The Reach Between Worlds (The Arclight Saga, Book 1) (8 page)

The Finer Points of Magistry

The Artificium was an industry in and of itself. It comprised four floors and two airship hanger bays, and constantly buzzed with magisters and artificers. Here they did what they did best: build. Thousands of tons of materials were delivered on a weekly basis and were used in everything from airship construction, to heating pillars, to weapons and artillery cannons.

Frames and fuselages hung from chains on the ceiling. Magisters shouted, hammers smacked against steel, and sparks flew. Thick steam rose from the metal grate floor, with the whole place smelled of oil and gasoline.

Taro hacked into his hand and pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose.

Ven patted him hard on the back. “You’ll get used to it.”

In the corner beside mountains of crates was a free-standing blackboard on wheels.

Against the wall was a kiln and an anvil, the latter of which Taro kept his distance from. Kyra was holding a pole into the red-hot oven and slowly twisting it. She didn’t seem to notice any of the recruits.

Nearby was an artillery cannon with two legs poking out from underneath. The man below swore like a sailor, and Taro recognized the voice as Briego’s. Taro tapped on the cannon with his knuckle. “Excuse me? Magister Briego?”

A plume of black smoke exploded from underneath. Briego hacked and pulled his creeper out. He was drenched in oil and wiped his face off on his tattered, dirty uniform. The tips of his fingers were gnarled and singed black, and his burly beard was on fire.

“What’s that now?” he blustered, patting the small flames out.

“We’re here for your lesson,” Taro said.

“Lesson?” Briego stood and wiped his palms on his trousers. “Oh, yes. Kyra? KYRA?”

Kyra pulled her goggles onto her forehead. “Hmm?”

“Recruits,” Briego said. “Teach ‘em something.” He slapped his goggles on and slid back under the cannon.

Kyra pulled the pole straight from the kiln. On the tip was a molten mass of glass. “I didn’t expect them to get through Veldheim and Antherion so quickly.” Kyra sat it on the anvil, rolled and shaped it, and blew into the end of the pole.

Kyra continued to form the glass until it was the rough shape of a sphere. When it cooled, she placed it to the side, wiped the sweat from her face with a dirty cloth and used the same rag to erase the diagrams on the blackboard. “All right, take a seat.”

It was curious that of the classrooms they’d been in, this was the first that had a desks or a blackboard.

Kyra wrote ‘Artificing 101’ on the board, and retrieved a few small bits of metal from under Briego’s desk.

She sat the pieces on the anvil beside the glass sphere. “You should have all brought the ink you’ve created. Please remove the screw-cap on your inscriber and fill it.” There was a rustling as the recruits complied. “Magistry is the power of the written word. Words are a link between us and the Old Gods.” She scratched a Deific word onto the board. “Shir. As it now sits, it is meaningless. It requires willpower, context, and templar.”

Kyra took the metal bits and fastened them together. She set the glass sphere over the prongs and screwed it into the base. She scratched words onto the bottom — shir rin tor — letters pulsed and a spark appeared between the prongs. The light shined like a tiny sun. When she let it go, the light died.

“A light enchant is the most basic, because light itself is such a basic concept. It takes little energy to manifest. I don’t even need a secondary power source, I could power the light through templary alone. But a more complicated piece of machinery — say, an engine — require massive amounts of energy to function.”

Kyra strolled to Suri and set the orb in her hand. “Suri, it’s good to see you back.”

Suri beamed.

“Tell us, why do we need a medium like this? Why not just a floating ball of light?” Kyra said.

“It’s easier to hold energy inside of a solid. And you can have a permanent fixture for the light.”

Kyra raised her voice as if to make a point. “That’s what artificing is: the application of magistry for practical use. We’ll start small. Each of you will construct a light orb like this for me.”

Taro did well working the glass. His hands were steady, his eyes were sharp. He formed the molten glass into a nearly perfect sphere, and remembered exactly the configuration for the base and prongs. Unfortunately, that’s where his competency ended. While most of the other students got their lights to work within minutes, his sat on his desk utterly dead. He stared at it, prodded it, checked his calligraphy and spelling. Why wasn’t it working?

Kyra picked his sphere off the table. “Seems well made. The enchantment is fine. The problem isn’t here.” She touched his forehead. “It’s here.” She touched his chest.

Fear flared inside of Taro like a firestorm. Why the hell did Aris have to be so damned convincing during admissions? If he’d gotten a wooden aurom they might not bat an eye at this.

Kyra eventually moved on with the class. They discussed other kinds of magistry. Motion, animation, silication — none of which Taro could do.

When class was over, Taro bolted out as fast as he could, hoping Kyra wouldn’t flag him down. When he was safe, he leaned back against a wall and slumped to the ground. When he saw Ven standing beside him, he groaned. “That was humiliating.”

“A bit,” Ven said.

“You’re not helping.”

“You need to stop being so anxious.” Ven unfolded his schedule. “I’ve got Applied Templary with Magister Sullen next.”

“Me too.”

“Recruits never use to get that. Briggs always said it was too dangerous to teach it to novices.”

Sullen’s class was on the next floor up, but despite it being physically close, it too longer to reach than the previous classes. Each time they got close, one of the doorways would shut and the hall would re-arrange.

“It’s four o’clock,” Ven said. “This passage should be open.”

“Well, it’s not, and we’re going to be late.”

It took a full twenty minutes to find the classroom. The forty recruits inside were standing at attention in front Magister Sullen. He was a large man with his sleeves pulled up to his shoulders. One of his arms was missing and replaced by a prosthetic that made Taro’s look tiny by comparison. It must’ve been a hundred pounds of solid steel, and gears in the elbow and wrist spun and clicked when it bent.

Sullen glared at the boys. “Tardiness will not be tolerated.”

“Sorry, the hallways kept—”

“I haven’t given you permission to speak.”

The boys fell in line.

The room had no desks, no blackboard, and no books. On the racks lining the walls were various bladed weapons of different sizes and shape. Closer to the back were mats for sparring.

“Your whimsical skippidy-do adventure ends here.” Sullen grabbed two short swords from the weapon’s rack. “You think tinkering with clocks and planting daisies is going to matter on a battlefield? When your machines fail you, you need to know how to fight.”

“Before we start I want to make one thing clear. You’re not to attempt anything I teach you outside of this classroom. If I find out about it, you’ll be in the Blocks faster than you can say ‘court martial.’ Understood?”

“Yes, magister,” the class answered.

Sullen pointed one of the swords hilt-first towards Sikes. “Take it. Stand over there.”

Sullen and Sikes took opposite positions on one of the training mats.

“Defend yourself!” Sullen charged, and brought his fist down like a hammer and struck Sikes’ sword so hard that the blade broke down the middle. The fragments fell, and Sullen’s hand stopped just shy of Sikes’ forehead.

Sikes looked like he’d stopped breathing.

Sullen lowered his weapon patted the boy on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you. You have no idea how much paper work that is. As I said, templary can make a magister unmatched in physical combat. Just as my blow is about to land, focus your templar into the blade.”

Sikes did as he was told, and again Magister Sullen charged with his bare fist. But this time, just as their swords touched, a red glow sparked between them and Sullen was repelled.

He looked positively ecstatic. “Marvelous! I hope the rest of you were taking notes, because that was perfect. Back in line, Sikes, and pass your weapon.”

Sikes smirked and passed the sword to Taro.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.” Sullen charged and smacked Taro’s sword. Taro’s knees buckled from the force of the blow.

“Not good enough. Again.”

Sullen struck again and again, but despite Taro’s best efforts, he couldn’t counter a single one.

“Bleh, let’s try someone with a little less failure in them.” He pointed to Suri. “You there, little one.”

Suri shrank when he singled her out. “But...”

“This isn’t about physical strength. This is about the strength of your templar.”

Suri grabbed the sword and had to visibly steady herself at its weight. Sullen repeated the test on Suri, who repelled him flawlessly.

“Excellent,” Sullen said.

Some recruits took to it faster than others, and many couldn’t get it to work until their third try. Even Nima eventually got it. But when it got back to Taro, he still couldn’t get it to work.

Sullen looked legitimately disappointed by this, as if Taro was some sort of blot on his record. “Fine. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

The Fire Within

The mess hall was a welcomed sight. It was fairly plain, with four long tables in the back and a dozen small round ones scattered between them and the food line.

There was no menu per se, you ate whatever the cook happened to make. The upside was that recruits and artificers could eat for free, but there wasn’t much in the way of variety.

Taro grabbed a bowl of beef and carrot stew, two warm rolls, a block of cheese sealed in wax, and a sugared apple dumpling. When he stepped out of the line he spotted Ven and Pipes on one of the long tables playing hilto. Hilto was much like chess in that each piece could move a different way, but unlike chess every other turn you could control one of your opponent’s pieces.

Ven had one hand on his aluminum spork and the other on Pipes’ moon piece. He stared intently at the board.

Pipes groaned like he’d been waiting forever. “Just let it go so I can stomp you.”

Ven hesitated. “You’re just trying to scare me.”

“Let go and find out.”

Ven slowly removed his fingers from the piece and Pipes snapped two of his star figures forward, taking out four of Ven’s pieces at once. This game was over, and Taro wondered through a mouthful of stew when Ven was going to figure it out. Ven’s eyes traced the board several times, and he leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms across the back of his head.

“I think I just got hustled,” Ven said. He could’ve kept the game going another hour, but instead forfeited and slid a noble to Pipes.

“I told you. Hilto is a game of patience, and you don’t have any,” Pipes said with smug satisfaction.

From his peripheral vision, Taro saw Suri set her tray beside him. “Mind if I sit here?” she asked.

Taro made her some room. “Of course not.”

“Oh, so you’re talking to me again?” Pipes said.

“For your information, I’m here for Taro,” Suri said.

Ven glanced sideways at Taro. “Don’t worry, they’re always like this. They’ve had an off-and-on thing for a year now.”

“Believe me, it’s purely physical,” Suri said, breaking a sugar packet and emptying it into her tea.

“I’m guessing you’re here to place your bets?” Ven asked.

Suri stirred her drink thoughtfully. “Four nobles on Yoresh.”

Pipes burst out laughing. “Kyra’s going to chew him up and spit him out.”

“He’s undefeated,” Suri said.

“I’d be undefeated too if I only went up against first-year recruits,” Pipes said. “Two crowns on Kyra, and I’ll lay three to one.”

“You’re going to bet against your own friend?” Suri asked.

“I’d bet against my own mother if she was that outmatched.”

Suri sipped her tea, winced, and added more sugar. “When is it starting?”

“Should already be going,” Ven said. “As soon as we’re done eating, we’re heading down.”

“Could someone fill me in on what you’re talking about?” Taro asked.

Ven shoveled the last spoonful of soup into his mouth. “If you can keep a secret.”

Taro nodded.

“This is serious,” Suri said, her voice lowered with every word until it was a faint whisper. “If Sullen or Ross found out...”

“You have my word,” Taro said.

“It’s a dueling club,” Ven said without preamble. “Some tribunes set it up years ago. It’s a great place to earn an extra crown if you know who to bet on.”

“Where is it?” Taro asked.

“An abandoned junction on the ninth floor. Wanna come with?”

“Absolutely.”

When they finished eating, they lead Taro down several flights into a dark, abandoned area of the tower. He could see why the dueling club was still secret, just getting there required shimmying across a ledge, crawling under a cluster of pipes, and waiting for a very specific moment when a rotating fan paused and allowed them through.

Their destination was a long, narrow room with a pipe running down the center. It was positively huge, and through the thick glass window on the casing Taro could see that it was empty.

“What is it?” Taro asked, tapping the glass with his knuckle.

“An old power junction for the Arclight,” Ven said. “Back in the day, touching it would’ve melted the skin off your hand. Dead as stone now a-days.”

There were a surprising number of students packed inside the room, both recruits and artificers. Kyra was in the corner speaking with another tribune and wrapping her knuckles with a torn bit of cloth. A large recruit who must’ve been ten years older than Taro was nearby doing the same thing. From his dark complexion and clothing, he must’ve been Sahaalan, and Ven introduced him as Yoresh.

Ven raised a parchment in the air. “Taking bets now. Piper’s laying three-to-one odds on Kyra.”

Students huddled around Ven and he recorded their bets. When they were done, Kyra and Yoresh climbed onto the pipe. They wobbled a bit trying to keep their balance and stood three feet apart.

“The object is to knock the other person off without using only your templar,” Suri said, anticipating Taro’s question.

Taro thought it was a bit ironic that Kyra, who days before had chastised him about breaking the rules, was openly participating in something like this. When Taro pointed this out, Suri informed him that Kyra was actually one of the founding members.

Yoresh punched his fist into his palm. “Bramu voca lampa se,” he said in Sahaalan. He pointed to Kyra and spoke in heavily accented Amínnic. “You have no chance.”

Kyra footed herself. “Keep talkin’.”

Taro wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting. Fireballs perhaps? Or great explosions of energy? There were neither. For a great long moment Yoresh and Kyra simply stared at one another. Taro became aware that the temperature in the room had increased, and he could feel the heat through the soles of his shoes.

Sweat poured down Yoresh’s bare chest and skin. He tried to press forward, but his feet were stiffened by some unseen force. Kyra’s hands pressed to her side, but to Yoresh’s disbelief, she slowly raised them towards him.

“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 towards 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 mid-term, 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 in an hour in the Cons and I’ll get you squared away.”

Despite being worn to bits Kyra won all three of her matches. She looked ragged afterwards, like she’d over-extended 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 didn’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 onto 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.