by Anne Zoelle
I picked up my spoon again. “Can you be any more vague and mysterious?”
He put his fingertips in the air and little jets of blue flame sprouted off each. His glasses filmed over. “On the fifth day of searching, you will find your calling in the large oak of the wild wood.”
My spoon dropped into my bowl. “I demand to know how to do that. Can I shoot lightning bolts too?”
Will started laughing, and the three thousand pound weight on my shoulders abruptly felt twenty pounds lighter.
Chapter Thirteen: Adventures in Campery
Will walked with me to the bookstore, showing me a handy tree portal on the way, that shot us down the roots of one tree, into the roots of another, then popped us from the trunk two circles down. “Sister trees joined by the same root system,” he said cheerfully.
He had classes all afternoon, so we made a date to meet at the library that evening and he waved as he trotted off. I had to figure out what to share—or leave out—about Marsgrove. It was a threat to have any personal contacts, but everything in me rebelled at pushing Will away.
I castigated myself for a moment, then stepped inside. There was a stand just inside the bookstore's entrance that immediately caught my eye, a large sign marked “NEWS” hung above it. On a pitiful little shelf near the bottom was a plastic card labeled “News Feeder” that would fit into my reader. It was deeply discounted, if the multiple slashes in the munit price were anything to go by. Above it were hundreds of packaged round stickers labeled “Frequency Tweaks” in a far bigger and more eye-catching display. The display featured a picture of a smiling girl pressing the soft skin behind her ear.
I lifted the discounted news card, ignoring the other stuff. The last thing I wanted was to have more people chattering in my head. I could keep track of Marsgrove with my obviously ancient technology.
“Free me.”
Yes.
Books, devices, and articles were marching in precise order down the aisles, then flying up and onto the shelves. A perky clerk was orchestrating the work with a baton.
I found the guide shelves easily, thanks to another well-lit display. A number of different guide constructs greeted me on the box covers—a cheerful woman with a plume, an adventuress sporting a coiled whip, a businessman with a wand and an oily grin, a Buddhist monk with flying yin-yang discs—there were too many choices.
I decided on the “self-selecting” guide package. The advertisement stated it would work on the fly to tailor the perfect guide for the user “at activation,” as specified per the warnings. I had always trusted my intuition. I'd trust it and my magic for this.
The guide package was expensive and used up a good amount of my remaining munits. But Will had seemed confident that this would help me, as had Nephthys, the girl from the library. It would be well worth the price if I succeeded in getting around the cuff limitation so that I could get around the paint restriction, so that I could get around the laws against necromancy.
Everything in my current life seemed to revolve around how to free myself from bindings.
I needed to succeed in this world.
“You will succeed in whatever you choose to do, Ren.” A warm rush of magic followed.
“Conquer everything! Enslave them.” The warm rush cooled.
The second was the voice I had dubbed “Evil Christian.” Concerning.
The practice rooms were located on the ninth circle in the Kratos Battle Building—a huge domed compound with thick steel and concrete walls and ceilings. When the apocalypse occurred, I was coming here.
At the edge of the ninth circle was the swirling, misty area I had avoided during my frantic hop around the mountain when I had been trying to leave Excelsine. A thick veil of smoke hung evenly along an invisible edge, preventing me from seeing inside. My cuff tightened, as the mysterious area called to the magic flowing beneath it. Come, enter, be mine.
The map called the area that comprised the tenth through thirteenth circles the “Midlands.” Unlike anywhere else on the mountain, there were clearly marked warning signs along the invisible edge, making the barrier visible by the very nature of the obstructions. Arches were systematically placed to transport mages from the ninth to the fourteenth circle, completely bypassing the swirling smoke.
I took one last glance, and entered the compound. The door shut behind me in a definitive way, sealing the wall there completely. The long, tunneled hall was empty, and eerily silent. Candles flickered in clawed Gothic chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. I had thought that maybe I would hear the sounds of battle—the clang of swords, the cries of agony, and the shouts of victory— but, it was the kind of silence poets attributed to the aftermath of battle. I could almost feel the newly dead hovering. The place gave me the creeps.
I hurried into the first available room. Lights flickered on, illuminating rich brown walls and a brown ceiling and floor. I could either think of the brown as dried blood or something better. I made the mental rhino schematic I had been carrying with me abruptly fill with Hershey bars. The door shut solidly behind me. Three deadbolts simultaneously engaged.
I nervously looked over the simple instructions that had come with my purchase. Plug the cartridge into the wall, then let the magic do its work. The program was designed to interface with my conscious mind, subconscious needs, and magic, and choose the form and personality of my instructor. There were hundreds of instructor templates included—based on real people—that could be combined with my personal needs in order to tailor my guide. A picture of a floating Sifu with a long beard and tendril mustache was on the cover. Very tranquil, meditative, and powerful.
I plugged the cartridge in and the whirring sound I had experienced in the reading room revved its engine.
My subconscious chose a shaved-headed, big-chested, tree-trunk-legged, total hardass, who liked to wear seventies-styled workout shorts, one-size-too-small white t-shirts, and tall athletic socks. A guide who liked to shout dire warnings and weird animal curses.
Apparently, not only was I not Zen, but I was in need of magical boot camp.
“As Marcus Draeger, I was brought into this world, ordinary-born, at the age of thirteen,” he barked. “And all those born mages were the enemy. I conquered them! You will call me Lieutenant Draeger, as I'm going to make a soldier out of you, Cadet Feral. You will not be squirrel meat! You will give those born-tos hell.”
I blinked at him, then eyed the cartridge in the wall and the distance I'd have to cover in order to remove it.
“Swear it, Cadet!” He leaned in, towering over me, looking completely real. A magical construct that might be able to pulverize me in here.
“I swear to give everyone hell!”
“Excellent.” He waved a hand and three crates appeared. “While you are in here, everything is real. You will experience everything as reality. Inside of these walls, you can find your true potential, if you work hard.”
He blew up three wooden crates, then put them back together with magical military precision. Enthralled, I watched the network of blue lines on the walls bend, then snap back together with each explosion.
“Give it a try, Cadet. Will the crate to blow.”
I looked at the crate nearest to me, held my hand toward it like he had, and willed the crate to explode. Nothing happened. I shook my hand and willed harder for the crate to explode.
“Turkey giblets! You have to want it, Cadet!”
I thought of the night Christian died. I wanted my brother back. Electricity lit within me, running down my arms.
The crate rocketed back and blew a hole through the side of the room, then through the side of the next room. I heard someone shout. I shoved my hands in my armpits and willed them not to blow off my arms.
“That is what would have happened if this room and that cuff didn't encapsulate your magic,” Draeger said. He drew his hand downward through the air and circled back up again. Tendrils of rock and wire from the top of the hole in our room reached down as mater
ials from the bottom reached up, stitching themselves back together, tendrils twisting and connecting, then smoothing into a sleek, unblemished brown wall.
“So I didn't actually destroy the wall?” I asked nervously.
“You did not, Cadet. You destroyed the thought of it under a different condition.”
“And the yell?”
“The mage you would have whacked three rooms over. This compound works on moment to moment spec. Allows you to virtually battle others in the compound, if you have the right cartridge.”
I gave my cartridge a nervous glance.
“You are feral, Cadet. Means you have access to a large magic well and the desire for its use, but that you don't know turtle pellets about what to do with it, all bottled up inside. We'll get that worked out,” he said with relish, then blew up three crates in precise order, assembling the previous one as the next exploded. “I have a good feeling about you, Cadet. Your brain doesn't work like most people's.”
Great.
“I like it. Structured, yet highly imaginative. And you've got good innate control of yourself.” He peered into my eyes. “But you absorbed someone's wild magic, and it mixed inside you, muddling things. We'll find your bottleneck,” he said with relish, uncaring of my shock at his words. “Don't you worry.”
“How do you know I absorbed wild magic?” I put my hand to my chest.
“Knowing your physiology and experience is what I'm programmed for upon activation. My personality, wisdom, and background are modeled after Marcus Draeger, but your magic gives me life as this.” He waved his hands over himself. “Structurally, I was part of you at the moment I was conceived here; yet, now I am separate. This allows me to know you without knowing exactly what you will choose to do from moment to moment. You now have a hundred more experiences than you had five minutes ago, and each experience you gain will tweak your future choices.”
Warmth bloomed under my hand. Christian was with me. And I would do this. I would pour his magic right back into him.
But Draeger wasn't observing my metaphysical moment, or maybe he just wasn't programmed that way. “Intent, focus, knowledge, confidence! Those are the keys to magic. You need all four to be proficient.”
I was going to be more than proficient.
“Here, you will be able to access amounts of your magic that you will not be able to outside. And I will be able to control that access to a certain extent.”
I rubbed the skin alongside my cuff as he conjured a beautiful bottle, or the image of one, between us. It bulged then exploded, fragments dissipating into sparkles, then falling to the floor. Elements whirled and things shattered and reformed in the air swirling around him.
In the center of the room, a dozen small blocks stacked themselves perfectly one on top of another as Draeger concentrated on each. “Meditation and centering will help you, as will going back to basics. Learning like a child does, one block at a time. We will work on your focus first, which is the point that the other cornerstones build or flow toward.”
He swiped a hand and the blocks clattered to the floor. He indicated that I try.
Focus. Focus. Using pure force of will, two blocks rose and banged together, then dropped noisily.
Draeger said nothing, just watched me as I breathed heavily and tried again. Focus, bang, drop. Focus, lift, bang, clatter.
I repeated the movements. Focus, lift, bang, drop, focus, lift, clatter, drop, focus, wobble, smack.
Twenty times. Focus, lift, bang, drop, focus, lift, clatter, drop, clatter, drop.
Thirty times. Focus, lift, bang, rattle, smack, clatter, drop, bang, focus, lift, wobble, whack.
Forty times. Focus, lift, bang, drop, focus, bang, focus, rattle, focus, smack, focus, lift, focus, drop, focus, clank, focus, clatter, focus, focus, rattle, focus, focus, focus, drop, focus, focus, focus, focus, boom.
A block exploded and slivers of wood flew outward in slow motion. My attention centered on the remaining blocks as the splinters continued to spread through the air. Unacceptable. I would not fail.
I took a deep breath. One block lifting, hovering on top of the second, fingers bracing the sides, smoothing and settling them perfectly into place. One block at a time. Focus.
I touched my chest, where Christian was with me. My singular focus. A block wobbled and rose, stacking unevenly atop another, pushing slowly into place. I concentrated on the next block, my complete focus on it and the topmost point of the small stack where it would be placed, just as a child would. Electricity, energy, magic, flowed through me, responding, soothing.
Everything fell into position internally, zeroing in on that one movement. Like being in the zone. My art zone, or a music, or sports zone. A lovely combination of focus and emotion, making me feel as if I was doing exactly what I had been born to do.
I wanted this feeling forever.
“Excellent, Cadet. The cornerstone of focus is incredibly important. Your magic wants to be used and always will. Can't put the grizzly back in the cage! But you need to figure out how to focus with a switch of your mind.”
He ran a simulation that produced a lovely trunk. Gorgeous lines of color crisscrossed the space, some of them startlingly intense and others bleeding and blending. The trunk itself was a masterwork. Brilliant gold-and-rose-colored lines swirled out and billowed around it like some sort of Pandora's Box.
“Magic at its clearest levels, Cadet. Magic lines—wards, leys, old spells, and new enchantments.”
My brain kept thinking “pretty” in a looping pattern.
“Mages with excellent control can channel magic that is crystal clear to most eyes. The more skillful you become at picking out even the slightest hue change, the better off you will be in magical situations.”
Each drill threw out a new beam of color, and I had to identify its basic feel and hue before I got zapped.
Identifying the basic “feel” of the beams left me floundering and I got zapped...a lot. Christian would excel at this, though, and only when I thought of him could I correctly identify the feel of the beams every time. Luckily, on the color side, I had a bit of an edge. I could identify the differences in color and texture rather well. Turquoise, lapis, cobalt, teal, sea-foam, ocean. A tiny variation in hue made the color look entirely different to my eye.
Draeger set up the simulations to run in tandem. Beautiful things grabbed my attention and distraction nudged me physically off center, pushing me out of the zone again and again. Blocks fell, and fell, and fell some more.
I wiped my forehead. “The books suggested picturing peeling rose petals, drops of water, sand grains falling, flames dancing,” I said. None of those things were working for me.
His gaze was penetrating. “Magic is not a one size fits all boot. Some mages learn and express through logic, some through movement, some through introspection, others through rhyme, and everything in between. Find the image and focus that works for you. That is your homework, Cadet. Look to your strengths. The goal here is for you to connect with your magic. Magic is about self- discovery. Let's begin again.”
I tripped from the brown room in a wondrous daze four hours after entering. I had memorized everything he had said, so I could absorb it later. Tips, tricks, basic knowledge. Failing a task had made me more determined. I would learn everything. I would master everything. I would get Christian back.
Outside, the world seemed brighter even as dusk was taking hold.
A group of students carrying staffs, swords, and wands walked past. A mage rolled two metal balls around his palm as he walked and talked. My eyes pulled ahead to a figure entering the swirling gray smoke of the Midlands. Alexander Dare's form was swallowed completely mere seconds later.
The pull tugged, but I turned in the other direction, back up the mountain. I juggled my bag as I walked and withdrew my reader and the news card. Easy enough to operate with its channels and menus, a live feed of the treaty negotiations was prominently displayed on the first page. I selected it. Only a minute l
ater, I could see the room. I could see Marsgrove. It looked as if none of the participants had moved since the last time. Good. If they stayed in those seats, unmoving, for the next two weeks, even better.
I jumped to the fifth circle by way of three arches, then surveyed the mountains far in the distance. The thrum of magic was a pleasant buzz in my veins. I felt as if I could fly.
I focused on the teeniest, tiniest drop of paint falling from a mental paintbrush into a glass of clear water. The paint drop spread inky tendrils through the water in my mind's eye, sending magic flowing through my limbs in reflection. My administration map lifted out of my hands and wobbled in the air. Yes. Yes.
“You are doing well.”
“Now get me out of this hell.”
I checked my reader's news feed—Marsgrove still in place—then gave Christian a firm mental nod.
Chapter Fourteen: Plans
Magic was tiring—making me fire on far more cylinders than I was used to. I yawned and flipped through a few texts on magical meditation. I pushed them aside twenty minutes later. There were too many things vying for attention in my brain for me to meditate.
I had to learn magic. I had to be good at it.
While finishing off a Magi Mart personal pizza, I looked at the sketch I had framed the night before. I had stared at it while falling asleep—hung so near to my pillow. The room lights glinted off of it, giving it a soft inner glow.
I brushed off my hands then grabbed the black auto-sorting notebook I had purchased for my necromancy research.
Olivia rose and her starchy schoolgirl outfit rippled to be replaced with something older and even starchier. She disappeared with her bag a minute later.
I looked over the ritual that would determine if Christian's soul was at peace, then got to work. Three candles from the bathroom were placed in a triangle formation on a ceramic plate to represent “enlightenment.” Potpourri was scattered around the edges for “essence.” The “writ of the deceased”—an obscene postcard from Christian when he'd been at football camp last summer—went in the middle.
