool hat. “You doing OK?”
She sat next to him and pulled out her own chunk of bread. They went through these paces every day. The habits they formed gave a sense of normalcy to their completely abnormal life. Hannah winced as she looked over her old friend.
“Not so bad in there, huh?” She nodded in the direction of the ring. “It would have taken you weeks to pay back my losses if you didn’t win. And what the hell was up with the blowing kisses? Nearly got you creamed.”
Parker smiled then winced as pain shot through his face, waiting for a second to let the pain pass. “That’s what won it for me. Had to get under Hank’s skin. But, screw the fight. What the hell happened to your face.”
She ran a fingertip across her nose. “Hard to explain, really. I’m still making sense of the whole thing. Will and I were on our way to the games, and something, don’t know what came over him. He started shaking out of control—white-faced and drooling.”
“Holy shit,” Parker whispered.
“Right? I didn’t know what to do. He was in my arms, and I started to scream and then everything felt different, like I was about to explode from the inside out. And then, he was better. Almost like it had never happened.”
She considered telling him about the lizard but thought that would be too much for one conversation.
Not to be deterred, he kept up his questions. “So... where did the black eyes come in? And what’s with the hat?”
Hannah bit her lip and looked down. He’d known her for years—since they were children, and he hadn’t seen this look before. Something bad had happened. Really bad.
“Hunters happened,” she finally admitted.
“No shit?” he asked.
“Chased me into an alley…” She trailed off, and Parker gave her time. Finally, she looked up and locked eyes with him. Even through the pain, her eyes held something different. Something special. Parker knew that if it weren’t for their circumstances, she could have been something great. “They were going to kill me… I think, at least.”
“Wait. Why the hell would Hunters give a shit about you? I mean, no offense, but you don’t know a lick of magic.”
“That’s the crazy part. I don’t have the faintest idea, but they were convinced I practiced out in the market square. Right over there.” Hannah pointed off to their left. “Must’ve been what was happening with William, I don’t know. They chased me and corn
ered me in an alley.”
“You were caught by Hunters and lived to tell the tale? You have some special skills you haven’t told me about, because if so,” he lifted his sack to jingle the money quietly, “I say we put you in the Pit tomorrow.”
Hannah smiled. “Guess I have a guardian angel. Some, well… guy showed up. A magician. At least, that’s what I think he was. He looked like a character from a mother’s tale for children. Long robe, staff, and his eyes glowed a brighter than I’ve ever seen.”
“And?” Parker pushed her forward.
“Didn’t see too much. The guy dropped his hood and his face was all demonic—horns and everything. But now, I kind of wonder if it was only part of the magic. Either way, the guy totally kicked ass. Magic was flowing, but also his staff. I didn’t stick around to ask questions. Ran as fast as I could.”
Hannah was holding part of the story back, and Parker let her. There was more hurt below the surface and he felt it himself.
After enough time, he asked, “So, what did you do?”
“I just told you,” Hannah replied, willing to punch him in the shoulder, but even annoyed, she wasn’t that mean to hit him after his pummeling by Hank this morning.
“No, I mean to your brother. How did you heal him?” he clarified.
She shrugged, looking around the market, “I didn’t do anything. He just...just got better. It was a misunderstanding. They were going to brain me in some back alley over their… their… misperception, I guess. And what’s worse–” she lifted the hat quickly to show off the tag still burning on her forehead “–they stuck me with this. I don’t know how the hell I’m gonna get it off, Parker. But other than that, I’m fine. Really. Let’s just get to work.”
Hannah looked tough, but Parker didn’t buy it. Something else was going on, but he would let it be for the time.
The morning didn’t stop for stories, and they needed to strike while the iron was hot.
He placed his hands over his heart and batted his eyelashes. “Well, I’m glad you’re OK. I’d be lost without you.”
“Screw you,” Hannah laughed. “What’s the play today?”
“Well,” he said as he patted the leather bag at his side, his eyebrows dancing up and down before he winced, “I thought I’d play with my balls.”
CHAPTER SIX
Hannah pulled her legs up underneath her on the sack of flour as she watched Parker move toward the crowd. He held a crate discarded from a produce vendor in his arms, his leather bag strapped tightly to his back. As he moved through the crowded marketplace, he bumped into shoppers along his way. His feigned clumsiness was drawing quite a bit of attention.
"Excuse me," he repeated as he made his way forward.
Shoppers and vendors kept looking over their shoulder at him as he spun through the crowd. Finally, he bumped hard into a cart filled with fresh bread. It pitched over onto its side, and the loaves spilled out onto the ground, tumbling in every direction. Parker fell in a heap among the mess. The shopkeeper who was pushing the cart loomed over her friend.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Look at this...”
Parker stood, hands raised in defense like a kid caught trying to steal candy. “Sorry. I can…”
“Damn right you can. Clean this shit up. And you’re going to buy the bread I can’t sell now.”
Almost nothing draws a crowd better than a public confrontation. A semi-circle formed around the disruption as the baldheaded salesman continued his tirade against Hannah's friend. A few shouts came from the crowd. Many of them wanted to see another fight.
"Now," the shopkeeper snarled.
"Okay. I’ll do whatever you want, right after I do this," Parker said.
He bent at the waist placed the crate on the ground, and in one swift move, Parker vaulted up into a perfect handstand, toes pointed to the sky. A gasp came from the onlookers, and even the shopkeeper stared in disbelief.
Hannah smiled as her friend performed ten perfect handstand push-ups, counting each one off as he went. Although she knew her friend could easily do a hundred such pushups, the crowd was awed by his perfect combination of strength and balance. Some were muttering about his performance earlier that day in the Pit.
On the last pushup, a single red ball dropped out of his leather bag. Holding himself on the box in a one-handed handstand, he caught the red ball with his right as it fell toward the dusty ground.
The crowd gasped, then cheered. Even the shopkeeper laughed along with them.
Parker flipped off the box onto the ground and gave a bow for the crowd. Reaching into the bag he drew out two more balls and started a simple juggling routine as he stepped back onto the crate.
Hannah took a moment to get lost in his routine, even though she knew it by heart. As the crowd gasped and laughed, she could picture each of his moves in her mind’s eye. She knew that her friend’s role in their partnership was the hardest, but hers was by far the most dangerous.
Convinced that the market goers were thoroughly entranced, Hannah got to work. She wove through the intoxicated crowd bumping into bodies as she went.
Most ignored her tiny frame. She was just another body pressing against them, trying to get a better view of the show. But just as they ignored her, they were also unaware of her hands reaching into coat pockets and handbags.
Parker’s clowning grabbed at their attention as Hannah grabbed for their purse strings. She worked quickly, and by the time Hannah got to the opposite side of the bazaar, she'd filled the pockets of her cloak with whatever items of value she could lift.
****
Ezekiel leaned against a pillar on the backside of the bazaar. If his face weren’t veiled by the low-hanging hood, one might have seen the smile spreading across his face and his eyebrows raised in anticipation.
The young man was causing a raucous in the small square—everyone turning in his direction to watch the common-man’s court jester. But the old man’s eyes weren’t on him.
Ezekiel’s eyes were locked on the girl.
Smart, he thought. Both of them.
She wore a thick wool cap on her head, but Ezekiel could see the bruising around her eyes and cheeks. Yesterday hadn’t broken her—she was obviously stronger than that. She sat on the edge of a flower sack, watching her partner’s perfect setup.
The sound of the crowd rose and fell with anticipation as the young man did amazing feats with a set of red juggling balls. He’d pass a can when he was finished, the old man had seen it many times before. Street performers like this would make more than a simple panhandler, but not enough to live on. But the old man knew that performance art was not their primary game.
He watched as the girl weaved through the crowd. Her hands moved deftly; the old man observed her draw secretly from each of her marks. No one so much as stirred as she picked their pockets. She was wandering in his direction and had nearly broken through the crowd when something went wrong.
“Pardon me,” he heard her say as she knocked into one last mark on the edge of the circle—an overweight shopkeeper of some sort wearing brightly colored clothing, obviously not a resident of the Boulevard.
The young lady slipped her hand into the pocket of the man’s coat. In a flash, he reached out and snatched her forearm.
Ezekiel watched the young thief’s cheeks turn white.
The shopkeeper opened his mouth wide, but before he could say a word, Ezekiel waved his hand in their direction. He spoke a word of power, and his eyes glowed red in the shadow of his cloak. The man in the crowd froze, mouth open. His eyes held a blank expression like he was sleepwalking.
