Chapter 32
One of the Cassillis gods of art, Raffendus, commonly worshipped by Elves, has strong ties with theater and dance. Many Elven Blade Dancers, the Saylinna, pay honors to him, as many say he is the origin of the art. Those who have seen the fickle god say he wears the masks of Comedy and Tragedy.
Day 329, Smeltesday
“So you think you’ve fixed things with Rose?” Ferris asked as we cleaned up from breakfast.
“I’m not going to guarantee it, but if things work out, she’s going to get a wish she’s had for a while.”
“That’s a relief,” Nel said. “You’ve been moping ever since that fight. I thought it might never resolve.”
“Heh,” I gave a half-hearted chuckle. “I thought I had royally kicked the hound when she snapped at me.”
“From what you told us, I’d say it was closer to kicking the whole Black Shuck pack,” Ferris commented. “I never would’ve guessed she was a caster.”
“I was totally clueless,” came Nel.
“I wonder what class she is?” Ferris pondered. “Wizard? Sorceress? Fury?”
“Why only Neo-Arcana? She could be an Ember, a Dyad, or a Theurgic Mage. Besides, the only one with a water affinity on your list was the Wizard,” Nel corrected.
“You really think she pulled favor from a God or Titan?” Ferris looked at her with skepticism.
Nennel shrugged. “You never know.”
“Oh, yeah,” Ferris’s voice was thick with sarcasm. “She just up and found faith overnight and pulled enough favor to become a priest.”
“How about we drop it,” I interjected, stepping between them.
“Alright, oh Master Mastlok,” Ferris teased. “How about you let us in on that top-secret training plan?”
I flinched and inwardly kicked myself. I wanted to tell them, but how? If I did, Thallos would silence them. But if I didn’t, they’d be joining an order that was okay with sapient sacrifice.
“Hello? Anyone in there, horn-head?” Ferris rapped his knuckles on my horn.
“Sorry, I was having flashbacks,” I lied. “But my question is, when did you actually take us on as friends?”
“What do you mean?”
“When I saved your cut-ear ass, you didn’t think I was serious. I had to convince you it was a business deal.”
“Oh! Yeah, I had forgotten.”
“So where was the change?”
“Well, when I saw how you and Nel treated each other, and how Rose treated you, I started to imitate it. It felt weird poking fun and not meaning it. Sharing my past was unbelievably scary. I thought you all were going to jump on me. But nothing horrible happened, so I just kept mimicking you until I found my own way.”
“Wait. You pretended to be comfortable with us for the first few months?” Nel questioned.
“I get it. Fake it ‘til you make it, right?” I pointed out.
“Pretty much,” Ferris admitted, blushing.
Nel scoffed. “And here I thought that was just a poor excuse to join us.”
“In his defense,” I started, “I had never had friends until you guys. Nel, you were my first.”
“I think I remember you saying that.”
Nel, Ferris, and I all nodded. “Yeah.”
“Pretty much.”
She threw her hands up in mock outrage. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been spending my time with a pair of know-nothing losers.”
“Hey!” I stepped up. “This know-nothing loser saved your mechanical ass more than once. And care to remind me how many times you’ve asked me to work on your internals?”
She grinned playfully, shoving me away. “Don’t rub it in, gears-for-brains. You were the one begging to do the work.” She turned away. “A girl doesn’t show her servos to just anyone.”
I gave her a look of disbelief. “Oh, shut that mechanical trap. You know you’re more of a sister to me.”
“Well, brother dearest,” she teased, “why don’t you tell your beloved sister about your training?”
“You know that’s not going to work. The best I can give you is that our Quenchenday sparring is pretty much what I do most of the time, only dialed up to twelve and with Thallos quizzing me. But speaking of training, what about you two? What are your scores?”
Ferris’s face curled in disgust. “You know I’ve been trying for Silent Heart.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, my Hit Vector is only twelve. The Assassin Mystagogues say I’m too aggressive. But I’ve got sixty-four on my Escape Vector and, thanks to you guys, forty-two in Martial. So I’m gonna swing for Mastlok of Crimson Blades and Sightless Eye.”
“So you’re trying for Phase Wolf,” the comment slipped out.
The other two turned to me in confusion. “What now?”
“Each combination of sects has a role title. The one you’re aiming for is Phase Wolf.”
“Really?” Nel turned to me fully. “Then what about mine? I’ve got high scores in Sightless Eye and Silent Heart.”
“You’re scoring as an assassin?” I asked.
“Come now, Iver. You’ve seen my speed. You have to admit I’m agile enough.”
“That’s not what’s got me confused. You’re very direct. I can’t see you dosing people or shooting a target from a rooftop.”
She put her hands on her hips, giving me a death glare. “My scores are seventy-two in Escape and sixty-nine in Hit. Now, what is my role called?”
“I’m not sure you should be a Mastlok, Nel. A single sect would be easier. Plus, you won’t have to kill people.”
“Brother,” she said in warning.
I raised my hands. “Okay, okay. It’s your choice. That role is called a Red Shadow.”
She visibly relaxed. “That’s better. Now, what kind of Mastlok are you?”
I cursed internally. “Well, Thallos had me memorize Type Two roles, but not Type Three yet,” I said, looking away and scratching my head. “He just keeps telling me I’m a Hunter, whatever that means.”
“Ugh! Can you at least tell us your Vector scores?”
I bit my lip. “Fifty-two Martial, eighty-six Craft, and zero Spell.” I lowered my head in shame. Thallos would send me out to collect points for specific vectors. I had the best luck with Craft; he would give me points if my gadget worked. But my Spell score…
“What’s with the zero?” Ferris beat Nel to it.
The shame was not false. “I have yet to cast another spell.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t figure out how to take in myst, let alone project it.”
“What are you trying?” Ferris asked. “My cousin is a wizard; she tried to explain some of it. I might be able to help.”
“The Zenwels have had me visualize everything. I’ve tried a vacuum pull from my palms, tentacles, a net for fish. Nothing. And it doesn’t help they look at me like a science experiment. They’ve poked and prodded me, scanned me, and taken I-don’t-want-to-think-how-much blood.”
“Wow,” Nel muttered. “That’s pretty messed up.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “And that’s where I’m heading next.”
“Let’s see if we can help you draw myst first,” Ferris interjected. “Your magic is blood-based, right?”
“Kind of. My blood is both focus and price. When a sorcerer gives up body heat for fire magic, I just use blood.”
“But it’s still blood-based. Have you thought about visualizing something along the same lines?”
I shot him a glare for the terrible pun. He seemed oblivious.
“What are you thinking?” Nel asked.
“Like, what if he pictures his veins taking the myst in? Or veins stretching from his feet into the ground like roots?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Well, it’s about time for class. Try it out and let me know,” Ferris said, waving as he and Nel headed off. I gave them a half-hearted wave and made my way to the Zenwels’ lab. I was not looking forward to this.
“Good morning, young student,” came Patrisha, standing over a large glass tank of clear green fluid. Her brother, Lucas, was setting up devices around it. The room was thick with an acrid, ozone scent.
“Good, good. You are even early,” Lucas said with a smirk.
“Now, hop to,” said Patrisha, clapping her hands.
“We need you to strip,” said Lucas.
“And get into the Solivasion fluid tank,” Patrisha gestured off-handedly.
“Can I ask why?” I asked, already stripping.
“Simple,” said Lucas.
“We are going to test your Formulaic Myst Activation Pull Sequence. This will tell us if you’re a Solidum or Theurgic caster,” explained Patrisha.
“If the latter, your inability to draw myst is because you need to pull from a deific entity,” Lucas continued.
By then, I was in my underwear. “Can you simplify that?”
Lucas walked up with a handful of wireless sensors. He paused, eyeing me up and down. My skin pattern had drastically shifted. Where once it was olive-bronze with white threads, it was now a new pattern of scars. Scars over my tan skin were a lighter shade; where they passed through the white, the tissue went from alabaster to phantom white.
“What, pray tell, is the cause of all this?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I guess I’m not particularly talented at my training.”
“These are all from training? Stupid child. If you are in this bad of tatters in your first year, I don’t foresee you seeing it through.”
I felt ashamed. “Enough, brother. Prep the nodes. And you, Darkling, off with the undergarments,” Patrisha said.
I did as told, trying not to be embarrassed as Lucas stuck nodes all over my body. After, he led me to the stairs beside the tank. I stuck a toe in and pulled it out. The fluid made my skin tingle. “What is this?”
Patrisha answered, “A cocktail of liquid oxygen, Consinderon, Magilucum, Fersoma, and refined liquid myst.”
“What does it do?”
“It will allow you to breathe while submerged,” said Lucas.
“It will also infuse you,” said Patrisha.
“Which we need to elicit a reaction.”
“If you are a Neo-Arcana type, the fluid will turn red. If Theurgic,”
“It will turn blue.”
I gazed at the fluid, not relishing the thought of breathing it. “You’re sure?”
“Without a doubt,” he said. “Now, enough postponing.” He unceremoniously pushed me in. I landed face-first, flailing. The thick, viscous substance coated me, seeping into my pores, climbing up my nostrils. My sinuses burned. I got my feet under me and pushed to the surface, gasping.
I had only just gotten a taste of air before Lucas’s hand clutched my face and shoved me back under.
I struggled, then gave in. My lips parted, my mouth filled. The sensation flowed down my throat. As it reached my lungs, I gagged and thrashed. Then, everything normalized. My vision snapped back. Breathing the fluid was no different from breathing air. I shook my head, realizing I’d fallen to my knees. A sheet of paper pressed against the glass: ‘Breathe’. Another appeared: ‘Try drawing myst. Repeat any visualization that felt close’.
What Ferris said came to mind. I looked at my inner forearms, visualizing the veins. I imagined ambient myst, red particles, pulling into them, flowing into my core. I felt something inside me filling, an accumulating concentration into my soul. Power gathered in the very fiber of what made me. I finally understood. I pulled harder, the moats of dust filling into a layer of static, covering everything. I saw it now, the geometric structures of energy. I drew upon the power, drinking it in. I was dimly aware my vision had shifted from green to purple.
When I could take no more, I tested the reverse. I bit the webbing between my thumb and forefinger until I drew blood. I wanted to use fire but thought better of it. I went with the next best thing. From my inner well, I drew Fire Myst and infused it with Air. The spreading crimson cloud sparked, releasing a crackle of static. The sparks grew into glaring red arcs of electric power. I felt a wicked grin split my lips and pushed more power. The arcs magnified, lashing out like wild crimson vipers, striking the tank with enough force to crack the glass. Before I could think, the lightning amplified. The wall shattered with a violent force. Glass and purple gel-like fluid pushed out in a massive wave, washing me out. I coughed and gagged as my body rejected the fluid.
Once I was breathing again, I clambered to my feet. The measuring devices were covered in congealing purple slime, all shorted out. The Zenwels lay on their backs, slimed and soaked. As one, they sat up, trying in vain to clean their masks.
I raised my hand. The still-weeping wound brimmed with power. A ruby spark leaped from it. I looked up to see both Mystagogues rushing around, trying to salvage equipment.
“Brother, the readings?” asked Patrisha.
“All accounted for up to the surge. Astounding,” Lucas answered, pulling up charts.
“I agree. The readings from the ratio divergence and deific bond monitors leave me questioning.”
“Umm,” I started. “That’s great, but… what does purple mean?”
The twins looked at each other, then at me. As one, they answered, “We don’t know.”
