Daniel
Goldie led them to the Terminal on foot to appreciate the crowd. Thousands of people attending the impromptu party parted for the mages and stared in awe. Traffic ceased; the police maintaining order.
:Do people like these guys?: Daniel sent to Rana.
:Keep your eyes open.:
Dozens of mages prepared a stage on the Terminal, lounged atop buildings, or flew overhead. First and foremost, their uniform: identical white short capes with Shew Stone clasps and gold fringes. Daniel saw an emblem displayed on the backs, a gold skull with green vines exploding out the mouth and eye socket—the insignia of the Living Dead Faction.
Many mages bore the solid light mosaic weapons Daniel associated with Taotie guardians. He spotted violet swords, green spears, red shields, yellow rings, orange chakrams, and blue orbs on belts. The quality and quantity of their weapons varied from person to person.
The mages came color-coded by Element, each with a unique style from robes to leather armor. Daniel noticed a pattern despite the visual chaos this caused. Some of the mages wore gloves of their color, keeping their outfit muted. Others had gloves and shoes but never shirts without gloves, shoes, and pants. This somehow indicated the mages’ rank, which squared with Goldie being one of the higher-ups.
Each mage had a saddled beast mount, reins tied to lampposts as makeshift hitching posts. The conjured creatures had wings or an assortment of legs, no two the same blend of animals, creating a menagerie too wild for Daniel to register at once.
Among the beasts were living wagons. They had an elephant’s mass and the body of a turtle, their shells reversed into bowls cradling scores of Cintamani. They had bison heads and feathers for no apparent reason. Daniel had yet to grasp the logic of these beasts. A similar creature had a vertical shell with numerous drawers containing Head Cases.
:Those are occupied,: Cassie whispered, making him shiver. Daniel knew he’d have nightmares about waking up inside a steel cage tonight.
A bright and jagged aura caught his eye, and Daniel lifted his gaze to a nearby rooftop. An enormous cobalt cat lounged on the corner, draping a claw and tail over the edge. A scar blinded its right eye. Its left eye was the Lightning Rune, piercing and deadly and looking straight at him, and he was a boy being thrown aside as the mother of all lightning bolts struck Ziege.
He blinked, and the cat was staring at something else with equal intensity. What is that thing? A man much like a cat himself reclined on its blue-furred back. The man projected laziness with his clothes but a sharp attitude that could turn on friend or foe. Cobalt colored his wristbands and sneakers, though his pants and sweatshirt were stormy grey.
The smell of roasting meat assailed Daniel as they reached the foot of the Terminal. A strange beast turned on a spit above a large drippings bowl. It was plucked and dressed, with fat drumsticks, dozens of fist-sized scallops, crispy wings, tender breasts, soft oysters like barnacles, bacony belly meat, and succulent steaming claws. The creature wasn’t designed for battle but created for consumption, like a breed of giant mutant turkeys.
A red-robed mage supplied the flames, serving as a one-man oven whose experienced touch kept white meat moist while finishing the darkest portions. Together with three other cooking stations going non-stop, they fed people by the thousands for free. They cut the beast with violet energy blades and portioned servings on fading red disks. By the time someone finished their meal and discarded their plate, the solid light constructs lost coherence and dissipated.
Goldie cut to the front of the line, helping herself and her new favorite guests to the choicest cuts.
Daniel saw the impending danger for him and Wendi. Their illusion-selves held hands under the cloaks, but they’d lose all justification when it came time to eat. While people didn’t usually notice when food disappeared off his plate in a subtle puff of dust, he was under scrutiny now. With his terrible acting, he figured he’d refuse on principle.
“I’m vegetarian,” he blurted, drawing unwanted attention.
To his surprise, Goldie saved him from the confused and possibly offended glances of the mages and humans around them, “We have vegan options!” she opened her Pwyll’s Pouch and pulled out an assortment and fruits and tubers, “Put these on the grill,” she told the cook.
What seemed like a helpful gesture maneuvered him into a corner. He wondered whether Goldie did it on purpose. To his relief, as the others enjoyed their food and his plate disintegrated under cover of illusion, a ringing gong drew all eyes away from him.
:What’s going on?: he sent to Rana as two humans carried a man on a stretcher onto the elevated platform of the Terminal. A half dozen stadium screen illusions projected the scene to the crowds.
:Watch,: she repeated.
Hundreds of people were paraded by a five-foot-tall orb imprinted with the magic of a healing coin. After entering the sphere’s influence, injured men, bedridden women, and sick children from emptied hospitals rose from their gurneys and crutches, running to the arms of their friends and family in celebration. :They’re healing them! Why?:
The mages stood apart from the celebrations inspecting the bodies that stayed motionless by families dressed in black. While some remained cold and lifeless, color returned to the cheeks of some, and a few drew breath.
“Now, don’t get riled up,” Goldie said. “The magic of Charon’s Obol can’t repair brain damage or resurrect the dead. The magic can keep dying cells alive and restore some basic body functions, but you can’t get back people who’ve turned into vegetables. That’s what they’re looking for,” she motioned to the mages hunched over the fresh corpses like buzzards, “Not quite alive, not quite dead.”
:Rana, what the heck do they want with fresh bodies?:
:I said they were ‘nice,’ not good. Look closer at Goldie.: Daniel examined the mage’s profile inch by inch. There, on her hairline, he found a thin band of discoloration, not even a scar. The ceremony’s purpose dawned on him as Rana drove the point home, :That’s not her original body.:
The mages found their candidates and initiated negotiation. The first two families who’d come for healing were wealthy residents of Radio World and, hopes crushed, took their dead without a word. The third family in medieval garb had traveled far with their deceased scion on hearing of the mages’ arrival. They stood above a thin young man in his mid-twenties. The mages offered payment in Radio World currency, making no secret of the amount.
“That’s enough money to buy a house in the wealthy district!” Paul said.
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“A rental deposit,” Goldie dismissed, “We always return the bodies to their families. Only harm done in the end is a little extra mileage.”
With the deal struck, the most powerful azure mage took center stage. To his right approached a man in his sixties wearing ochre. Despite wrinkles and grey hair, this magic user bore the tight bulging muscles of a bodybuilder. “As the wheel turns, Slate has the right of first refusal,” the azure mage said.
The ochre mage, Slate, glanced at the young man’s face, “Seems alright to me, though I’ll miss this old thing.” He slapped his chest.
Goldie leaned over to them, “Stone mages get attached. I suppose it’s their nature.”
The azure mage spread his arms and announced in a voice that reverberated over the crowd without amplification, “Then we have a match!”
“Marius revels in the drama,” Goldie said as a matching azure aura enveloped both Slate and the young man, gripping them as if from inside. Slate resisted, at first, as if unwilling to leave the ground but forced himself to relax. Marius lifted the two like puppets on invisible strings, Slate’s eyes unconcerned, the young man’s lifeless orbs eerie.
The azure mage gripped a materializing globe of crystal-clear water. Two liquid tendrils slithered through the air to swallow two heads, Slate not bothering to take a last breath. Then, with a sudden burst of violence, swaths of red turned the water pink as hair, scalp, and skull lifted away together, laying bare the living and dead brains. The line of the cut was incredibly smooth and even; Marius’ control flawless. The crowd gasped.
Slate didn’t seem to realize; he floated, bored, waiting for the lights to go out. Another cut, and they did. Slate dangled limp, his soul disconnected, dead-eyed as the young man. In unison, the brains, trailing their stems, floated free of their bodies to the audience’s astonishment.
Slate’s skull cap descended, and flesh knit under the influence of the healing orb, leaving his head empty. A powerful ochre mage a foot taller and thick-muscled approached Slate’s body to catch him as the water receded. Orange crystals sprouted all over Slate, merging as they grew into one perfect citrine encasing the entire body like a glass coffin. Daniel couldn’t fathom the value of this gemstone, though he doubted any jeweler could cut enchanted crystal.
The pallbearer mage levitated the crystal casket and departed with an announcement, “This body will now be returned to its final resting place.” Meanwhile, Slate’s brain floated into the sphere of water between Marius’s hands.
“Functionally, you can do the transfer with Wind, or even a delicate touch of Lightning or Stone,” Goldie commented, “But the Living Dead Faction has a rule restricting it to talented Water mages. Can you guess why?”
Daniel watched as Marius concentrated on the brain and its spinning sphere of fluids, “Is he…? Is it the heavy metals?”
“Yes!” She applauded. “While the Progeniture doesn’t have this problem, humans are slaves to their biology. Mercury, lead, and other materials accumulate over time. Every twenty years or less, all the nooks, crannies, and blood vessels of your brain need to be scrubbed clean of blockage and detritus. Otherwise, you get brain tumors, clots, or toxic metals drive you crazy. Maybe that’s why the Nephilim are nutso…”
While Goldie spoke, the ochre mage touched the young man’s brain, fossilizing it with citrine, and presented it to the grieving family. Marius finished cleaning Slate’s brain and placed it in the open cavity of the young man’s head. Dim eyes sparked with life and, by expression, posture, and mannerism, Slate awoke.
Water released him to stand on his feet, awkward at first but learning. Slate extended his arms, natural brown eyes blooming with an ochre glow as layers of Stone encased him. The audience held its breath, many unsure if the ceremony succeeded.
Then Slate burst through crumbling rock, transformed. He posed shirtless with ochre leggings, bracers, and sandals. In the span of a few seconds, he’d put on a hundred pounds of muscle and a foot of height. He’s absorbed the Stone into his new body, Daniel intuited.
The crowd cheered Slate, impressed and possibly relieved. “Well, that’s how we work,” Goldie concluded, “Generous, humane, considerate of the people involved, maybe a little showy… What do you guys think?” He no longer wondered if she were a natural blond. Why dye when she could have any color she wanted?
Daniel sent to Rana, :They’re a bunch of freaky cultists!:
Rana returned, :Look at the humans, Daniel. Of all the denizens of the Wilderness, how many have helped people? Fed them? Healed them?: He thought of Moloch, Red Tail, the Taotie guardians, and the roving beasts. :When you find the good guys, let me know.:
As much as they straddled the line between creepy and nefarious, he’d yet to see them do anything unequivocally ‘evil.’ They had the consent of the families. Goldie said the Head Cases were for criminals. They hadn’t hurt anyone so far. And who was he to judge?
One of his friends had blood on her hands, another drank it, another had done… things to his mind, and he himself had called forth The Ruin for selfish reasons. Daniel forced a smile into his voice and said, “We appreciate your commitment to integrity, but our answer is no.”
Goldie frowned. “Too bad. Not a problem, though I’d hoped you’d change your mind. I can escort you back to your place…”
Daniel didn’t have to ask the others to know, “We’d like to leave this world at once.”
“Sure,” she shrugged and led them through the crowd to one of the World Gates, “Have a preference?” Daniel shook his head, more focused on escape than on which path to take.
“You know, it’s funny,” Goldie said as they were leaving, “How many frogs I saw in town today.” He turned to see she’d caught one of them, and his heart stopped. “Especially considering there’s no nearby body of freshwater or recent rainfall—I had somebody ask around.”
Daniel didn’t know why there were a plethora of frogs, but he had a feeling he knew where they’d come from. Goldie brought the frog to her face for a close inspection. It stared back at her, tiny heart beating under pale skin. Daniel saw nothing unnatural, no magical aura, but then he wasn’t a master mage. Then Goldie kissed it on the lips.
Out of the corner of his eye, Daniel swore he saw Rana shiver like someone walked over her grave. “Hmph, I was hoping for a prince.” Goldie huffed and opened her hands, letting the frog hop away. “Oh well.”
Kenta had almost entered the nearest gate when Goldie said, “Ladies first, dear.”
“You r-really don’t have to do that,” Paul stuttered. Daniel didn’t blame him.
She chuckled, “I r-r-really do.” They couldn’t stop her. They followed like sheep.
Across the portal, the seven kids stopped dead in their tracks, paralyzed. “Easy now, fellas, they’re only passing through,” Goldie waved off three mages on massive beast mounts thirty feet at the shoulder. The snarling creatures each had between three and a dozen legs, plus any number of claws, teeth, beaks, and talons. On a hair-trigger, the mages conjured handfuls of Fire, Lightning, and viridian claws of Wind.
Goldie approached the menacing group unfazed with upraised hands and a pacifying smile, “Easy, easy, they’re with me.”
If they’d gone through the gate alone… they’d have been torn apart.
The mages must have posted watches on the other side of every gate on that Terminal. This was a serious operation. Suspicious characters wouldn’t be questioned—they’d have their heads ripped off.
As they made their quiet escape, Goldie stopped them one last time, “It’s been fun, but I think it’s time we dropped the act.” Daniel’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m not an idiot. It’s obvious what you’re hiding under those disguises. I don’t know your races or what you’re doing here, but I don’t care. Here’s why.
She counted on her fingers, “One. Since we found you as a group, our contract says we split the profits thirty-eight ways regardless of who captures you. That sucks.
“Two, Director Haizea has spent millennia building the Living Dead’s good reputation. She did that by taxing the Hel out of misconduct in our territory. This area is part of the Via Labicana. There’s a hefty poaching penalty, the Faction’s portion of the profit, and a ridiculous fee for collateral damage to human civilians or their property.
“Three, it’s against Living Dead policy to grab unregistered mages. This incident is already sure to come up on my performance review. In fact, I’d bet somebody at the Hall is watching my live feed,” she tapped the Shew Stone on her white capelet.
“What I’m saying is, you’re literally not worth the trouble. This time. If my team of three found you wandering around, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Whether I used Head Cases would depend on your resistance and what I had for breakfast. Don’t get me wrong, I prefer the Living Dead to the Nephilim, where that sort of thing is encouraged, but I’d take the heat for a fat profit margin.
“You guys got lucky. I don’t know your abilities, but you didn’t see us coming, so what’s to say this won’t happen again? Take my advice—follow the Via Labicana to the City. Remind anybody who stops you of the poaching tax, and they’ll back off. Register with the Living Dead and use my name. I get a bonus for referrals.” Goldie floated through the portal, leaving the seven of them with their thoughts.
:That was one of the nice ones?: Daniel asked Rana.
:The Living Dead Faction of the City calls themselves that out of some combination of irony and genuine respect for the deceased. On the other hand, the Nephilim don’t ask permission when they take what they want.: