“I’ll tell you what,” Tailon said. “Find me a suitable apprentice, and I will consider it. My last one fell a week ago. Didn’t anchor his harness.” Grief flashed over Tailon’s features as he glanced at the Fissure. “Some say there’s a whole other world down there,” he said. “I’d like to hope the boy’s living a happy subterranean life.”
Drawing a deep breath, he returned his attention to Meckule, gesturing toward the carriage. “Now, I’m sure you’ve got other people to make speeches at. Perhaps you’d enjoy spending some time as an actor? Seems to me you’d excel at that.”
With that, Tailon turned away and walked off coolly, leaving Meckule to stare at the back of his floppy hat.
Meckule felt strangely deflated as he watched the back of his brother’s head bob away. For the first time, he wondered where the man had come from. He certainly didn’t take after their father, a pillar of business and politics, nor after their mother, the imperious, vain, conniving ruler of all she surveyed.
Meckule looked up at the crimson moon and thought perhaps only Rahim on His throne knew. With a sigh, he plodded back to his carriage and threw himself hard against the seat.
* * *
No sooner had Meckule reached his office door than Vahashti reappeared, having donned a dress of various scarlet hues, all mixing into a subtle pattern of flames. It complemented her fiery hair perfectly. Meckule could feel a bit of his usual self returning as he gazed at her.
“How’s the headache?” she asked, leaning against a doorframe and lifting her chin. Meckule could no longer see the strange pattern on her neck. Perhaps in his fatigue he had imagined it.
He clamped his eyes shut momentarily and then shook his head. “Raging like a hungry magebear. I went to my brother, and he spoke to me with astounding insolence. I tried to reason with him, but the man has shut his ears and his mind. All on account of some visions he claims to have. I only wish I could have him declared of unsound mind and unfit to govern his part of the company. It would solve so many problems.”
Vahashti’s head lolled forward, her lips curved in a subtle smile. “Don’t you have something you can hold over him? I mean, he is your brother.”
Meckule sighed. “There are days I doubt even that. He is so single-minded that he hasn’t the time to get into mischief. He’s eccentric, but everyone knows that, and it is hardly something to hold against him.”
Vahashti advanced, draping an arm around his shoulders and pulling herself close. He relaxed a bit as her intoxicating scent encompassed him. “Then what does he need? Every man needs … something.”
His brother did need something, but he doubted it lay within Vahashti’s realm of expertise. “An apprentice,” Meckule said. “His old apprentice died in an accident. I don’t suppose you know of a suitable candidate.”
Letting a long breath out through her nose, Vahashti relaxed her hold on him. “Well,” she said, “I don’t know what makes a good apprentice, but I do know a young, hard-working boy. My dead sister’s son, Fen. I look after him. I could see about it.”
“Perhaps,” Meckule said, wondering why he had never heard of this boy until now. Then again, their liaisons had not left much time for chatting. “What can you tell me about the boy?”
“Intelligent, strong, easy to get along with,” she said. “Actually reminds me a bit of you. And above all, he’s completely loyal to me. He’ll do anything I tell him, which gives you a person close to your brother who can observe his every move.”
For the first time that day, Meckule smiled genuinely.
* * *
Early the next morning, Meckule sat in his carriage, arms folded across his lap, a contented smile on his face. Fen, the boy Vahashti had recommended, sat across from him, keeping his eyes on the scenery or the floor. Anywhere but Meckule, really.
As they reached the top of a ridge, Meckule realized he had not given the boy the last piece of the plan. He reached into the inside pocket of his overcoat and withdrew a piece of faceted glass, fashioned into the shape of a nine-pointed star. He cleared his throat to get the boy’s attention, pausing for a moment to get a good look at the lad.
He had dark hair, a firm chin, and striking eyes that gave him a look of both compassion and charisma. In fact, when Meckule looked at the boy, he saw a younger version of himself. What he wouldn’t give to have that sort of youthful vigor again.
He held out the glass trinket to the boy, who took it. “Don’t let anyone see you,” Meckule said. “At the beginning of your first day, place it near one of the collectors. Somewhere inconspicuous. At the end of the day, retrieve it and bring it back to Vahashti. Is that understood?”
Fen nodded, tucking the star inside his coat pocket. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Are we almost there?”
At that moment, the carriage rounded a bend—the World Fissure stretched out in front of them. Meckule pointed, and the boy turned, starting visibly at the sight.
As the boy strained to see the rift, Meckule noticed an inked pattern on the back of his neck, much like the one he had glimpsed on Vahashti’s. Perhaps it was some sort of family symbol. He made a mental note to ask her about it later.
They rode the rest of the way in silence, the carriage carrying them not far from where Tailon worked. After a short search, they found the man bent over a work table.
“Tailon!” Meckule approached, smiling. “I’ve brought a peace offering.”
He motioned for Fen to stand next to him. “This is Fen, an intelligent and hard-working lad by all accounts. He has agreed to become your apprentice.”
Tailon made a point of finishing whatever he was working on before turning to look at the boy. Tailon wore a smug expression, looking as though he were about to move his final piece to crush his opponent in a game of trifecta.
Without a word, he circled Fen, looking him up and down as though he were livestock.
“How old are you, boy?” he asked, his voice serious. To someone who didn’t know him, he might seem a bit intimidating. Meckule, however, was not fooled.
“I’m in my 16th year, sir,” Fen said, keeping his eyes forward.
“And where is it you hail from? Are you of the Scarlatti clan?”
Fen nodded. “I am. My father was killed in combat, my mother in childbirth, and I was raised by my aunt. We hail from a Scarlatti line without mixture.”
Meckule turned his head so the other two wouldn’t see him rolling his eyes. His brother had never cared about such things as much as he should. He wondered for a moment if Tailon was mocking him.
“And why is it you want to be my apprentice? Don’t you understand the risks involved?” Tailon gestured to the enormous pit next to them.
“I understand, sir,” Fen said. “I’ve always been fascinated with magical powers. My father was a trained mage, so I’m told. They said he cast so many spells in defense of his comrades that he fell into mage madness before he died. My mother still was given the medal he earned that day, but it doesn’t make up for the fact that I never had a father.”
With that, the boy turned to look directly at Tailon, meeting his gaze. A moment passed, and Tailon softened into his normal cheery demeanor, though his eyes still held a glint of sadness.
“Oh, I think you’ll do,” Tailon said. “Come then. Why don’t you join me at this collector? We can get started right away.”
They turned to go, and Meckule cleared his throat. Only when he did it a second time did his brother turn. “And what of the consideration you promised?”
Tailon pursed his lips, his head bobbing slowly up and down. “Well, let’s see how he works out first. I will have your answer before the week is out.”
It wasn’t precisely what Meckule wanted to hear, but he figured it was the best he was going to get, at least for now. He managed to smile at his brother, cast a spell to straighten his clothing, and returned to his carriage, not giving a single backward glance as it sped away.
* * *
That night, a thunderous blast wo
ke Meckule—he sat straight up in his bed. The windows in his bedroom looked over the refinery, but all he could see when he looked out were intense shades of blue. An enchanted explosion mushroomed into the sky. He couldn’t see the buildings through the blue, but he didn’t need to. After an explosion of that magnitude, there would be nothing left but a massive crater.
Acting on instinct, he rose to run to the site of the explosion, to see if anything could be salvaged. Subconsciously, however, he knew the truth. There would be no recovery from this. Nothing could be done.
His mind then fixed on the question of how. Storing high concentrations of magical energy was always risky, which was why he and Tailon had implemented so many safeguards at the refinery. To produce an explosion such as this, someone would have had to lower all of the safeguards at once and then introduce even more energy into the system. He couldn’t think of a single person who could do that.
Except Tailon.
Anger simmered in his chest as he worked his way to the courtyard where his carriages were kept. He selected the fastest, one with minimal comforts and excellent aerodynamics.
A minute later he sped out into the night, for once not caring at all about his appearance. He pushed the carriage hard, riding more recklessly than he had since he was young, trying to impress any number of noble young women, especially Evelet.
As he approached the Fissure, he caught sight of a speck—another carriage retreating at high speed. The carriage would have to pass him; it was a great distance yet to the point where the World Fissure closed, and only a madman would try to fly a carriage over it. All it took was a single magical updraft and the carriage would be incinerated in an instant.
Within minutes, Meckule reached Tailon, wrenching his own carriage around to race alongside his brother.
“Tailon!” he called. “Where are you off too so early in the morning? Running from your guilty conscience, perhaps?”
Tailon looked over. His face was stricken, but he did not slow his carriage. “It wasn’t me!” he shouted. “It wasn’t me! I have nothing to do with it!”
“Then why are you running?”
Meckule could see Tailon breathing heavily, his face coated with sweat, his head continuously shaking back and forth. “Because, no matter what I say, they will think I was behind it. You probably do. Why else would you run out here half dressed?”
Meckule clenched the side of the carriage, barely containing the anger that roiled in him, threatening to burst out. “Well, I’d like to hear it from the mage beast’s mouth. Did you mastermind this?”
“By Rahim and all that is holy, by all the moons and mage beasts, I did not do this!”
“Tell me, then, what do you know? Did someone tamper with your instruments? How could they take so much and weaponize it without you knowing?”
The shaking of his brother’s head grew more frantic. “I tell you, I do not know. Most of my energy is missing, but I had been checking the Essence all day and didn’t notice anything amiss. I do not know what is going on, but this is a catastrophe.”
Meckule raised an eyebrow, having an inkling that his brother defined catastrophe far differently than he.
Without another word, Meckule snapped his fingers, releasing a powerful wave of magic. The crimson energy slammed into Tailon’s carriage, disassembling it and sending his brother flying. Meckule immediately released another burst of Essence and caught his brother in a binding spell, letting him down gently. He brought his carriage about and lighted off it, landing next to his brother’s prone form.
Leaning closer, he looked directly into his brother’s eyes. “Tell me this one thing and I will believe you,” he said. “Tell me what you were collecting the magic for.”
Meckule stared his brother down, raising the two fingers with which he might cast an attack.
Tailon had finally stopped shaking his head. His entire body slumped. “It’s wrong,” he said. “All of this, our entire society… it’s wrong. Mankind was only meant to wield magic in conjunction with another race—the Ethermen. Only with one Earthman and one Etherman could magic be controlled. A wicked man bound himself to the queen of the Ethermen, permanently merging both races to give all men the capacity to perform magic. The visions I had came from the Etherman trapped inside me. I needed to sever my link to him, needed to show the world it could be done. I was collecting the power for this purpose. Otherwise, I feared Rahim’s wrath would not be long in coming. He can only tolerate our insolence for so long.” Tailon glanced over his shoulder at the explosion. “Perhaps his wrath is already here.”
Meckule had never heard such nonsense. If his brother claimed to hear voices from some creature trapped inside him, then that was proof of his insanity.
After a short pause, Meckule spoke. “Very well, Tailon,” he said. “I believe you. I also believe there is but one thing to be done.”
Another silence lapsed. Tailon stared at Meckule anxiously, his forehead furrowed.
Meckule cast another spell, sending his brother into unconsciousness. “I’m sorry, Tailon,” he said, “but this really is the only way.”
He collected his brother’s limp body, balanced it precariously inside his carriage, and made his way home as quickly as possible. For a moment, he vacillated as to where to take him, but decided it would be best to bring him directly to the law. If Tailon ran, it would only make him look guiltier, and if he were caught, others would certainly not hand him over so gently. Once back into civilization, Meckule gave him over to the authorities, who immediately took him away.
As soon as he stepped into his house, he cast a protection spell around himself, trying to ward off the worst of the aftereffects of the blast. He found the place deserted as he ran through it—not a single servant remained. In his office, he found what he expected to see: a note and a knife.
Wishing the blackmailer would find a form of communication that didn’t involve destroying his expensive furniture, he leaned close to read.
What unfortunate tidings,
What unbearable fright,
Have we all to witness
This abominable night.
Though I’m saddened to hear
Of this calamitous thing,
Do be sure, in my mind,
This does not change a thing.
Meckule crumpled the parchment and threw it across the room, hard. How could this not change a thing? His task would have been monumental to complete even with his resources. Now, the task was almost impossible.
He looked back at his desk and, with a start, realized he had not found everything. Another piece of parchment lay next the knife.
He could see right away that this note was not like the others. Instead of scrawled handwriting, the note contained a formula, a diagram after the fashion alchemists used to document their creations. Meckule was no alchemy expert, but he knew enough to decipher such a formula. This particular preparation required the combination of various forms of Essence, including—his breath caught. Life Essence. Blood.
Meckule dropped the paper and backed away. This was the most abominable form of magic; his clan had signed a treaty against its use long ago. Though blood was most powerful while it flowed through the veins, as long as the body was alive, its spirit would use up the blood’s Essence. Thus it was best to separate the spirit from the body, extracting Essence from the blood before it dissipated.
Despite its macabre nature, blood Essence was enticingly powerful, the most powerful. With the main Essence refinery destroyed, and Tailon’s reserves depleted, this could perhaps be the only way to complete his task within the time allotted. But could he do such a thing? And, even if he could do it, could he do it without being seen?
Meckule sat back in his chair, clutching his throbbing head. Perhaps he could petition the clan. Surely they had prisoners they were going to execute anyway. At least this way their deaths would serve a greater purpose.
But there was still the treaty. If Meckule were to use blood magic in the open
, he would have to convince all the clans he was doing the right thing. Convincing the clans of anything, even when they weren’t on the brink of war, was a near-impossible task. Rahim himself would have to swoop down from his throne and make a decree.
Well, thought Meckule, closing his eyes, If Rahim’s going to swoop down and intervene, maybe I can ask him to get the dragon out while he’s at it.
* * *
The chamber’s lamps did not need to be lit. Trace amounts of Essence seeped from the dragon’s carcass, illuminating the crystal in which it rested.
The air felt heavy, much as it had at the World Fissure. Each breath intoxicated Meckule, filling him with the feeling of absolute dominion. He took each step as if he were a conqueror, treading on lesser beings beneath him. As he approached the center of the crystalline floor, he sank to his knees, gazing downward at the once mighty creature.
“How did you fall?” he whispered, not taking his eyes away for an instant. “You must have been great once … a being to be feared, respected, admired. But now, here you lie, dead and frozen in time. Waiting for others to dig up your remains and devour them as worms devour flesh.”
He pressed his face closer to the floor, his voice rising. “Tell me! How did you fall? Who did this to you? Or was it by your own will? I must know! I must!”
Meckule slammed his knuckles against the unyielding stone, desperate for an answer to his question. He received none.
Something wet flowed past his fist—he started. Lifting his head slightly, a trail of red, sticky liquid filled his vision. Blood trickled through the natural crevasses of the crystalline floor, filling them like sanguine rivers.
At first, he thought the blood must be his own, but as he rose and examined his body, he found that only his knuckles bled, and those only a few drops at a time. This torrent must have another source. Trembling, Meckule stepped forward, following the trail as it led him deeper into the chamber. He made no attempt to avoid the flowing blood, and so left crimson footprints behind him with each step.
A dark shape appeared on the far wall in front of him, unmoving. He thought briefly to call the guards, but found himself transfixed, unable to tear himself away.
Crude Magic_The Hunger) Page 2
