Reawakening

by CM Raymond

  “Yep. I can read the mind of any tree on this side of the mountain.” That wasn’t exactly true, but Hannah was OK with the exaggeration.

  Hadley ignored her. “Well, as I understand the art of the druids, ours isn’t altogether different. It might take a bit more focus and concentration. And, the mystical arts can leave you defenseless—a mental magician is pretty much in a trance state when using their power, even if it is just for a few seconds.”

  “OK, so like nature magic.”

  “Yeah. You’ll push everything out of your mind, concentrate on emptying yourself first. Like we practiced by the cliffs. Then when it feels as if there is nothing, you turn your center toward another person. I guess you make them your new center. It allows you to enter them.”

  “Sounds dirty.”

  Hadley laughed. “You’re not far off the mark. There is a kind of intimacy that comes with mental magic. It’s why the mystics are all so close with one another.”

  “Your big mind orgy in the sky?”

  “Metaphorically, yes.”

  Hannah smiled, and then closed her eyes. The smell of bacon and eggs captured her mind and her stomach. She pushed it away. Then she thought of Arcadia, her brother, and finally Parker. She imagined them walking into a house, waving on its doorstep, and then closing the door. She used the different tricks and techniques that Ezekiel, and then Hadley, had taught her, and soon, there was nothing.

  She opened her eyes and they were blazing red.

  Hadley cursed and glanced around the room to see if anyone was paying attention. He hadn’t considered the way her bright red eyes might just draw some stares, but everyone seemed to be too into stuffing their faces and gossiping about the foreman and his mistress.

  Hadley spoke a word under his breath then relaxed. Hannah assumed he was masking the color of her eyes to any observer.

  Hannah let her head pivot, looking for the right person. Landing on a man alone in the corner, she knew he was the one. Less gruff than the rest of the crowd, she could tell that he had a certain mental hospitality that none of the others shared. She focused on him, but kept getting distracted by his physical attributes—the bald spot on the top of his head and the curly beard. Whatever focus she was supposed to achieve wasn’t working, so she tried a new tactic. Instead of ignoring the way he looked, she began to imagine that she was him. She played out herself in his body and in his mind again and again.

  And then it happened.

  Just another damned day, it’ll be fine.

  The words crackled like smoke and fire in her mind, an experience she had never felt before. She jumped in shock and they disappeared, the sounds of the bar fading back into her mind. But she wasn’t ready to give up. Focusing harder, she felt her blood boil and electricity spark down her spine. Her power was strong. She could do this, and she knew it.

  One more haul. Maybe two. That’s all it will take. Then, time to rest these bones. Live life with my feet up. It’ll all be worth it.

  Hannah realized that even though she hadn’t eaten, she felt like bursting at the seams. She was perceiving what he was, could almost taste the food on his tongue. She was all the way in.

  Damn Walt has no idea what he’s asking us to do. Fucker’s never been underground after all. One more day. The shaft will hold. Has to.

  A group of rearick, dirty from the night time shift, started to pile into Ophelia’s. The men who had just finished eating took their cue.

  One more dig, the rearick thought as he downed the last of his beer and grabbed his hammer. His mind disappeared as he walked out the door.

  Hannah inhaled deeply. Her heart was racing, and she sucked air deep into her lungs. “Holy shit. I did it.”

  “Yeah. You did. Nice work. And that poor guy, hope he gets his haul today.”

  Hannah furrowed her brow. “Wait. You were in there, too?”

  “Sure. Wasn’t going to let you go it alone.”

  Hannah sat at the table beaming, but then a strange feeling took over her. It was a sadness, but different than she had ever felt. Like she had been holding onto it for years, decades even. Her smile faded, and with it all the warmth in the room.

  She looked up at Hadley, he had a knowing expression on his face.

  “I feel terrible,” she said. “What the hell is happening to me?”

  He slid a beer over for her. Ophelia must have brought it when she was lost in her trance.

  “Here, drink this,” he said. “It will help, trust me. That’s one of the after effects of doing true mental magic. Thoughts and emotions are connected. You didn’t just read that rearick’s mind, you read his soul. And while his thoughts may be gone, his emotions can stick around for a while.”

  Hannah nodded. The way she felt, it could have only come from someone who lived as long as that rearick did. She grabbed the beer and chugged it down.

  Hadley’s eyes opened wide in surprise, and several rearick cheered when she dropped the empty tankard back on the table.

  “Well, damn,” she said, looking down at the empty mug. “I hope you were kidding about that hair on the chest thing.” She looked around before turning back to her teacher, “What’s next?”

  Hadley looked at her in true shock. “I... I thought you’d be too emotionally drained to try anything new.”

  Hannah shrugged. “Reading that guy’s soul, it packed a wallop. But if growing up on Queen Bitch Boulevard teaches you anything, it’s to not let sadness get you down. Guess you could say I’m a pretty resilient person. Now, where’s that food at?”

  Hannah and Hadley talked for nearly an hour as she shoved as much food into her stomach as she could. Each time her plate was emptied, Ophelia brought another with a nod and a smile. Finally, she held up her hands in defeat. “No more!”

  Her new friend laughed. “I should say so. You keep eating at that rate, and you’ll grow faster than your dragon.”

  Hannah washed down the last of her meal with some beer, then let out a belch that echoed around the restaurant. That brought on another round of applause by rearick sitting nearby. Hannah bowed, imagining she was Parker, performing an act on the street.

  She looked back at Hadley, a wide smile on his face. “What the hell has come over me?” She asked. “Is this more after effects of connecting with that rearick?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe you’re just a pig.”

  “Bastard,” she said, but there was no malice in the word. “I should turn you into a pig.”

  Hadley smiled. “Whatever it takes for you to recover, I recommend it. Mental magic takes its toll, and I know that your physical magic saps your energy, too. But if you’re really on a mission to save the world, you’re going to need to figure out how to keep your strength high, pace your magic, and when you can’t, recover quickly.”

  Hannah nodded. “Yeah. Zeke hasn’t gotten to that part yet.”

  “He will. Recovery is partially about the power inside and partially—”

  But Hadley’s words were cut off by what sounded like an avalanche. The room quaked to match it. It was so powerful, it knocked Hannah off her seat. From the ground, she could see everyone in Ophelia’s jump to their feet and begin to move toward the door.

  “Let’s go,” Hadley shouted over the commotion. He grabbed her hand, pulled her to her feet, then pushed her toward the door.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Once darkness had fallen, and Ezekiel saw the firelight inside the large wing of the small castle, he made his way back down the hill toward the next step in his master plan. He once again walked past the decrepit buildings surrounding the immaculate castle, but this time the bent over bodies toiling in the yard were nowhere to be seen. He sensed the fear that had risen in this place after dark.

  That was OK, though. Fewer witnesses for what Ezekiel was about to do.

  Tapping his staff on the beautifully carved oak door, Ezekiel waited. It wasn’t long before a thin man with a hooked nose and hunched shoulders answered the door.


  The man looked at Ezekiel, taking in the majestic purple robe that the magician wore. Of course, it was all an illusion. As was Ezekiel’s now darkened facial hair. But the man would never know. “Hello, sir. Well, we weren’t expecting visitors this eve.”

  “Ah, is that right?” Ezekiel said. “I sent my boy out ahead of me by three days to announce my arrival.” Ezekiel looked back over his shoulder. “But it seems that the runt has ruined things again. I am so sorry. Perhaps I could still talk with the master of the house? I have journeyed here from Arcadia, and I have a message from the Chancellor himself that I believe Girard would be quite interested in hearing. It has something to do with his old estate and a payment that has come due.”

  The impish man’s eyes lit up at the mention of money.

  Ezekiel continued, “But of course I can go. The discourse can wait for another time. Perhaps in the spring?”

  “No. No. Of course not. We would not put out a man of your, well, stature due to the error of a servant boy. We have our share of problems here. It takes plenty of hands to keep the house up and to keep the master… satisfied.”

  Ezekiel smiled and nodded, but blood and power leaped beneath his skin. A man such as Girard would be necessary for his plan to work, but its execution would bring him great delight knowing that serving justice upon the wicked would be a little side benefit.

  “Come in. Please,” the doorman said, waving Ezekiel into the foyer. He placed his staff in the corner and hung his purple cloak on a hook. The garments beneath appeared just as noble, and a golden chain with the biggest amphorald Girard’s servant had ever seen hung from his neck. The gem glowed with the power of magic.

  At least, it appeared as if it did.

  The servant poured him a goblet of the mystics’ elixir. Sipping, he realized it was a vintage that could feed a village for a month with only one barrel sold in Arcadia. “Ah, a fine drink,” Ezekiel said, nodding to the servant.

  “Only the best for the master and his guests. Worth the expense.” The man winked. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Ezekiel wasn’t an emissary from Arcadia, of course. Nor did he wander onto the property of the landowner by chance. Girard was a mark, and a carefully chosen one. He was famous amongst the nobles for making his riches in trade during the early days after the Age of Madness. Those who struck when the iron was hot had become generally successful.

  For Ezekiel and his friends, it was a success in building the first great city in the healing world. For Girard, it was creating a business around providing cheap labor for all kinds of burgeoning industries.

  He thought of himself as a middleman who vetted and provided workers, but the workers knew he was more accurately working in the slave trade. The man paid the workers so little, that it was hardly a willing deal—but men and women had few choices in those days. Then he offered the desperate “employees” advances on future pay to help them to make it through a particularly tough week. And that is when he had them. Once they were indebted to him, they were beholden. And they were as good as owned. Girard was infamous across the lands according to the working poor.

  But Girard’s reputation didn’t keep people from getting snared in his web. Desperate people rarely have much choice in the options they are presented.

  Once his empire was large enough, Girard escaped the world of Arcadia and used his own magicians and slaves to build the castle in which Ezekiel was now sitting. It was out of the way from most of society, and few, even his noble friends, visited the manor. He had taken a group of people to work with him on the property. Most of them women and children from families inescapably indebted to Girard. The cycle was thick, and it was always working in his favor. This is why Ezekiel had chosen him.

  “Um, hello, sir,” the man’s raspy voice broke into the silent room. Even the sound of his words sent shivers down Ezekiel’s spine.

  Ezekiel rose and passed a smile across the room. For just a moment, Girard froze, and a look flashed across his face—almost recognition. But Ezekiel had aged significantly in the forty years, and he employed just enough mental magic to alter his appearance.

  “Hello, Girard. I bring greetings from Arcadia.”

  The man swept across the room and waved at Ezekiel’s seat. “Please, do sit. Can I get you more of the mystics’ drink?” He raised his brows. “It is a twenty-three-year vintage. Most nobles would agree it is the best—after they had perfected their brewing processes and aged to perfection. I bought as much of the damned stuff as I could get my hands on.”

  “Why, I don’t mind a bit.”

  Girard topped off Ezekiel’s cup and wet his own. Sitting across from the magician, he said, “I’m sorry, but have we met? You seem to be a bit familiar, and I don’t ever forget a face.”

  “Well, I certainly doubt that,” Ezekiel said. “The name is Percival, but my close associates call me Percy.”

  “Percy… Percy… No, I can’t place it. Huh.” Girard continued to stare and for a moment, Ezekiel had wished that he had heightened the effects of his disguise. “But you say you are from Arcadia. I don’t go there much anymore. I guess it has been years, decades maybe since I went. But I knew most of the nobles in that city before I left, and you are not, beg my pardon, a young man.”

  Ezekiel chuckled for the man’s benefit. “No need to apologize for speaking the truth. We are not young men. But you wouldn’t know me, at least it’s not likely. I’m a horse trader from the far north. Set up my shop soon after the beginning of the restoration with a couple of beat up old ponies, and now I sell ten thousand head a year—sometimes more!”

  “Well, that is not bad.”

  “Yes, well, it has made me a comfortable living.” Both men laughed, as the rich often do when they downplay their extravagance. “I went down to Arcadia just last year, really. I had to sign a final deal with the Governor. He wanted to increase the number of horses for the Guard. Seemed rather asinine to me.” Ezekiel snorted a laugh. “Who the hell would bother with Arcadia, anyway? They’re powerful enough to be the ruin of any invading barbarians.”

  “A toast to that,” Girard said, lifting his glass. “What was it that kept you in the city?”

  “Ah! Of course. I fell in love with the damn place. A citizenry of most noble sorts and with the Academy there, it is the hub of Irth. And soon, all will realize that that is the case. Adrien, the Chancellor, and I got quite close during my initial visit. There was a humble little place in the noble section, sits right up on a rise with nearly an acre behind it. Something that’s hard to find inside a walled city. Anyway, Adrien suggested I buy the shack just for someplace to lay my head when I came in for business, and I haven’t left yet.”

  Girard listened intently. “You are right, it is a noble place—part of it. But with the Bitch’s Boulevard filling so quickly, I felt like the whole damned place was going to be overrun by the scum of the world. It did, however, help me to found my own business, which isn’t much different than yours.” Girard’s eyes sparkled, as rich men’s did when they were about to boast about the enterprise.

  “Oh, you’re in livestock as well?”

  “You could say that. My stock is the kind that walks on two legs and is born in places like the Boulevard. I guess you could say I am a worker’s agent of sorts.”

  “Is that right?” Ezekiel thought of the man’s own staff and the way in which they had obviously been abused. “And it is helpful for you—since you get the pick of the litter to work your own household, like your servant who welcomed me into your home.”

  “Oh, you mean Bradshaw? No, no, he is my servant, but not like the others. He’s my damned cousin that couldn’t make it on his own. He’ll do anything I ask, which is, of course, a very useful thing. Keeps the rest of the scum in line—that way I only need to deal with them when I have, well, personal needs to attend to.” The man’s eyes glimmered again, and he leaned in, waiting for Ezekiel’s response.