by Colt, K. J.
“You are strong for one so small,” Maya said, looking impressed when Gala resisted her tugging. “It’s as though she grew roots,” she told Esther. “I can’t make her move another inch.”
“This is just a clown stall,” Esther told Gala, sounding exasperated. “There is nothing for you to see here.”
Gala didn’t agree. To her, the stall was fascinating, surrounded as it was by dozens of children. Children—these miniature humans—were an enigma to Gala. She had never been a child herself, unless one counted her brief stage of development in the Spell Realm. Then again, she reasoned, perhaps she was like a child now compared to the person she would become.
Another thing that interested her was the man with the painted face. He was wearing strange-looking clothing and doing what seemed like sorcery for the children—pulling out coins from their ears and then making those coins disappear. He also seemed to be doing it without any kind of verbal or written spells. When she focused on his hands, however, she saw that he was actually hiding the coins in his palm. A fake sorcerer, she thought, watching his antics with amusement.
Suddenly, there was a loud shout. Startled, Gala looked back toward the ale merchant’s stall, where she heard the sound coming from.
What she saw made her freeze in place.
One of the older children had pushed a younger girl into the stack of barrels at the ale merchant’s stall. The large barrels swayed perilously, and Gala could see the top barrel beginning to fall.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. In Gala’s mind, she saw the chain of events exactly as they would play out. The barrel would fall on top of the girl, crushing her frail human body. Gala could even calculate the precise weight and force of the falling object—and the child’s odds of survival.
The young girl would cease to exist before she’d had a chance to enjoy living.
No. Gala couldn’t stand to see that. Her entire body tensed, and without conscious thought, she raised her hands in the air, pointing them at the barrel. Her mind ran through the necessary calculations with lightning speed, figuring out the exact amount of reverse force necessary to hold the falling object in place.
The barrel stopped falling, floating in the air a few inches above the girl’s head.
The silence was deafening. All around Gala, the fairgoers stood as though frozen in place, staring at the near-accident in morbid fascination. The ale merchant recovered first, jumping toward the shocked child to pull her away from under the barrel.
As soon as the girl was not in danger, Gala felt her focus slipping, and the barrel fell, breaking into little bits of wood and splashing ale all over the place.
The rescued child began to cry, her small frame shaking with sobs, while the spectators seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Many of them were staring at Gala with awed expressions on their faces, and one woman took a step toward her, addressing her in a quivering voice, “Are you a sorceress, my lady?”
“She had nothing to do with that; it was the clown,” Maya told the woman, lying unconvincingly.
Esther grabbed Gala’s hand. “Let’s go,” she said urgently, dragging Gala away from the crowd.
Gala did not resist, following the old woman docilely. Her mind was in turmoil. She had done it. She had done direct magic, as Blaise had designed her to do. It hadn’t been a spell—certainly she hadn’t said or written anything. Instead, it was as though something deep inside her knew exactly what to do, how to let some hidden part of her mind take over. All she’d known was that she didn’t want the child hurt, and the rest had seemed to just . . . happen.
When they were sufficiently far away from the crowd, she stopped, refusing to go any further. “Wait,” she told Maya and Esther, bending down to pick up a small pebble lying on the ground.
“What are you doing?” Esther hissed. “You just drew a lot of attention to yourself!”
“Just wait, please.” This was too important to Gala. Throwing the pebble in the air, she focused on it, trying to replicate her actions from before. Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall, she mentally chanted, staring at the pebble.
The little rock didn’t react in any way, falling to the ground in a completely normal fashion.
“What are you doing?” Maya was watching her actions with disbelief. “Are you throwing rocks?”
Gala shook her head, disappointed. Why didn’t it work for her again? She’d stopped that barrel, so why not this rock?
Esther approached her, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Come, let’s go home, child,” she said soothingly. “We’ll give you some more stew—”
“No, thanks, I don’t want any stew right now,” Gala said, stepping away. “I’m sorry I drew attention to myself, but I don’t regret that the little girl is unharmed.”
“Of course.” Maya glared at Esther. “You did the right thing. I have no idea how you did it, but it was the right thing to do.”
Gala smiled, relieved that she hadn’t messed up too much. Looking back toward the stalls, she noticed the music again, a lively melody playing in the distance. It called to her, tempting her with the promise of beauty and new sensations. “I’m not ready to go home yet,” she told Esther. “I want to see more of the fair.”
Now even Maya looked alarmed. “My lady . . . Gala, I don’t think you should go back to that fair now—”
“I want to dance,” Gala said, watching the figures in the distance. “I want to dance to that music.”
And without waiting for her chaperones’ reply, she hurried toward the music.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Augusta
“BLAISE DID WHAT?” THE EXPRESSION on Ganir’s face as he sat behind his desk was priceless. If Augusta hadn’t been so distressed herself, she would’ve enjoyed Ganir’s reaction more. As it was, she was still shaking from the aftereffects of the magical battle—and from learning about the horror that Blaise had unleashed on Koldun.
“He created an unnatural being—a thing forged in the Spell Realm,” Augusta repeated, pacing around the room. “And then he attacked me when I tried to reason with him. He’s gone completely insane. It would’ve been far better if he had been an addict—”
Ganir frowned. “Wait, I’m still not clear on this. You’re saying he created an intelligence? How could he have done this?”
“I know exactly how he did it,” Augusta said, remembering the notes she’d found. “He simulated the structure of the human mind in the Spell Realm, and then developed it using Life Captures—the same Life Captures that you thought he was getting for himself.”
Ganir’s eyes widened. “He must’ve used some of my research on the human brain,” he breathed, his voice thick with excitement. “But he had to have gone leaps and bounds beyond what I had discovered in the process of creating the Life Capture Sphere—”
“He also had some help from Lenard’s writings,” Augusta told him, stopping in front of his desk. “He had a secret stash of them that he had never shared with anyone.”
“Lenard’s writings?” Ganir’s eyes lit up. “The boy has them? I heard a rumor once that Dasbraw had something like that, but that wily bastard always denied it.”
“Wasn’t he your good friend?” Augusta asked scornfully. “I thought the two of you were thick as thieves in your youth.”
“We were.” Ganir’s wrinkled face creased into something resembling a smile. “But Dasbraw always liked his secrets when it came to sorcery. I think he resented the fact that he started off as my apprentice . . .” For a moment, there was a faraway look in his eyes, but then he shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. “So you’re saying that Blaise has them? Those writings?”
“He doesn’t have them anymore,” Augusta said with poorly concealed satisfaction. “I had to use a fire spell when he tried to detain me.” She didn’t mention that, at this very moment, the precious writings were sitting inside her bag, safe and sound. In the Tower, it always paid to have some leverage.
“You bu
rned Blaise’s house?” Ganir gaped at her, his mouth falling open in shock.
“I had no choice,” Augusta said sharply, annoyed at the Council Leader’s reaction. “You weren’t there. He refused to listen to reason. You don’t know what he’s become, how obsessed he is with that creature. He’s completely under its control now.” The expression on Blaise’s face as he blocked her way flashed through her mind. He had been determined to keep her from going to the Council, she was sure of that. Would he have killed her to protect that abomination? Once, Augusta would’ve thought such a thing impossible, but not anymore—not after she took that droplet and experienced the depth of his feelings for his horrifying creation.
Ganir looked taken aback. “That doesn’t sound like Blaise,” he said dubiously. “You said he tried to attack you?”
“He wanted to stop me from telling the Council,” Augusta said, a little less certain now. Blaise hadn’t attacked her, exactly, but she had felt threatened nonetheless. “He even tried to lie to me that the creature’s form was unstable, and it was no longer in existence—”
“So, are you going to tell the Council?” Ganir interrupted, staring at her.
“I should, shouldn’t I?” Augusta met the old sorcerer’s gaze. “They need to know about this thing. It’s dangerous, and it needs to be eliminated.”
“What do you think would happen to Blaise if they found out what he had done? They won’t just get rid of his creation and let him be.”
Augusta swallowed. Now that she was thinking more clearly, she realized that Ganir was right—that telling the Council would doom Blaise as well as the abomination he’d created. And she couldn’t let that happen, no matter how upset she was with him. The thought of Blaise dead, gone, was as unbearable as the idea of him being attracted to that monstrosity. “What would be the alternative?” she asked. The old man cared about Blaise, and she doubted he wanted to see him brutally punished any more than she did.
Ganir leaned back in his chair, his face assuming a thoughtful expression. “Well,” he said slowly, “first of all, there is a small chance he didn’t lie to you. If he was surprised that this being took the shape that it did, then he probably doesn’t understand it fully. It’s very possible that she—it—is indeed unstable and gone by now.”
Augusta snorted dismissively. “I wouldn’t hold my breath for that possibility—he was just desperate to save the creature. You think I don’t know after all those years together whether he’s lying or telling the truth?”
“All right,” Ganir conceded, “let’s suppose you’re right. I’m still not convinced, though, that this intelligence is as big of a threat as you think—”
Augusta gripped the edge of his desk. “You’re not convinced?” She could hear her voice rising as the old childhood nightmare reared its ugly head. “I took that droplet—I was in Blaise’s head—and he himself doesn’t know what this creature is capable of! It could have powers that are beyond anything we can imagine. What if it turns against us? What if it decides to wipe us all out?”
Ganir blinked. “What kind of powers does it have? What can it do?”
“I don’t know,” Augusta admitted, taking a step back and drawing in a shaky breath. “And neither does Blaise. That’s the problem. Just because it hasn’t done anything yet, doesn’t mean we’re safe. It’s only been in existence for a short time.”
The old man looked at her. “In that case, why don’t we just let it be? We have never seen anything like it before—an intelligence that was created, not born, a being from the Spell Realm—”
“No.” Augusta shook her head, everything inside her rejecting that idea. “We can’t take that kind of risk. The thing needs to be destroyed now, before it has a chance to destroy us. For all we know, it might be growing more powerful with every moment it’s in existence. This is our chance to contain this situation. If we don’t stop it now, we might never be able to do so in the future. Think about it, Ganir. What if it ends up creating more abominations like itself?”
The old sorcerer looked stunned. He obviously hadn’t considered that angle. Augusta could see him wavering, and she pressed her advantage. “Can you imagine how powerful an entire army of creatures from the Spell Realm might be?”
Ganir’s eyes widened, as though some new thought occurred to him. “You said it took a female shape, right?” he said slowly. “And you said Blaise is attracted to it?”
Augusta nodded, staring at him in horror. Was he implying what she thought he was implying? “Ganir, are you suggesting—?”
“That she and Blaise could reproduce?” He raised his eyebrows. “I have no idea, but I would be curious to find out . . .”
Augusta felt like throwing up. “Curious? About whether the monster could spawn?” Was the old man sick in the head?
The Council Leader appeared inexplicably amused. “If Blaise is attracted to it, it can’t be all that monstrous.”
Augusta squelched the urge to lash out at him with another fire spell. “You’re missing the point,” she said coldly instead. “This is not some sorcery experiment we’re talking about. Blaise created this thing in order to give magic to the commoners. His actions—and his intentions—are dangerous and treasonous. He needs to be stopped. If you’re not going to help me with this, I will have no choice but to go to the Council—and we both know how that would likely end for Blaise.” Augusta was mostly bluffing, but the old man didn’t need to know that.
Ganir’s eyes narrowed. “All right,” he said, staring at her. “We’ll contain the situation ourselves, as you suggested. Where is this creature now?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t find any traces of it in Blaise’s house.”
“In that case, I will send some of my men to look for her. They will be given instructions to report anything strange. If the creature is as powerful as you think, we are bound to learn about it eventually.” He paused for a moment. “And if we don’t hear about any unusual sorcery activity, then Blaise was either telling the truth or the being is not a threat, as far as I’m concerned.”
Augusta didn’t agree with that last bit, but now was not the time to argue. “And when it’s found?”
“Then I will have it captured and brought here, to the Tower, where we can interrogate it and determine if it truly represents a danger to us.”
This time she couldn’t contain herself. “Ganir, it needs to be destroyed—”
The Council Leader leaned forward. “And it will be, if it’s as dangerous as you say,” he said, his tone dangerously soft. “But before we do anything rash, we need to find out more about it. I will study it, and then, if need be, I will destroy it myself.”
We’ll see, Augusta thought, but held her tongue. Right now, they needed Ganir’s spies to locate the thing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Gala
THE DANCE FLOOR WAS FILLED with people of all ages, laughing, chatting, and twirling to the music. Pausing on the edge of the floor, Gala took in the sight, her head spinning a little. Her foot tapped to the rhythmic notes, and she wanted to laugh too—at least until she felt mildly disoriented.
The sensation was just different enough that Gala realized she was experiencing something strange. Suddenly it hit her: the ale. This was what people referred to as being drunk.
Frowning, Gala considered the situation. According to what she’d read, drunk people did stupid things and did not act like themselves. She didn’t like the idea of that happening to her.
Closing her eyes, she focused on her body, consciously examining the effects of the drink. Instantly, she felt a reaction similar to the one that had been interfering with her Life Capture immersion earlier; it was as if some part of her body was working to dispose of all traces of alcohol. A few seconds later, she was completely clear-headed.
“May I ask you to dance?” a familiar male voice said, and Gala opened her eyes, surprised to find a man standing no more than two feet away from her.
It was the young man she’d
seen at the ale merchant’s stall.
He beamed a bright smile at her, and Gala realized that he probably hadn’t seen the incident with the child. Otherwise, he might act cautiously around her, as some people now appeared to be doing.
Happy to be treated like a regular person, Gala gave him a smile in return. “Sure,” she said. “But you’ll have to teach me how to do it.”
“It will be my honor,” he said, offering her his hand. She took it cautiously. His palm was warm and a little damp, and Gala quickly decided that she didn’t enjoy his touch. Nonetheless, she saw no harm in dancing with him at a distance, as she saw other couples doing.
Walking onto the dance floor, Gala listened closer to the patterns in the music that was playing. She loved the structured aspect of the fast beat, the clever mathematical precision of the sounds. They pleased her ears tremendously.
Watching the other women out of the corner of her eye, Gala did her best to mimic their movements, trying to follow the rhythm of the tune.
“You’re a natural,” the young man said, and there was a note of admiration in his voice. “I don’t think you need any instruction from me.” He was moving his body to the music, but it didn’t seem like he was hearing the same melody as Gala because his version of dancing was much clumsier, almost awkward.
The melody changed, became quicker, and Gala could feel the corresponding increase in her heart rate. “Who wrote this beautiful music?” she asked, marveling that she could be so moved by simple sound.
The young man grinned at her. “It was Master Blaise, of course,” he said. “He’s a prolific composer. You haven’t heard his music before?”
Gala shook her head, her heart beating even faster at the mention of Blaise. She wanted him here with her, instead of this man whom she didn’t like very much. The fact that Blaise could make her feel things without even being there was amazing. Now that she knew he’d composed this melody, she was surprised she hadn’t realized it herself. Writing music likely required the same mathematically inclined mind that would be good at sorcery. Of course, there had to be more to such genius than that, and she doubted that every sorcerer was capable of creating such beauty. In a way, she and this music were alike, both being Blaise’s creations.
