“Impossible,” Yoresh said.
Kyra tilted her fingers and the top half of the pipe stripped from the rest of the metal and smacked Yoresh in the face. The brute fell to the floor, clutching his bloody nose and lip. The winners cheered and collected their money from Ven.
As soon as she’d won, Kyra fell off the pipe herself. Sweat poured from her skin, and she practically limped toward Yoresh.
“You okay, big guy?” she said through her panting.
Despite his brutish appearance, in defeat, Yoresh was polite. “I bow to a superior templar.”
She shook his hand. “You’re very talented. I’ve never had to resort to physical manifestation on a first-year recruit before.”
“Rin grasa tu.” Yoresh bowed slightly.
Taro was more than a bit shell-shocked. If this was the level of magic required to survive the trial at the midterm, then he didn’t have a chance.
Kyra went to recover in the corner. She downed an entire water skin and rolled her sleeves over her shoulders.
Taro approached. “When do I get to learn how to do that?”
Kyra’s sharp eyes looked up. “I wouldn’t count on ever learning it.”
Taro grimaced. “Damn. What did I do to piss you off?”
Kyra shook her head, as if to clear it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that. But if you can’t light an orb, then this kind of templary is far off.”
“I have to start somewhere, don’t I?”
“You have a gold aurom, you should be beyond starting. Who was your sponsor?”
“Magister Locke.”
“When did he open your templar?”
Taro had a split second to decide whether or not to lie to her. He decided to opt for the truth. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Kyra shook her head. “How in the hell did you get a gold aurom?”
“Just lucky, I guess.” He pondered. “Nima had an extra lesson earlier with Magister Ross.”
“That would be to unlock her templar. You didn’t get one, because of your aurom. They assumed you didn’t need it.”
“Could you help me?” Taro asked.
“Why me?” Kyra said. She seemed somewhat surprised by the question.
“I’d rather Ross not find out. If you can’t, it’s all right.”
“No...it’s fine.” She seemed unsure. “I have another three matches here, but meet me at the Cons in an hour.”
“The Conservatorium, you mean?” Taro asked.
Kyra nodded and wiped sweat from her forehead. “Yup. It’ll give us some privacy.”
Despite being worn to bits, Kyra won all three of her matches. She looked ragged afterwards, like she’d overextended herself, but met Taro in the Conservatorium as she’d promised. When they entered, she spoke briefly to Antherion and then found a quiet spot beside a craggy tree stump.
“All right,” she said, as though she was sorting out her thoughts. “I have a bit of a confession to make. I’ve never opened a templar before.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Taro said. She was his only option, so he really hoped she was up to the task. “What exactly is templar? Why does it have to be unlocked?”
Kyra crossed her legs. “Close your eyes.” Taro did so. “Imagine the center of your soul. If you focus enough, you can feel a tugging in your chest. That’s your templar.”
Taro did feel the tugging in his chest, like a charge near his heart.
“Templar is the fire within your body, but it can only be unlocked through someone else’s templar. Like a candle lighting another candle.” She ushered Taro to open his eyes. “Are you sure you want me to do this?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”
She bit her lip. “It’s just that it can be a very...intimate experience.”
“As in...”
“Nothing sexual,” Kyra said. “To stretch the candle analogy, when my fire touches yours, I’ll be able to see the inner turnings of your mind.”
“You’ll read my thoughts?”
“Nothing so specific, but we’ll be able to feel each other, if that makes any sense.”
Taro took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
Kyra scooted forward until their legs touched. She placed one hand on his chest and the other on his shoulder. “Depending on how open you are, this could take minutes or hours.”
“Should I clear my mind?” Taro asked.
“No. Fill it with everything that you love most. Don’t just imagine it, feel it inside you.”
Taro thought of days long past. His mother reading to him by the firelight, and his father playing with Nima on his armchair.
“It’s your family, isn’t it?” Kyra said.
“I thought you said you couldn’t read my mind.”
She smiled. “I can’t. I just know the feeling.”
Something washed over Taro’s body. If you’ve ever stood from a great height and peered over the edge, you’ll feel a drop in your chest. This was the feeling, except it was on every one of his limbs and burrowed deep into his mind.
“Next, I need hate,” Kyra said. “Don’t hold back.”
It was a grim irony that the same thoughts he used for love were also the ones he used for hate. His family. His father chastising him, his sister leaving for Mathan’s house.
“Not enough,” Kyra said. “If you want this to work, it has to be everything.”
There was one memory from Taro’s past that he’d done his best to suppress. It was the day he’d lost his leg. Something flared inside him and pushed out every other anger, like a tidal wave pushing away sand. Kyra yanked her hand away, like she’d just touched a red-hot frying pan.
“Sorry,” she said, looking terrified. “I wasn’t expecting...just, hold on to that thought.” Her fingers shook as she placed her hand back on his chest.
Heat from Kyra’s hand pushed deep into his heart, and Taro drew in a sharp breath. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking into her. He saw every facet of her mind. Her hopes, her dreams, her fears.
When she let go, Taro wasn’t able to breathe. No matter what he tried, his lungs wouldn’t inflate. He panicked and thrashed in the dry leaves. Kyra shouted for Antherion and, as his eyes went black, Taro heard his thumping footsteps barreling through the woods.
He wasn’t out for long, a few minutes at the most. Antherion was in his smaller human form and upending a cup of slimy green liquid into Taro’s mouth.
“Swallow it,” the dragon said.
It tasted like a bizarre mixture of peppermint and runny cheese. He coughed hard, and Antherion patted his back. “There you go, let it all out.”
Taro looked to Kyra. “What happened?”
Antherion spoke before she could. “As Miss Kyra is well aware, mixing templars is dangerous for both participants. Do you have a death wish, Miss Kyra?”
“I thought I could handle it,” Kyra said. “You won’t tell...you know who, will you?”
Antherion sighed. “No, I won’t tell him. But if you want to be a magister one day, you must exercise more care.”
“I was careful.”
“You were sloppy,” the dragon snapped.
Kyra shrank under the dragon’s furious stare. Antherion put one hand on each of Taro’s cheeks and stretched the sides of his eyes. He stared into his pupils and checked his pulse.
“What was the problem?” Taro asked, as the dragon looked him over like cattle stock.
“If you were going to light a candle, you’d use a match, yes?” Antherion said.
Taro nodded.
“What if, instead, you used a blowtorch? You’d destroy the wick and probably melt the wax to an unusable mass. You, young man, are lucky to be alive.”
“Well, I’m alive,” Taro said, pulling himself up. “Did it work?”
Antherion plucked a pinecone from one of the trees and placed it on Taro’s palm. He then took Kyra’s inscriber and scratched a few tiny runes onto it.
“Direct your templar into this,” Antherion said.
When Taro did so, the runes glowed and the pinecone lifted an inch from his hand.
It might’ve seemed like a novelty, but to Taro, feeling actual magic was a wonder unlike anything he’d ever experienced. For the first time in his life, he felt powerful.
Whatever Mathan’s plans were didn’t matter anymore. Taro had to learn more about this. He had to see how far it could go.
Chapter Thirteen
Glory Days
Taro wanted to delve into his studies more than ever, but the reality of teetering close to dead broke was of a more pressing concern.
Later that evening when Nima went to sleep, he set his coins out in small stacks. At final tally, he had three crowns and four pence remaining. Not only did they have interest to pay, they also had room and board, food, and clothing.
A gentle rap came at the door, followed by a whisper. “Taro, you there?”
It was Ven and Pipes, along with Yoresh and another Sahaalan boy named Sig. Ven ushered Taro into the hall. He and Pipes were in particularly good spirits, and Taro could smell alcohol on their breath. They were all in their Magisterium uniforms, which in the Lower City was not a good idea.
“How’d you know I was here?” Taro asked.
“You said you were in Suri’s place,” Ven said. “We tried to catch you after class. I gotta say, Lower isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”
“We saw some taverns on the way. We’re going to check them out, care to join?” Pipes said.
“Ecruden val durra,” Yoresh said.
“Can we get that in Amínnic?” Ven asked.
Yoresh pointed to his temple. “I say Endrans are crazy in head. Air is cold. People are hostile. Why venture where we are not wanted?”
“To get a drink. To have fun,” Ven said. “Don’t they have fun where you’re from?”
“Freezing weather is not fun,” Sig said. “Neither is causing riot.”
“We’re going,” Ven said. “And I know you’re coming, Taro. You’re going to need a drink after today.”
“If it’s on you,” Taro said.
“Oh, no, it’s on moneybags.” Ven pointed to Pipes, who looked more than a little annoyed at the statement.
“Why him?”
“Because Ven likes giving me hell,” Pipes said.
“And because his father is Denith Crissom,” Ven said.
The name flew over Taro’s head. “Who?”
“Owner of Crissom Foundry. He makes all the metal the Magisterium uses. Every airship, every plate, every cannon.”
“The Magisterium’s gotta have its metal,” Pipes said, but seemed keen to change the subject.
Taro did need something to take his mind off everything. With Nima asleep, what was the harm? “I’d better change out of my uniform.”
Ven pulled him along. “You’re fine. Let’s just go.”
_____
Taro’s mother turned a blind eye to many things over the years—running packages for Mr. Boors, pickpocketing, and petty theft. She stayed quiet as long as the family was provided for. But her own father had been a drunk, and one thing she would not abide was Taro drinking.
Some years ago, Taro tried a sip of piss-nasty Helian bourbon with Sikes; when his mom caught a whiff of it, she went ballistic.
Near the Lower’s south entrance was a cluster of taverns. Only one wasn’t boarded up and empty. The sign over the door had a carved goat caricature. Past the post were two large metal pillars with seven grooves running up the sides. On the insides of the grooves were magistry enchantments, and through the cracked window Taro saw another pillar inside. Heat radiated from them.
“This is from the Artificium,” Pipes said. “Expensive, too.”
“At least we won’t freeze,” Taro said, hovering his fingers over the warm air.
Ven put one hand around Pipes’ neck and the other around Taro’s. “Gentlemen, that’s what the drinks are for.”
Taro wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Drunken singing and dancing on tables, perhaps. Bards strumming lutes and old men telling tall tales. None of these were present, and in fact the entire place seemed various shades of brown. It was warm, but it was a musty, oppressive heat that made the smell of alcohol more noxious.
There were eight older men inside, two of them were off-duty warders. Their eyes followed the boys in complete silence as they entered and sat down at the bar.
Pipes set ten pence on the counter. “Five of your best.”
The haggard bartender studied the boys. After a moment, he smiled, revealing his yellow teeth, and fixed them their drinks. Taro was the last to be served, and when he got his pint, the bartender spoke. “You boys come down from the Magisterium, eh?”
The boys sipped their drinks and nodded.
“That a problem?” Ven asked.
The bartender looked toward the men on the other side of the room. “Of course not. We don’t have a problem with magisters in these parts, do we, fellas?”
One of the warders wobbled to his feet and set his ale down so hard that it splashed onto the already soaked table.
He put his face just inches from Taro’s. “It’s always a pleasure when our Magisterium overlords pay us common folk a visit.”
Taro put a hand between him and the warder. “Excuse me.”
“We want no...eh...what is word?” Yoresh said.
“Trouble,” Pipes said.
“Who’s causin’ trouble?” The warder grabbed Taro’s hand and shook it vigorously. “I’m just offering my thanks. Fine work you lot do up there. Just wonderin’, any progress on that Arclight keepin’ us common folk from freezin’ to death?”
“Now, now,” the bartender said as he ran a rag across the counter, “they’re just recruits.”
Ven set his pint down. “Recruits with ranks equivalent to lieutenant.” He pointed to the warder’s rank. “Corporal.”
The warder did a mock salute. “You’re right, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“You should go back to your seat. You’re outranked and outclassed,” Ven said.
The warder placed his hand on Ven’s shoulder. “You think you’re better than me, kid?”
Ven reacted to the weight of his hand, but didn’t shove him away. He spoke calmly. “Take your hand off me and go back to your seat.”
“Or what?” The warder blasted his foul breath in Ven’s face.
Ven grabbed the warder’s wrist and brought the hulking man to his knees. At first, watching the skinny, scraggly Ven dominating a two-hundred-pound man was amusing, but Taro quickly realized what Ven was doing.
“Let him go,” Taro said frantically. “You heard what Sullen said.”
Ven did so and the soldier cradled his bruised wrist.
“Just teaching him a lesson.” Ven peered at the other men staring at them from the tables. “If the rest of you want to end up on the floor with your friend, let’s get this over with.”
The men went back to their drinks, and the warder staggered back to his seat.
“You gotta put them in their place, otherwise they’ll never learn,” Ven said, sipping his ale.
After a few drinks, the mood was much lighter. The men hadn’t bothered them again, and the ale even started to taste almost drinkable.
Ven held up his sloshing cup. “To yet another year in this godforsaken shithole,” he said, remarkably well for how much he’d had. “Third year’s the charm, they say.”
“I sure hope not,” Taro said.
“I can count on one hand the number of recruits who pass the trial on the first go.” He nudged Taro with his elbow. “Kyra is one of them. Some brains on that one. Or some connections. I could get used to starin’ at that for a term or two.”
Pipes rolled his eyes. “You’re hopeless.”
“What?” Some ale spilled from his cup as he gestured. “C’mon, she’s gorgeous.”
“Jar nor uru calaphor,” Yoresh said with a chuckle. He’d j
ust downed his fourth pint, but barely seemed phased by it.
Sig nodded. “He says you should try for someone more attainable.”
Pipes grinned. “Besides, we all know that Taro’s the one she’s got her eye on, remember?”
Three hours later, they started back to Taro’s room. They bantered and shouted as they wobbled through the slush. Ven had been right, the cold didn’t feel so bad after a few drinks. Even drunk, Taro didn’t feel quite right wandering through Lower, but he could barely speak clearly, let alone convince the others to walk along the colder surface.
“Did you see that warder’s face?” Ven slurred. “What a joke.”
“If Sullen finds out, there’ll be hell to pay,” Pipes said.
“How’s he gonna find out? None of you are gonna tell him, right?”
“Of course not,” Pipes said, and the others agreed.
“I’m sick and tired of getting flack for being in the Magisterium. Used to be that magisters were looked up to, but now we can’t even go out and get a drink without gettin’ pissed on.”
The boys passed several open rows on their way. Most of them had homeless people inside, huddled around lit trash bins. Wide stretches of cloth were tied from one row to another as a makeshift canopy. Some of them rattled cups at the boys and begged for money, but they didn’t even elicit a head turn.
With the frequent beggars, Taro didn’t think it was strange to hear footsteps nearby. By the time he realized what was going on, it was too late. The warders from the bar ran up to them and slammed a wooden board across Ven’s head.
Taro punched one of the men in the stomach, but it served only to make them angrier. Yoresh put up a much better fight and knocked a bloodied tooth out of the warder’s mouth before he was overrun.
Taro got the beating of his life. Once the boys were so drunk and shell-shocked they couldn’t use templary, they were easy targets. The men paid special attention to Ven, and when they were finally satisfied with the curb stomp, the one Ven insulted pressed his foot into Ven’s stomach.
The warder gave him one last kick to the face. “Who’s outclassed now?”
Taro took the least of it. The men noticed early on that he was missing a foot, and perhaps beating up a cripple didn’t sit right with them.
The Reach Between Worlds Page 9
