Gilbert

  “I thought they were supposed to get violent again,” I say, looking up from a drawing of Sarafyna, reaching out to one of the victims.

  “I said they might grow violent again,” Victor corrects. “Not that I expect them to. On the contrary, I was hoping this would be their response.” I glance at the bars again. At the lethargic, benign people. They are barely moving. Just . . . breathing.

  “What response?” I ask. “If anything, they are doing less than before.”

  “Exactly,” Victor agrees. “When they first attacked, they were violent. When we restrained them, they were unruly. Dangerous. We needed Dominic around constantly. They calmed only a little, but at an accelerating rate, in the days that came after. Then, Sarafyna returned. The attacks stopped immediately. And the rate at which our guests here calmed increased even further. At first, I assumed this was simply the effect of Sara’s divine magic. We know a stronger source of divine magic tends to overwrite a lesser source, especially if it is closer.”

  “But?” I ask. I am missing something. I am always missing something. Try as I might, I don't have Lily or Henry’s scientific mind. I don’t have Ed’s determination. Even as I promise to be vigilant, to avoid repeating tragedies of the past, it still feels like the world passes me by. And yet, Victor still expects me to pick up on it.

  “But,” he finally continues, “Your brother reports the same thing happening in Visenar, the other primary point of attack. And Sarafyna only spent a significant amount of time here, at the towers. So I thought their rate of improvement must have been exponential for some reason, by its nature. Except, they didn’t just grow more docile. They grew more active, but nonviolent. It wasn’t just an increase in speed, it was an entirely new vector of improvement. And again, not just here, but in Visenar, halfway across the world from us.”

  “Well, maybe physically, but with the hat shop, it’s only a few hours walk. It doesn’t feel that far,” I reply. Victor snaps his fingers and I nearly drop my pencil.

  “You’re right. But I’m a scientist, Gil. I considered the literal distance more important. But, I’d overlooked something important. Something huge, and obvious, yet so familiar it was easy to miss,” Victor says. “However far Visenar is, the victims there showed the same effects as the ones here, and at the same time. As soon as Sara came back. And you are absolutely right. Through her hat shop, we are close. It’s her presence making the difference, so it stands to reason that proximity to her power could carry that effect. She may have been far from Visenar, but the hat shop isn’t.”

  “But it was there when she was with Lily, too,” I point out.

  “Yes, and she described a weaker connection to it from the other side of the border. It could be inferred that her influence on the hat shop is what is making the real difference. Every potion needs a reaction between ingredients, not one thing alone. I think it is neither Sara nor the hat shop affecting our guests, but both of them at the same time,” Victor explains.

  “But how can we know that for sure?” I ask.

  “We don’t, but we can test it. Because there is still that factor I was missing. That being, why are these people like this at all?” he asks. I look at him blankly for a moment, my pencil hovering over Sara’s eye on my paper. He isn’t looking at me while speaking, taking notes on the residents of the cell instead.

  “Uh, 'cause the Collector is a dick?” I guess. Victor begins biting one thumbnail as he considers.

  “Sure, I’ll give you that. But he’s not the kind to do things pointlessly. Not as far as I can tell. I’ve met those who are cruel for its own sake. But the Collector? I think he has a goal. So why keep these people trapped, and alive? Sara was told it's to create more sages, but that doesn't explain it. Not to me. Even if we accept that as true, at what point does he cut his losses?

  "He is actively keeping what could be thousands of people in this state, seemingly endlessly. If you fail to get a desired result from a subject after endless attempts, it is a waste of time to spend resources on that subject. If it were me, I'd work toward better and faster methods rather than increasing and maintaining more and more subjects. From my point of view, he must be getting something else out of it, don't you think?” he questions.

  “In case he needed an army?” I guess.

  “Perhaps . . . “ Victor responds idly. “But in that case, why make them so self-defeating? Their bodies are designed for self-harm. For an army, a dozen standardized designs for different military roles would make the most sense. You’d want them strong, fast, and durable. But these people? What’s been done to them can only be meant to cause them pain. Not a wise move if you need an army alone.”

  ”So?” I question, twirling my pencil between my fingers.

  “So, he must be getting something out of it. Out of their suffering. Maybe it’s an endoaspect. Maybe it has something to do with Divine Magic. But he is doing this to them for a reason,” Victor says. “I put it together when Sarafyna described her connection with them. The way she could understand simple things about them. Things I can’t discern with any amount of study.” He actually leans forward here, reaching an arm through the bars and touching a victim’s back.

  “Put what together?” I ask. He finally looks in my direction.

  “I can’t be certain. That’s why I have to observe them while Sarafyna is on the other side of the border. But these people, their temperament first matched the Collector’s, then Sara’s, and now nothing at all. I don’t think they are entirely aware at this point. But I think the Collector gets something from them. He keeps them captive, alive, and miserable for a reason. He even made their lives dependent on him, until recently, when he needed to hurt us,” Victor says.

  “But you aren’t sure what?” I ask.

  “No, this is all still a theory,” Victor agrees. “It could just be about emotional mana. We know it can provide a significant power boost, depending on the person and aspect. Your sister is evidence of that. But if it’s not, if it’s something to do with divine magic . . . Well if the creator of the Radiant Woods can benefit from their presence, maybe the creator of the hat shop can too. Maybe he didn’t stop attacking when Sara came back because of what she can do for his victims. Maybe he stopped because of what they can do for her.”

  I pause again, resting my pencil against the paper. I look at my depiction of the woman in question. She wears a sharp look in gentle eyes. This isn’t an artistic decision I made. It’s who she is. Kind and subtle, with rage inside like slowly boiling water. I miss so many things. I always have. But, for some reason, when I draw I can see everything with such clarity. Like it’s still happening in front of me. Every detail lives inside me, but I can only let them out and examine them through art. I lift the pencil as I consider Victor’s words. My eyes fix on the wooden utensil, an idea Lily introduced, but doesn’t claim as her own.

  The world has so many things in it. I don’t understand any of them. I feel useless. But I flick my eyes toward the now docile patients. No longer reacting to anyone’s presence. Simply waiting. “Any idea what?” I ask. Victor doesn’t respond, letting the question hang in the air for a long moment. When he does open his mouth, he is silenced by the resonance of a massive bell. It’s as we feared. Sara is gone, on the other side of the border, and we are under attack.

  I jump to my feet. “Shit, stay here!” I call as I run toward the wall, failing to wait for confirmation. A stone wall, erected around the towers by every earth mage willing to volunteer. I have very little mana. I spent only the minimum time in my circle, when Lily drew it for me. It didn’t seem important at the time. I will be of no use defending the community. But I run anyway. Because I recognize his mana, flashing from atop the wall. Dominic. The most powerful mage we have. When there is fighting to be done, he will be there.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  I run, not to help him, but so he won’t be fighting alone. In a meaningful sense, at least. There are other mages helping him. The success of this entire community is built around everyone’s willingness and ability to help, when they can. But it’s not the same. He will feel alone, up there. Without anyone he cares about. I didn’t see his last fight. He doesn’t talk about it much. But it did something to him. Left him alone in every crowd.

  But not around me. We connected. We share a certain flavor of shame. Of narrow vision and joy while those around us struggle. We share a resolve to be better. And, for a while, that’s all it was. Someone who understood, on some level, the desperation of a man who had a chance to stand tall and chose not to. Until an idle conversation, one evening. About other similarities. About romance, not confined to two people.

  My heart started beating when he said that. With relief I didn’t understand. Until I remembered Lily. Hopelessly enamored with another woman. And I remember an idle comment, about expanding my interest past just the women in my . . . circle. The heat that had risen in me at the suggestion. I’d forgotten that moment. But when I remembered . . . something shifted. Dominic.

  We haven’t said anything, just yet. Just small glances. Lingering looks. An implicit understanding that we can take another step forward at any moment. That the type of romance I’d had before was an interest we shared. And that, more than anything else, we understand each other. He’s not alone when he’s with me. It still seems strange. So far removed from everything I learned growing up. But, as foreign and strange as it is to me, it is growing harder to deny that I adore him.

  And he is fighting alone. The run feels like it will never end. I see flashes of his mana, growing brighter and more frequent the closer I get. I finally reach the first part of the wall, but it’s not close enough. Even with the gates closed it’s not exactly a normal wall, like Visenar or Satusmor had. It’s more like a simple maze, designed to funnel our temporary enemies to one spot. Where we can subdue and calm them.

  It’s good. It’s kind. It’s right. But a battle is more dangerous for the side that refuses to kill. When I make it to the top of the wall, I can see him. Like a beacon, burning through reality with rippling mana and determination. I have to run around several turns now, to get close to him. It’s a strangely designed defense. A frustrating one, in this moment.

  When I finally make it to him, he notices me immediately, offering me a look of chilly panic. I can see why immediately. There are . . . thousands of them. A greater attack than we have seen so far. Dom is strong; he can handle them. But this exceeds our expectations by a wide margin, and it’s not the towers we have to worry about. Visenar doesn’t have Dominic.

  My eyes lock onto Dom’s. Widening as I catch the sympathy bleeding into them. “Ed . . .”

  Edward

  I have a new home now. At least for the time being. I’m staying in Visenar all the time, until the danger has passed. And Mariah is staying with me, which has been wonderful, but also terrifying. I have been able to spend time with her and take care of her as she carries our child. A thought which, despite my excitement, sends a chill down my spine. The thought of a child reminds me of a glass pillar, now kept in an abandoned building only I visit. As with every night, a cold sweat wakes me hours before dawn. I must have jerked awake, because Mariah rouses shortly after.

  “Dreams again?” she asks. I shudder, then nod. “Henry, or Richard?” I stare at the dark ceiling for a moment, before answering.

  “I’m not . . . sure,” I answer. “Both, I guess?” She fails to suppress a yawn, but she uses her arms to lift her body and sit up against the headboard.

  “Want to tell me about it?” She asks.

  “No, you need your sleep,” I respond, feeling guilty about waking her up.

  “I’m awake now,” she shrugs. “History suggests I’ll be getting up to pee every few minutes for the next hour in any case. Might as well talk.” I sigh.

  “Sorry,” I reply, but she waves me off. “The dream. It’s about a pillar. It turns from glass, to stone, to glass again. Whichever it is at the time, that’s how I feel about . . . “ I look down at her stomach, which she gently rests one hand on. “Henry and my dad died so, so quickly. I had so much to talk to both of them about. But they didn’t get a long goodbye, like the stories. They didn’t get final words or the breath they needed to . . . forgive me. That’s the main thing. I wanted Henry’s forgiveness. I wanted proof Dad could change. I wanted the scene from the stories, where every lingering doubt gets resolved before the hero dies. I wanted to save Henry at the last moment and prove, this time, I wouldn’t be a coward.

  “But I didn’t get that. Both of them lived, and then they were dead. Blink and you miss it. Just . . . gone, and nothing I was too afraid to say to either can ever be heard. Not by them. In the end, I was a coward again. Just like when I ran and let those thugs take my brother. I waited too long to make things completely right, and now I never will. And Mari, I am going to be a father. My own father was so poisoned by pride I had to kill him to save my sister. And I have that in me. That deep cut like a knife in my gut when I am outsmarted, or disrespected. I always have. I hate feeling inferior to my little sister, even now. I hate feeling inferior to you. Even though I know why I feel that way. Even though I know it is senseless, and based on lies taught to me by a man I killed,” I say. I pause to catch my breath as I notice a slight tremor creeping into my voice.

  “But you don’t hurt people,” Mariah says. “Understanding why you feel that way makes a world of difference. Because, even if it hurts more than it should, you have something your father never did. Empathy. Yeah, he may have been capable of it, but he chose himself over that feeling. You don’t. You would rather suffer that thorn in your skin than hurt anyone else. You are a man worth loving, Ed. You’re a man I love, and a man who will raise a kind child. And, based on the stories I’ve heard about you, you are far from being a coward.” I let out a deep sigh.

  “But that’s the problem, isn’t it?” I reply, nearly quietly enough to disappear into the cold room. “My father was a prideful coward, and he died in an instant. My brother was kind and brave, and he died in an instant. Death doesn’t care who I am, or if I deserve it. Whatever I do, what if our child loses me, and I don’t get final moments to say goodbye? What if I can’t tell you I love you? What if we are laughing, and joking, and a moment later I am gone? What if the same happens to our kid? I may have fought to protect people this time, but . . . I’m so scared. I’m still a coward. I can’t scrub it off. Fear infects me like a disease, and every night I see every possible way I could fail you.”

  Mariah examines me for a long moment with glass eyes. I can see the slight panic behind her eyes. She wants to help, but she doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t need to. I needed to say it out loud, but now that I have, the trembling has slowed. Instead of replaying, she wraps her arms around me, pulling my head to her collarbone. As we stay there, I feel my accelerated breathing slowing, and the pillar in my dreams starts to fade.

  The fear is still there, but it grows more manageable as she holds me. Just as I am truly feeling calm again, rapid knocking screams through my quiet home, and both of us jump. Shit. I knew this would happen. I knew It. They warned me Sara was leaving. But now, in the middle of the night? I climb from bed and throw a simple tunic on. “Will you be alright here?” I ask.

  “Yes, I’ll catch up,” she replies. That is a reply to a different question than I asked.

  “Mari, you’re pregnant, you can’t go to the front lines of something like this,” I reply.

  “Yes and you’re a silly man, we all have disadvantages. But I am just as powerful a mage as you, and I can help, at least to maintain any barriers. I want to argue further, but I know it’s pointless. She’s not an idiot, she won’t put herself in too much danger. Not on purpose anyway. But the knocking persists and I have to answer the door. I swing it open to find an exhausted boy, no older than thirteen.

  “An attack?’ I guess.

  “Soon,” he gasps. “We got word a few moments ago; the Collector is attacking. On the other side of the woods. There are thousands of them; they need us at the tree”. I nod, then take a moment to return to Mariah, just as she pulls her own tunic over her head.

  “Mari, I love you. Be careful. I have to go now.” I give her a quick kiss, before pulling away and jogging back to the open door. The boy jumps as I reappear in his field of vision, but turns to run toward the city’s former gallows.

  “I love you too, Ed. Don’t push yourself too hard. I’ll be there soon,” Mariah responds. I sigh, but nod, then grab my bag from its hook in the breezeway and run out the door, following the messenger. I pull my own whisper sphere out to find it vibrating. I answer it immediately.

  “Ed, is everything alright over there? How bad is it?” Gilbert cries through the artifact.

  “I’m alright; I’m still on my way,” I reply. “I haven’t seen anything yet.” This strikes me as odd. I don’t live far from the tree. I knew I’d need to respond, and the tree itself can be seen from almost anywhere in the city. But I see no signs of a fight. It should be faster to get to us than to reach the towers, with the radiant tree in the middle of the city.

  “Thank the– I’m glad,” Gil responds. “Keep me updated, and don’t . . . ” he trails off. I get it. “Mom is looking forward to seeing you again, after all this.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing her too,” I reply. “I miss her pear cobbler. I’ll be alright, I promise. You stay safe too.” It’s a lie. I don’t know if we can do this. But I grit my teeth, and run. And run. And run. I keep Gil on the line as I do, but I have nothing to report. Everything remains quiet, more or less. There are bustling mages, wearing armor and preparing different kinds of walls and cells. More of them the closer I get.

  But when I arrive, nothing is happening. Not a single soul has emerged from the tree. We are perfectly safe. The collector is only attacking my real home. My family. And, by the sound of it, he is throwing everything he has at them.