by CM Raymond
For some reason, his meditation caused him to change course. He turned south and headed toward the Queen’s Boulevard.
The slovenly man at the gate into the slums narrowed his eyes at him, but said nothing. Noblemen, even young ones like Gregory, didn’t go walking in the Boulevard. His path held certain risks, but that night, he didn’t care. Pacing through the streets, the squalor that his new friends grew up with came alive for the first time ever. He noticed dirty kids, playing in the gutters and women, barely older than himself, standing on corners, trying to get a date for the night and maybe make some coin.
His stomach turned, only partially due to nerves. Poverty was something he knew about, but only theoretically. Walking through the Boulevard gave him the opportunity to stare it in the face. Theory suddenly became humanized, and his heart sank.
Before knowing Hannah and Parker, he had assumed that the poor were the ones to blame for their situation. He’d been told that all his life. In contrast, his family—and all his neighbors—were among the nobles because of arduous work and virtuous living.
Gregory was starting to realize that the system was more complex than he had ever assumed. Not only did poverty have a face, but injustice also did. The Chancellor, the Governor, and all their cronies were injustice, and as long as they held their positions of power, that injustice would reign.
“We got em! Over here,” the shout made him jump and broke through his thoughts.
Gregory looked up in time to see a three people in white robes sprinting after a kid who couldn’t be much older than ten. It was the Prophet’s Disciples, handing out the gods’ justice.
Gregory knew he shouldn’t be here. The danger was real after dark in a place like this. He glanced over his shoulder, thinking about sprinting for the Noble Quarter. But then he saw the fear in the kid’s face. It made him think about Hannah and Parker. They wouldn’t turn. They couldn’t. Not when something so wrong was happening in front of them.
I’m a magician, Gregory said to himself. I’m a rebel. This is my purpose.
He had been given much his whole life; it was time to pay some of it back.
He chased the group into an alleyway, growing dim in the Arcadian twilight.
The Disciples in white were gathered around the kid, cowering against a mildew-laden wall. A man in the front, not much older than Gregory, shoved the boy to the ground.
“It’s time to pay, Unlawful. It won’t be long before we wipe you all from the face of Irth.”
A woman next to him grinned a wolf’s smile. “Once we’re finished with the likes of you, the Matriarch will return to bless us all.”
Gregory puffed his chest out and shouted, “Hey, leave him alone, you… you douche, um, heads.”
The Disciples looked at him, surprised to see a noble in their alley. They all laughed in unison.
“I think you’re lost, noble boy,” the leader said. “We’re doing what you and your kind are too weak to take care of.”
“Yeah,” the woman next to him said. “You should thank us for doing your dirty work.”
Gregory paced toward them, willing himself to appear confident. “Last chance, scumbags.”
Gregory crossed his arms in front of him like he had been trained to do, like he had seen Hannah do a million times.
His eyes turned black as the night and small flames flicked to life in his hands. He was almost as surprised as the Disciples. They took a step back, but it wasn’t enough.
“Anyone who stands in the way of the gods’ work deserves punishment,” an older Disciple said. He stepped forward, raising the club in his hands.
Gregory said a silent prayer to the Matriarch.
“I’m the one doing the gods’ work tonight, you bastards!” Gregory yelled as he attacked.
He threw the fireball with every bit of strength he had. It flew through the darkness and hit the Disciple square in the chest. The man screamed as his robe caught on fire. He beat at it with his hands.
In seconds the fire was out.
A small black burn on the white cloak was all the damage Gregory’s magic could muster. The Disciples stared at the noble, the same wicked smile spread across all their faces.
Shit, shit, shit, Gregory thought.
They attacked him, clubbing him until he fell to the ground, and then switched to kicking. It was pain like Gregory had never felt before, and his feeble attempts to defend himself did nothing to soften their blows.
Somehow, amidst their attack, Gregory managed to look up. The young boy from the Boulevard was sprinting out of the alley. Distracted by their violence, the Disciples didn’t even notice. The boy stopped, just before leaving, and looked back. He made eye contact with Gregory, and the look of gratitude in the child’s face nearly brought tears to Gregory’s eyes.
No one had ever looked at him like that before—like he mattered, like he had made a difference.
I could take any pain, any hurt, no matter how great, Gregory thought. If it meant someone like that wouldn’t have to.
The thought gave Gregory warmth, and he smiled, right before a club cracked him over the skull, knocking him out cold.
****
Hours must have passed before Gregory regained consciousness. He was still in the dark alley, although his attackers were long gone. He was sore all over, like he had fallen down every stair in the Academy’s tower. But as he pulled himself to his feet, there was only one thought on his mind.
I may not know how to fight, he thought. But I know how to save this city.
Gregory limped out of the alley, happier than he had been in years.
He had found his answer.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was a cool morning, yet the sun shone brightly as Parker walked toward the Boulevard with Hadley by his side. He couldn’t say that he was happy to have the attractive mystic as his partner, but Ezekiel was wise in making the decision. Hannah had always been his partner, and he loved working with her—back when they were hustling for money and now as they hustled for the life of Arcadia.
But many eyes were on the lookout for her, and her capture would issue a significant loss for their movement and for Parker personally. He could take working with Hadley if it meant that Hannah could stay safe—relatively speaking.
“So, what is it exactly that we’re doing?” Hadley asked. “Ezekiel only told me that there was a young con artist who needed my help.”
Parker rolled his eyes. The mystic had a way of picking at him with every word.
“It’s a con alright,” Parker said. “We’re trying to steal the city’s soul back.”
As they walked, Parker explained to him about Jedidiah—the Prophet—and the way he had become Adrien’s mouthpiece, a walking disseminator of propaganda and misinformation to the common folks of Arcadia. His preaching about the proper use of magic kept the Boulevard in fear, which kept them from fighting back. And the pseudoreligious nature of Old Jed’s message kept many living in squalor clinging to a false hope.
“We need to give them a new hope,” Parker said. “Hannah and I began this project. You will help me continue it. But to do that, we need to first dismantle people’s trust in Old Jed. And that takes a certain amount of flare—which this young con artist happens to be an expert at.”
Hadley nodded along as his eyes scanned the city. The last time he had been to Arcadia, he was nearly a child. Everything had changed since then—and the change continued. They stepped into the bustling square, and Hadley asked, “I see the market sellers, the women, and children, but where are all the men?”
Parker led him through the sea of shoppers, careful to keep his voice down, away from prying ears. “Most of them are at the factory. The Capitol has been ‘employing’ them to work on the airship. By day they work on the lines, building everything needed for the technology. At night, they’re locked up in cells. Hell of a life in there. Arcadia’s leaders are making slaves of the men, and no one seems to care. As long as the payments are made to the f
amilies, the men will remain in their shackles. If they step out of line, Adrien has people that will adjust their behaviors.”
“Sounds like you know a lot about that.”
Parker pushed up his sleeves, exposing the burn marks still healing on his wrists. “You could say I know a thing or two. Barely made it out… and they’d be happy to snatch me here on the streets and send me straight back.” He eyed a pair of Guards on the edge of the market. “Come on, let’s move.”
The men snuck down an alley. Climbing through the break in a wooden fence, they stepped into Queen’s Boulevard. The rotten smell of the dirty streets hit the mystic.
“It’s like we just stepped into a different world,” he said, following Parker.
“For the most part, we have. This is where Hannah and I grew up. We’d been running these streets together all our lives—until Ezekiel showed up.”
Though he wouldn’t come out and just say it, Parker hoped that the mystic would pick up on the fact that he and Hannah were together—even though he wasn’t entirely sure that they were.
Hadley’s presence disrupted all that he and Hannah had been, and Parker realized that he had taken their relationship for granted from the beginning. It was the sort of wake-up call that he needed. Anything more than a friendship would serve only as a distraction in this crucial time, but nevertheless, Parker wanted to make sure that his friend didn’t fall into that distraction with Hadley.
The two stepped out onto the Boulevard across the street from the ruins of Hannah’s old house. A crowd had already gathered around the stage where Jed would soon address his people and the others gathering out of curiosity.
“That’s where it happened,” Parker said.
“What’s that?”
“The pile of rock behind the stage is Hannah’s old house. The one she blew to pieces dealing with the asshats who killed her family. Jed uses it as a symbol for what happens when unrestricted magic is practiced. It’s a reminder to the people.”
Hadley nodded. “Powerful symbol.”
“Yep. Nice thing about symbols is that their meaning is malleable. It can be changed. We just have to take the symbol—her house—back. That’s why we’re here.”
Parker waited for Hadley to give some sort of arrogant response, but he only stared at the rubble with hatred in his eyes.
“What’s the plan?” he asked.
Parker smiled—genuinely happy for the first time since meeting the man. “I’m glad you asked.”
****
Hadley watched the crowd as they restlessly awaited the coming of their Prophet. The sense of dissatisfaction among the lower class was strong enough for Hadley to feel without prying into their minds. He had always wondered why his people in the Heights were so adamant about staying out of society. For the first time, he was starting to understand. The life of meditation and simple living made more sense now that Hadley was seeing possible alternative lifestyles. Their fear and worry already weighed on his mind, making it harder to focus.
But Hadley was happy to change all of that.
The crowd quieted as a large, bearded man in a snow-white robe took the stage. Everyone pushed forward several steps, even the skeptics closer to the back. Jedidiah had been hard at work, and his flock was growing. Parker had been gone for days, more than enough time for Jed to regain his message. More and more that attended his daily gatherings were believers, and those outside of his circle had become the silent minority.
Raising his hands into the air, the Prophet greeted them, “My children! How good it is to gather together?” He smiled like a drunk as the audience erupted into applause.
Shit, Hadley thought. The man’s influence was greater than he had imagined. His sway over the people in the Boulevard almost made it appear as though he used mental magic on them—although, probably not. Fearmongering carried a magic all its own.
Let’s see if we can throw him a curveball, Hadley thought.
He spotted Parker, standing in the alley across the Boulevard. The men nodded to one another.
The Prophet continued. “Not only have you gathered, but you’ve also set your hands to work. When I first started preaching the fundamentals years ago, people thought I was a lunatic. Sure, my message matched that of the leaders of Arcadia—but my message remains only slightly different. The Chancellor and the Governor are concerned with making a safe place for you to raise your families. And this, of course, is good. Who could argue with that? My job is to bring you the rest of the story. The total restriction of magic and the constraint of the outlaw casters will bring back the Founder who will finish the work we have begun!”
Parker gave Hadley the sign, and the mystic smiled. He focused, pushing the concerns he felt in all of those gathered out of his mind. His eyes turned white, and he felt his power leave his body.
Meanwhile, the Prophet was working his followers into a frenzy. His preaching garnered the occasional holler, and there were even a few hands raised into the air in the front. “Now, my friends, we live in urgent times. As we become more vigilant, the Unlawfuls have increased their work among us. Be on watch. You never know who might be one of them. Your neighbor? Your butcher? Your wife or husband? They are everywhere, and the problem is that they look just like you and me.”
“We’ll find them, Prophet,” a voice screamed from the middle of the crowd.
Jed smiled. “I know you will. And I know you are… The work of the Disciples has been good and will be rewarded. That’s why I come to you today to make a request. It is time for us to find the Bitch Witch and her friend. They, too, were once thought of as common kids from the Boulevard… and look what has become of—”
The Prophet stopped mid-sentence and craned his head toward the sky. “What the Bitch and Bastard?”
Everyone in the crowd followed his gaze. Unlike Jedidiah, they saw nothing.
The old man shielded his eyes from the sun with the flat of his hand. His head careened in circles as if he were watching an imaginary bird in flight. Parker couldn’t help but smile, knowing what was about to happen. He only wished that Hannah was by his side to enjoy the show.
Old Jed’s eyes cut to his parishioners and then back to the sky. His face twisted as curiosity met terror.
“Fucking dragons!” he screamed. “They’re coming. Run for your lives.”
Those surrounding the stage looked at each other in disbelief. Others laughed, thinking that their religious leader had suddenly grown a sense of humor.
Jed hit the wooden platform, lying as flat as his rotund belly would allow. Those in the front row could hear his cursing. He looked up again and shrieked, covering his head with his hands. He began to scream as if he was in pain. He began tearing at his robe until he pulled it off entirely. He stood naked before them all. The man’s pale flesh almost matched the white of his robe, and his dangling manhood was nearly lost beneath the folds of his stomach.
The old man seemed unaware of his shame, and he leaped off his stage and rolled into the mud like a stuck pig before the slaughter. A circle spread out around him. One of the devoted reached a hand out to help.
“Prophet are you—”
Jedidiah batted it out of the way. He stood again, naked and caked in filth. “You damn fools. Go! Get to safety!”
They all stared as the man they had followed for years sprinted naked through the crowd.
OK, go, Hadley said inside of Parker’s head.
As Parker stepped up on a pile of boxes, Hadley dropped his spell. It was thoughts of Hannah that had inspired him to create the illusion of attacking dragons—only within the Prophet’s mind. Who wouldn’t rip their robe off if they thought it was on fire?
As Hadley’s eyes turned from white to their usual brown, his head spun as if half drunk. Julianne would have pulled the stunt off in her sleep, but an illusion of attacking dragons took a toll on the mystic.
And he needed all his energy and focus for what was about to come next.
He turned his attent
ion to Parker who was ready to do his work. Since his last appearance, Jedidiah had roused his people against him. Hadley knew that Parker needed him, his next spell would have to work—or his new friend could be the next Unlawful martyr.
****
The crowd of women, children, and old men buzzed like a swarm of bees. Everyone talking about what they had just seen. Arcadia's own holy man had just stripped naked and ran through the crowd screaming about dragons. And that sight, plus the sight of his nudity, did little to inspire awe of the gods or anything else.
But a booming voice cut through the crowd, like a crack of thunder.
“My fellow Arcadians!”
They all turned to see Parker standing on a stack of boxes on the other end of the plaza. He looked different from the last time they had seen him. He was taller, more regal. And his voice was as loud as the gods’.
