by C. M. Hayden
Bran’s eyes lit up. Even this far away, in perhaps the most inhospitable city when it came to magic, the Magisterium was well-known. Taro might as well have told the boy that he’d come down from the sky.
“What are you doing here?” the boy said.
Taro decided to go with partial truth. “The Sun King is locked up in the Grand Aculam. I’m trying to rescue him.”
Bran nodded gravely. “I heard he was visiting as a guest.”
Taro shook his head. “It’s a lie. That dragon that escaped the other day? I let him out. He told me the king’s in terrible danger. I have to get in; but if I use my magic to do it, I could get into a lot of trouble.” He spoke as if he were reciting a faerie story and watched Bran’s expression continue to glow.
Bran nodded knowingly. He put his finger to his lip. “I might be able to help you get in.”
“You know a way?”
“Maybe.” The tone of Bran’s voice implied that his help wouldn’t be free.
Taro straightened his back. “What do you want?”
Bran grabbed Taro’s sleeve excitedly. “Teach me a bit of magic!”
Taro shook his head. “I can’t do that,” he said without hesitation.
“Come on,” Bran said dejectedly. “Just one spell. Like…like show me how to turn someone into a frog, or fly, or become invisible, or—”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Taro said, amused. “Even if I showed you a spell, you wouldn’t be able to perform it.”
“Damn,” he said, hanging his head. “I mean…darn. Well, can you at least show me one? Can you shoot fire from your hands or make something freeze?”
Taro cracked his knuckles. He opened his palm and focused his templar onto his fingertips. A bright light flashed from his hand momentarily illuminating the entire shed. For a brief second, it was as bright as a summer day. The light disappeared, and Bran practically exploded with envy.
“That’s so amazing!” he said, rocking on his stool. “You’re sure you can’t teach me how?”
“I’m sure,” Taro said. “But, one day, if you ever visit the Magisterium, I promise I’ll sponsor you to join if that’s what you really want.”
“You’d do that?”
Taro nodded. “You’re a bit too young right now, but sure.”
“But they probably don’t let Helians in, huh?”
Taro smiled sheepishly. “Actually I know of at least three Helians who were in the Magisterium.” Taro clapped his hands together. “Listen Bran, I need you to keep this between us. Can you do that? If I’m found out, they’ll…”
“Oh, they’ll kill you,” Bran said flatly.
“Probably.”
“Definitely,” Bran said without hesitation. “I once saw the clerics take in a guy ’cause he used one of those magic lanterns to light his basement. If they find you shooting lightning out of your hands…”
“So, is that a yes?” Taro asked.
“Your secret is safe with me!”
“What about getting me into the aculam? Will you still help me, even though I can’t teach you any magic?”
Bran scrunched his face. “I think I’ll help you anyway. It’s not every day a wizard asks me for help. All the old stories say that if you meet a crazy old wizard on a road or in a tower, you’re supposed to do what they say or you’ll get cursed.”
“Well, don’t worry, I don’t have any curses handy,” Taro said. “How exactly do you plan on getting into the aculam?”
“You leave that to me,” Bran said.
Chapter Thirty-three
Theatrics
Vexis pushed past the guards as they tried to grab her at the doorway. “Touch me again,” she said darkly, “and I’ll break every bone in your body.”
While she stared them down, a male voice called from inside. It was pious and dripped with arrogant self-assurance.
“You were instructed to stay in the palace until summoned,” the man said.
The room was, in fact, a box seat in Helia’s largest theater. It was a reasonable distance from both the Imperial Palace and the Grand Aculam and was frequented by all manner of nobility. Vexis’ older brother, Praxis, was sitting beside his wife and daughter, holding a pair of binoculars with a long brass handle. The theater was among the most lavished places in the city: all white marble, fine velvet seats and curtains, and gold-colored fixtures running up every wall and pillar.
Praxis was dressed for the occasion in a black suit and vest, fine silver cuffs, and had his blond hair slicked back. It was quite a change from his white Inquisitor robes. The edges of his short beard were carefully trimmed and aligned with his sharp features. He looked exactly as he did the last time Vexis had seen him. He motioned for the guards to let her pass, but neither he nor his wife acknowledged her, their eyes were focused on the performance of The Ballad of the Five Lights playing below.
“It’s been days, Praxis,” Vexis snapped. She stood in front of him. “I refuse to be caged like a dog.”
Praxis set his cane onto Vexis’ side and pushed her casually away. “Maybe I don’t give a flying damn what you want, little sister.”
The theater was packed, and below throngs of dancers pranced across the stage. They twirled, dipped, and leaped like acrobats while the leads sang their pieces.
Vexis didn’t let up. “I want to see Father.”
Praxis glared at her. “Being around the low-born rabble seems to have negatively affected your manners. You’ll want to rephrase that.”
“Please…” Vexis added.
Praxis looked at his wife and made a shooing motion. Without hesitation, she took their two-year-old daughter and left the box, closing the door behind her. “Father doesn’t want to see you.” Praxis’ eyes remained fixed on the stage below.
“But he sent Sorkesh and Trezu to rescue me.”
“No doubt. He didn’t want those barbaric Endrans to have you, but not wanting you tortured to death doesn’t mean he forgives you. You think he doesn’t know what you did? You put all of our plans in jeopardy.”
“I did what he asked. I brought the Arclight down.”
“That wasn’t what he asked you to do, stupid girl. Now Kadia’s cracked in the head, and the Arclight is stronger than ever. Moreover, we’ve pissed off the Endrans and the dragonkin enough for them to be at our doorstep. We’ve got the Sun King himself locked up in a cell. How long before the Endrans realize their king’s missing, do you think? And we can’t well let him go now, can we? And to top it all off, Dr. Halric is dead. Gods below, you’re thick.”
Vexis folded her arm and slumped into a velvet-clad seat. “Oh, you seem so worried about it. In between your theater trips and festival appearances, I’m sure.”
“Father says he has it under control, and I trust him. If you want to get back into Father’s good graces, I suggest you make yourself discreet.”
Vexis held up her arms, showing off her magistry cuffs. “Can you at least convince him to take these off?”
“So you can cause mischief again? No, he rather likes you not being able to use your gift.”
“I thought I was ‘chosen’ by the gods to wield their—”
“Don’t give me that line. You were chosen by Father, and Father has changed his mind. Be glad he didn’t take away that pretty young face of yours, too.” He briefly looked up from the play below. “At least we’ve still got some hope. That Nima girl Halric brought has been remarkable. Truly something to behold.”
Vexis ignored the mention of Taro’s sister. “I was just following Halric’s lead, like Father told me to,” Vexis said. “It’s not my fault he couldn’t handle a teenage boy.”
“You did what you did because you thought it would impress Father. You thought you were just so clever and so powerful that you could bring the Magisterium to heel all by your lonesome.” He gave her a mockingly sad look. “Or maybe you felt bad about all those poor Helians you forced into the cold. Grow up. We’ve got an empire to build and no time for your small-
minded drivel.”
Vexis felt a pressure in her chest, and her eyes narrowed. “I was going to burn them all.”
“Then you’re a vicious idiot and a failure.”
Vexis clenched her fist. “Careful.”
“Or what?” Praxis said. He slapped her cheek gently. “You’re forgetting who you’re talking to. Run around and make your threats. They don’t work here. Don’t like it? Go complain to someone who cares. In the meantime, Father wants you a good distance away from those of us making the real decisions.” He shooed her with one hand. “Do send my wife back in on your way out.”
Vexis didn’t look down and didn’t look away; she looked her brother straight in the eyes and smiled a manic smile. The sun would swallow Arkos before she gave him a barest hint of a chink in her armor.
To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a tight hug. As she did, she whispered into his ear. “If you think I’m just going to fade into the background, you’re so sorely mistaken, big brother.”
“No, I don’t expect you will. People of low birth always find a way to creep in where they aren’t wanted.” He shrugged her off. “Just stay out of my way.”
Below, the orchestral music waned, the violins hummed, the harps strummed, the drums tapped out, and the stage curtains closed to a round of applause.
Chapter Thirty-four
Madam Rosaria’s All-Seeing Eye
The Festival of Lights was the biggest celebration Taro had ever seen. It was surprising to him that even in times of innocent people being hauled off and executed, a great majority of the Helians simply went on with their lives. But what else was to be done?
Perhaps it was the reputation Helia had that tainted his expectations of the place and its people. Growing up in Ashwick, he’d always pictured Helia as a desolate place full of beggars and thieves under an immovable despot. Perhaps the Shahl was indeed a terrible person, but he must’ve had significant support to stay in power for over fifty years.
Taro followed Bran along the market square through throngs of people. Bran pushed the wooden cart filled with candles in front of him. On both sides were slate boards with ‘halfpenny per, three for one’ scratched onto it. They weren’t the only ones selling candles, and it seemed to be a fairly lucrative business. Above their heads were hundreds of long strings tied from one building to another. The candles were placed into paper lanterns, lit, and hung from these lines.
Despite being a rather serious fire hazard, the lanterns were beautiful. They glowed against the cool, dark night sky a dozen different colors. Hues of crimson, yellow, and deep green lit up the streets. There were jugglers and fire dancers hurling flaming batons into the air, and acrobats twirling on elephants and balancing on pins.
Azra had said he expected a ‘smaller’ crowd this year with things as they were. If this was a small crowd, Taro couldn’t imagine what a large crowd would be. Bran maneuvered through with skilled efficiency, pushing past people so fast that he had to stop a few times to allow Taro to catch up.
Bran stopped at a sweets cart packed full of saltwater taffy, toffee, hard candies, and chocolates. The man behind the counter was a plump, rosy-cheeked old Celosan who showed off a few of his wares.
Bran glanced around, apparently to see if his parents were nearby, and took some of the money he’d gotten from selling candles out of his pocket. He slipped a few pennies to Taro, then placed a few more on the candy cart’s counter and picked up a piece of caramel toffee.
“Shouldn’t we get moving to the aculam?” Taro asked, as Bran unwrapped the wax paper on the toffee and popped it into his mouth.
“Not ’til eleven o’clock,” Bran said. He looked up at the thin crecent moons. “So we’ve got another thirty minutes at least.”
They milled about the square, and Taro watched some of the performers. Many were quite good, if a bit campy. One blue and yellow cart with long flourishes in the wood held a puppet show. The hand puppets were surprisingly high quality, though the show consisted of little more than one puppet hitting another and making comical noises. Apparently, they were making fun of the Inquisitors beating up on each other.
One thing that caught Taro’s attention was an octagonal purple tent beside a nearby fountain. The sign stuck in the ground beside the flap door said:
MADAM ROSARIA’S ALL-SEEING EYE
See your future
Tarot reading - Love potions - Warding stones
Just as Taro was going to look away, he spotted a figure inside. An old woman peeked out from the curtains and waved him in as if she knew he’d been watching her.
Taro looked back at Bran, who was staring up at a female gymnast on a stage. She had bent so far backward the tips of her fingers were touching the wood. Bran’s face betrayed that his stares were not exactly out of interest in her acrobatic ability.
Mostly just to kill time, but also with a modicum of curiosity, Taro approached the fortune-teller’s shabby tent.
“Not much business, eh?” Taro said lightly.
The woman was dressed in old rags and had a severely hunched back. Her long, pale fingers and hard-edged nails stuck out of the sleeves of her robe, and one crooked finger ushered him inside. Something was off about her, but Taro couldn’t quite place it. It was something about the way she carried herself.
The interior of the tent was nothing special: a small circular table with three chairs—one for the woman and two for any couples who might happen to enter on a bout of curiosity.
“Three pennies and I can see your future, young man,” the haggard voice said.
“I’m afraid I don’t have any money,” Taro lied.
“What about the money your little friend gave you?” the hag said, taking her seat and bringing out a wooden box with a large jeweled eye on the front.
Taro raised one eyebrow. “Have you been spying on me?”
“I see all,” the woman said.
Taro looked around the tent and spotted a tiny slit in the fabric just beside the door. He poked it with his forefinger. “Ah, okay. Still a bit creepy to watch people. Business really must be tight. I’d suggest you keep going southwest, they’d kill for an act like this in Ashwick.”
“There is no act,” the woman said dramatically. “I see all! I know all! You are in grave danger if you do not heed my warning, boy. I see great darkness in your future.” She opened the box; it was full of tiny, thin bones which she scattered into a small fire pit on the table. She then sprinkled ash into the pit and lit it with a match. Flames leaped from the pit as if doused with gasoline.
The bones cracked in the heat of the fire, and the woman picked through the remains. “Cephalonomancy,” she said. “The bones of this dragon whelp will show what darkness lies ahead. It was once a child of the great brood king, Craetos, who could see all futures.” She waved her hands over the fire in an elaborate pattern and the table began to shake.
Taro crossed his arms, not terribly impressed. “Maybe I’m a bit jaded. I’m used to a higher class of con artist.”
The woman put her hand to her chest. “How dare you—”
“Let’s start with the obvious.” Taro counted off on his fingers as he spoke. “Number one.” He picked up one of the thin bones that was just outside the fire. “These are chicken bones. See the feather right there?” He set it down. “Number two.” He lifted the tablecloth, exposing a rod connecting the woman’s knee to the table. “And number three, that’s a wig.” He pointed to her powedered gray hair, then leaned in and got a better look at the fortune-teller’s face.
“Oh. My. God,” Taro said, punctuating each word with a long pause. He shook his head, then burst out laughing. “You’re a man.”
“It’s…it’s not a wig…” the fortune-teller said slowly in a haggard voice, then waved her hands as if to quiet him. She then spoke in a distinctly masculine voice. “Listen kid, quiet down, you’re going to kill my business.”
“I knew it.” Taro ran his hand across his face and snickered
like a four-year-old.
The fortune-teller yanked down his hood and tossed his wig on the ground, leaving a crown of dry glue. He looked more peeved than angry. “How’d you spot me?”
“Don’t take it personally. I just know a good con when I see one,” Taro said. “And this is certainly not a good con.”
“I’m not a con,” the man said, peeling off each of his false fingernails one-by-one. He licked off some of the lipstick, smearing the rest onto his sleeve. “Sometimes, you just have to give people what they expect, y’know? The name’s Mica.”
“Mica.” Taro glanced out the tent’s entrance. “Well, I can see business is just booming for your drag show.”
Mica put his hand to his forehead as if he had a headache. “I really can see the future…well, sometimes.”
Taro stood and patted the table with his palm. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, pal. Thanks though, I needed a good laugh after the week I’ve had.”
“Wait!” Mica said. “I can prove it. Just sit down.”
“I’m not paying for you to guess at my future,” Taro said flatly.
“Let me show you,” Mica insisted. He picked off his false eyelashes and placed them into a matchbox. “If you don’t buy it, you don’t buy it—if you get my drift.”
This caught Taro’s attention. He sat down across from the fortune-teller and leaned his walking stick against the tentpole. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Without the makeup, this time.” He laced his fingers together.
Mica pulled a perfectly round crystal ball from beneath his table and placed it on a small gold-plated pedestal. He ran his hands up and down the glass and hummed. “Gaze deep within. Together we will see things that were, things that are, and some things that have not yet come to pass.”
To Taro’s astonishment, from deep within the crystal ball came a strong reddish light. It spun inside, like a cloud of fog, and sputtered. “You must open your thoughts to me.” The fortune-teller reached out his hand to put it against Taro’s chest, but Taro recoiled back and knocked the crystal ball onto the floor. It bounced a few times before striking the tent fabric.
