Chapter 28
There is a way for mundane people to cast magic. A strictly regulated process called Myst Doping can be taken in a variety of forms. The substances used are called MyCast and can be taken by ingestion, inhalation, or injection. Despite strict regulations, these addictive substances plague the streets of many cities due to street alchemists making dirty batches.
Day 200, Quenchenday
The day prior was the quarterly exams—well, exams for everyone except me. For the past two weeks, Thallos had been determined to drive me to the brink of madness. The new daily training regimen consisted of hours of sparring with assorted weapons. While I sparred, he quizzed me on a topic based on the day. If I got a question wrong, he would maim me and have Tessa heal me back to fighting condition just to send me back at him. Over the course of two weeks, I had been stabbed, slashed, hacked, punctured, burned by fire and acid, and had limbs crushed and bones snapped. The pain never got easier, and he swapped up how he maimed me every time to make sure I didn’t get accustomed to it. Shards forbid I become accustomed to getting stabbed in the gut.
I did still trust him, somewhat. He made sure Tessa was on hand every day, and he always seemed to know when I was about to mentally break. When I’d strained my will to the brink, he would stop and just sit down and talk. He called them his “fatherly-uncle heart-to-hearts.” After each talk, I felt both centered and dedicated to becoming better.
Every day after training, when I fell upon my stiff mattress, I would break down. I’d curl into a fetal ball and sob for what felt like most of the night. I never told Thallos, for fear of him thinking me too weak. There was no turning back. I had to bulldoze ahead.
That day was Quenchenday, a day off from the murderous madness. It was almost noon, and I lay in bed, imitating a corpse—a heavily traumatized, utterly exhausted, and mildly peckish corpse. For most of the year, I had spent a good chunk of my private time in full-dive, rooting through the academy’s restricted network, designing 3D test models for gadgets, or running tests on theories. But since my training with Thallos started, everything else had taken a back seat. The only studying I had done was on topics I hadn’t scored well in.
My new talent hadn’t manifested almost at all in those two weeks. The only time something happened was on Hornaday, when the Zenwel twins and Master Mystagogue Neckar performed a test. They strapped me to an operating table and cycled my blood through a spectrum scanner and myst bombardment ray chamber. They would draw blood, hit it with different elements, scan it, then pump it back into me.
They called it safe. It was far from it.
The effects were minimal until they tested Distortion Myst. The moment my blood was infused with the volatile element, it detonated with a cacophonous eruption. The blast annihilated the bombardment apparatus, peeling the top open like a fruit. All the instructors leaped back. Me, on the other hand, I practically leaped out of my skin, trying to calm my racing heart as I watched my blood flow freely onto the floor. Luckily, one of the twins turned off the pump before I bled out.
I was still shaken up, but I tried not to let it get to me. I needed to relax and find some joy with my friends. But at that moment, I lay sprawled across my bed, silently lamenting my choice to follow Thallos and simultaneously chiding myself for it. I was stuck on the end of a blade, like a piece of meat on a spit.
I just couldn’t get over the fact this training revolved around maiming me. But the way Thallos explained the Dark Hunter position, one slip-up could mean the end of more lives than I dared to think about. Could I withstand another six years of stab training? I shuddered at the thought.
A knock at my door shocked me out of my brooding. I half-heartedly rolled off my bed and shambled to my feet. I figured it was Nel coming to get me for food.
THUD THUD THUD!
“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya! Keep your knickers on!” I shouted. I pressed the button, and the door slid open to reveal Thallos, shouldering a bulging black rucksack and looking down at me with a raised brow.
“Do I look like someone who would wear knickers, boy?”
My face paled. I was terrified. Was I about to get the beating of a lifetime? I was on the brink of a panic attack when he broke into an amused grin.
“Come on, kid, do you really think I have no sense of humor?” He cocked his head. “I get that I’m scary during training, but don’t forget I’m your uncle. Now, let’s take a look at your room.”
He strolled in and tossed the sack against the wall beside my Black Rack. He spun on one heel, taking everything in. “I’m impressed. Most boys your age leave their rooms in shambles. The only thing in chaos is your workbench.” He pointed to it. It had three projects in varying states of completion, tools and components scattered in what was, to me, controlled chaos.
“Th-thank you?”
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here, correct?” I gave a tentative nod. “Well, I’m guessing you didn’t know there was an assembly yesterday.”
“What? No.”
He sauntered over to the massive black bag. “Well, they made a change to improve morale. The academy is allowing you all to wear casual civilian attire on Quenchendays. Most students bring clothes for the travel here. And if I remember right, I got you some, correct?”
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “Three T-shirts, two hoodies, five pairs of cargo pants, and just as many sets of socks and boxer briefs.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure you’ve outgrown most of those.”
“Really?”
“How many times have you had to exchange your uniform?”
I shrugged. “That’s hard to say. Before your training, maybe fourteen times? It became regular when Mallrimor started using fire. But since starting this new training, I had to get creative.” I stepped to my workbench and picked up a device I’d been tinkering with. It was a gray stick with four fragment-sized myst crystals—Earth, Fire, Wind, and Water—and an array of eight needle-like ends on the underside. “After the first session, I had to replace my uniform, and the quartermaster flipped. I had to tell him it was a training accident.”
I shot him an annoyed look, tossing him the device. “I couldn’t keep getting new uniforms without letting the whole academy know what’s going on. So I designed that.” I pointed. “I’m calling it a Repirend. It removes stains and mends tears.”
Thallos held it up to the light. “How innovative. I’m impressed, boy. I was wondering how you were going to work around that.”
“Little?” I scoffed. “You backed me into a corner. What do you think would happen if I walked around in a gore-soaked uniform?”
He shrugged before tossing the Repirend back. “It was part of your training. When I went through it, I got remarkably good at stealth. When I had to be in public, I would break into other students’ rooms and steal a uniform.”
I gave him a look of total shock. He chuckled and waved the topic away. “We got off-topic. When you got your uniform replaced, did they take your measurements every time?”
“I think so.”
He gestured to my locker. “Snag one of those old pairs of pants I got you and compare them.”
I did. The pants that had been too long were now an inch too short. I looked at the change in puzzlement.
“See, that’s what I thought. That’s why I brought this.” He slapped the bag and tossed me a wad of black fabric. It was another pair of cargo pants, slightly worn. Then came another wad, and another. When all was said and done, I had eight new T-shirts, three hoodies, six more sets of boxer briefs and socks, two pairs of boots, a pair of sneakers, and eight pairs of cargo pants in a range of colors and materials, including one black latex pair with bright purple trim he called ‘trip pants’.
Thallos helped me lay them out. I agreed to take them all and thanked him. As I began putting them away, I forcefully avoided looking at the drawer where I’d hidden the mystery powder. On the fifth trip, Thallos spoke, his voice casual. “A friend of yours spoke to me. A second-year named Roserra Swiftpaw. She mentioned you had something to show me.”
I froze. “She said it was a baggy you had questions about,” he continued.
“I-I don’t know what she’s talking about,” I stammered.
“Tsk, tsk. We’ll need to work on your lying. You know you can trust me. Now, speak honestly.”
Should I tell him? I trusted him, but could I trust him to this extent? What if he thought I was using it?
No. I had to trust him. Rose did. I stood, mechanically closed the door, and pressed my back to the locker. “I brought it to Rose’s attention. She got agitated and told me to hide it. Do you promise I won’t get in trouble?”
He waved away the question. “No, no. I promise nothing bad will happen.”
I took a deep breath, walked over, and deposited the baggy in his waiting hand. He sniffed it, dipped a finger in, and tasted it. “Ah! It’s a zip-pouch.”
“What?”
“A packet of MyCast called a zip-pouch.”
“You mean the drug that lets anyone cast magic? Isn’t that illegal?”
“Illegal when made by anyone not certified. The legal stuff is strictly controlled. Where did you get it?”
“Master Mystagogue Neckar dropped it after going stark-raving mad.”
“Neckar? She must have run out of M-Juice if she’s using zip-pouches,” he said casually.
“What is M-Juice?”
“MyCast injection fluid she normally takes.”
“Wait, everyone knows she’s on this stuff?”
“It is legal. She has a condition that requires it.”
“What kind of condition?”
“Well Capacity Degradation. Gnome casters are born with a massive Mystwell that never increases. They have a chance of it diminishing.”
“But she’s as insane as Kassidan’s parade,” I pressed.
He shrugged. “Her people are prone to what you and I would call madness. Their minds don’t work like ours.”
“How so?”
He gave me a peeved look. “I’m guessing you didn’t know normal healing magic doesn’t work on Gnomes.”
“No.”
“Then I’m guessing you also didn’t know they can’t use most cybernetics.”
“Why?”
“Their nervous system works differently. They came from another realm.” He waved away any more questions. “Enough. What matters is you’re not in trouble, and you got new clothes. How about you change and go meet your friends.”
And so, I dropped the subject and did as he recommended.
