11 – An uninvited visitor

We’re the voice of the voiceless,

the shield of the defenseless,

the sword of the powerless .

* Creed of the Faceless Army

Coming back from the broken dome, high as a kite and deep into the night, turns out to be much, much worse than going there. At one point I fall on the street side saying that I want to be left here to die, but Daravoi forces me to get up and keep walking.

I have to concede he has a point. You can literally die if you sleep rough in Rakavdon this close to winter, and while someone may call medical services for us, that could end just as badly if ThauCon gets notified. So I keep walking, even if it’s so cold and boring.

Next morning, we sleep in, and waste most of the day nursing multiple hangovers. I hope we won’t regret the decision taken under the moon as much as we regret the substances involved.

One other night of sleep and we wake up feeling much better. Outside it’s snowing fiercely, and it looks like the perfect day to commit capital crimes.

“So, taking important decisions is best done high,” I say to Dara, “but sobriety is good for detail. Like. Do we actually have any way to find that book before ThauCon catches us? And before we run out of money and freeze to death?”

“We have enough cash to rent cheap rooms and eat junk food for three weeks,” Daravoi answers. “We have a shot at getting the book, as long as you don’t try more of your great ideas. Especially if they involve Bliss. It makes me talk too much.”

“So, what’s your plan?”

“I know a guy,” he says.

“Well, if you’re back to talking as little as possible, I’ll have to talk for both of us. Did I tell you about that time…”

***

I end up waiting all day in the rental room, bored out of my mind, while Daravoi visits his most disreputable contacts. I try to watch some vids, but I miss my full-body sim station at home. Looking at flat images on my tablet seems stupid. Daravoi absolutely forbade me from spending our small stash of money on a gaming feed, and I’m too anxious to enjoy reading comics. I don’t dare touch the Council book - reading about magic without doing magic is like watching pictures of rivers while you’re thirsty.

I end up doodling. I had missed this, I realize - I used to like drawing at home, but Mom kept muttering it was a waste of time, Mama kept peeping at my drawings, Big Sis tried to enlist me in a fancy art school, and Big Bro kept suggesting I set up an ArtFeed account with a sexy profile pic ‘so no one cares if your art is shit’.

In the end, I simply said I was bored of drawing, and everyone bought it because I’m oh-so-quirky and inconsistent. In reality, I kept sketching in my room from time to time, late at night, and then threw out the result. Also, when I tried to actually study proper drawing techniques like Big Sis suggested, my mind wandered and I found myself playing games and feeling like a failure.

So, it’s a refreshing novelty to have an afternoon all to myself, with nothing to do but sketch, and no family nosing around. Knowing that I literally can’t go out, and there’s pretty much nothing else I could do, or should be doing, is strangely calming. The part of my mind that always worries I should be doing something else, or I could play games, for once, is shutting up. It’s almost as good as being on meth.

First I draw Daravoi. I try to remember all his piercings and the tattoos he’s currently wearing - he scrubbed them clean and changed them after the subway thing, hoping it helps fool face recognition software. Then I look at the result, tear it from the notebook and crumple it up.

To work off my frustration, I make quick sketches of people I met. It’s easier when I don’t know them well - it’s like it doesn’t matter if I draw them wrong. I draw the Uncle, his features burned into my memory by fear. The jeweler, trying to capture his frown, and I’m ok-ish with the result. Then I catch myself doodling a girl with dark skin, braided hair and a flat nose - where did I meet her? I’m sure I saw her recently, but can’t recall where. Maybe we passed her by on the streets, she’s pretty striking.

More confident, I try Daravo again, and as my hands ease back into the motions, I find myself relaxing. I have the physical details of Daravoi’s face firmer in my mind, now -- his slightly crooked nose, his thin lips, his perpetually-furrowed brow.

I focus more on who he is. His I’m-oh-so-tough face. The hint of nervousness, the fact he’s secretly a softie, and calls me a friend.

I look at the result, and it’s shit, but it’s shit that sort of looks like Dara. I move to crumple the sketch but…would he like it, if I showed him? No, I won’t do that, it’s creepy. But maybe I’ll keep this drawing in my notebook. Can I set up a ward to prevent anyone else from opening it? Finally, some motivation to learn wards. Pity I can’t practice now.

Could I cover the drawing with an illusion? Or… make a Lie that makes a drawing look better?

The idea is strangely wrong. Specifically, it feels… backwards.

Taken by a sudden idea, I start drawing myself. But not regular myself, I hate drawing myself.

During high school classes, I used to doodle myself and my classmates as knights, or Thaumocracy nobles, or sim heroes. Some kids in my class loved that and pestered me for more, so I stopped doing it. But I remember that it felt so right, drawing people as they could be.

And so I draw myself as the confident, out-of-touch super-rich kid who bought an outrageously expensive aquamarine necklace. Oh, I need to buy some quality markers, I need that perfect shade of blue.

Velisys Anderen. Sort of looks like me, but with different eyes and brown skin. Xe’s from a rich family in… Five Peaks? I’ve a vague notion that it's full of people who got rich from lithium mines. I had a classmate from Harmony Peak, and her ID chip never worked at the first pass, because it wasn’t standard or something like that.

So, rich family, xe never meant to work a single day in xir life, but unlike me, xe’s been able to just embrace that and have fun. Xe enlisted into Rakavdon University, Precursor Studies, but doesn’t care about the subject - xe means to have fun at university and eke out a degree so xir parents won’t grumble. Xe’s a bit boring, but xe’s good with people, has tons of boring friends, a boring boyfriend with beautiful eyes that xe wants to impress with a gift. Xe doesn’t think it’s strange or creepy to make such an expensive gift, because xe spent most of xir life with super-rich people and everyone rolls with what xe does anyway. Xe can’t wait for xir current tattoos to wear off so xe can try the stylish, colorful ones that are fashionable in Landfall, now that xir parents are out of the way.

Something clicks in place in my mind as I finish the sketch. It’s like the feeling when I pull a specific Lie from the Else, and for a while, it becomes more real. I’m sure that if I wanted to, I could make a Lie where I’m Velysis in a snap second, now. I itch to try that, actually, but I promised Daravoi that I wouldn’t do any of my usual shit.

Is this how Lies work? Should I draw all my illusions in advance? I wish the Council Book taught the Path of Lies instead of preaching how bad it is - even the basics would help so much. Does drawing lies work for every liar, or for me specifically?

I’m still looking at Velysis drawing, excited by the implications, when someone knocks on the door.

I freeze. Daravoi doesn’t knock, he has the key. There’s no cleaning service – it’s a shitty rental that probably sets the room on fire after every guest and adds new plastic blankets.

There’s an external camera I could check, if I still had access to Stemlink, but I couldn’t make it connect to my phone.

“Err, who’s there?” I ask.

“Cleaning service,” a voice answers.

“We didn’t request any cleaning service,” I answer – maybe they do a round of cleaning on Capday? Or more likely, it’s a robber who’s shamelessly lying. Lost Stars, I so want to check the Else.

“Oh, I don’t have time for this,” the voice says, and with a strange, reluctant clunk of metal, the door slides open.

The person through the door definitely isn’t cleaning service. They’re dressed all in gray – a gray tunic over gray thermal pants and shirt, even a gray scarf and gloves. I look at their face and-

“What the fuck?” I ask, and I start taking steps backward, till my legs push against the bed, since the room is tiny. I find myself gasping for breath, heart hammering - is this a nightmare?

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The intruder’s face looks perfectly normal. I look at it, and I know it is a face, I know it’s normal, unremarkable, but for my life I couldn’t describe anything about it – I can’t tell the stranger’s age, or the color of their hair, their eyes, their skin. I’ve no idea whether or not they have face tattoos.

“Hm,” they say, “this is why everyone hates liars. You fuck everything up. Most people don’t notice anything wrong, you know.”

“Who are you? What are you?” I ask, and the words come out in a high-pitched whine.

“Chill, kid. I’m not here to kill you,” they say, as if that was reassuring. “And I don’t have much time. As for what I am, I’m a mage. Duh.”

Mage. Of course, this is magic. Probably some weird kind of Lie, actually.

Fuck, I’m a mage, too. I look into the Else, and-

“Don’t,” they say. “If you see my face, I’ll have to kill you. I’m not joking at all. And since you’re a decent lie-mage, you could even manage it. So, just don’t, ok? For real, I’m not here to harm you. You’re what, twelve years old? I’d feel bad about it.”

“I’m twenty,” I croak, even if that really isn’t the point here.

The figure shrugs. “Same thing. So, can we talk? I don’t have much time. Deal with your shock quickly.”

“Who… who are you?” I ask.

“Come on,” they snort, “take a wild guess.”

This is like every oral quiz at school, ever.

“How in the Abyss should I know?” I ask, throwing up my arms. “You just broke into my room and I can’t see your face!”

“You can’t process it, technically,” they say, “and anyway, that should give you your answer.”

A moment of pause. I look at them, and I flash them a wide smile, which is what I did at school when teachers asked a question and I had no fucking idea about the answer.

“May the Navigator guide you,” the intruder snorts, “you really don’t know shit. I’m a soldier of the Faceless Army.”

“Uh. Like, the terrorists?” I say. It’s so ridiculous, having a terrorist mage coming into my room for a chat, that I feel weirdly disconnected, but I’m not even properly afraid anymore.

“The resistance group,” the person corrects me, “try not to spout ThauCon propaganda.”

“Sorry. And, uh. I guess you know I’m a mage,” I say, smooth as ever, “what are you doing here?”

They look at something around their wrist, like a leather band holding a glass circle, with a dial and moving indicators.

“I don’t have much time,” they say. “So I’ll make it quick. I stumbled upon your trail. You’ve no idea how to hide your signature, do you? Anyway, I found you with embarrassing ease, ThauCon should seriously give up and go make cheese, if they haven’t caught you yet. So, here’s your chance. Join the Faceless Army. Help us fight for a better world. Or keep doing your thing until they hang you in Memorial Square. Just choose quickly.”

My head spins.

“Wait, wait,” I say. “Join you? Would you… teach us magic?”

“Of course,” they say. “Not me in person. I’m not going to play kindergarten teacher. But I can take you and your friend to one of our havens. You’ll be taught magic, and you’ll be as safe as we can make you.”

I scramble to remember whatever I know about the Faceless Army. They’re supposed to be Very Bad. Of course, that’s what the Alliance says, and the Alliance thinks I’m Very Bad, too. But the Alliance also says the Syndicates are Very Bad, and Daravoi agrees.

Lost Stars, I’m way too ignorant and stupid for this. I’d cut my arm off for five minutes of consultation with my sister, right now.

“And we’d have to help you with…what you do?” I say.

“We aren’t a charity,” the person says, curt. “If you’re one of us, we’ll train and protect you. But if you join us, you’ll fight to force the Alliance to stop its pointless repression of mages.”

Ok, I had that right – they’re the faction which is really, really into terrorism. And they’re here to… recruit me?

I don’t think I ever felt so confused. A mentor willing to teach magic is exactly what I wanted. I hoped to learn about the hidden factions, but I didn’t expect that to happen right now.

“I, err, I think I should ask my friend?” I say, feeling more stupid at every word. “Can I think about it for a while?”

“Do you think this is a game?” they ask. It’s hard to tell even what tone they’re using, it slips from my mind like water. “I’m not here on a lark. This city is dangerous, and getting more dangerous by the minute. The chance I’m giving you is already a risk I shouldn’t take. May the Gunner shoot you, what do you need to think about? We fight for the right of mages to exist. Without silver chains, without tattoos, without handlers.”

“I…” I say. “I’m just trying to survive.”

“We all are,” the person says. “The difference is that we are also trying to help other mages survive.”

Fuck, fuck. I don’t know anything about them. But they offer safety, and magic. Can I afford to turn them down?

“I don’t want to kill people,” I blurt, before my brain connects to my mouth.

The person laughs.

“Cute of you,” they say. “But if you truly care about that, you’d turn yourself in, right now. The path you’re following, or stumbling along, leads to blood. Yours, or theirs. We don’t kill people at random, don’t believe ThauCon shit. But we kill when we need to. And there’s no peaceful way to gain our rights.”

I can’t picture myself willingly choosing to kill people.

Worse. I can’t now. But I know Daravoi is right. The Else changes us.

“Know what?” I say. “Fuck off. Everyone says I’ll end up squashing kittens and killing people, if I want to use my powers. Maybe you’re right. But while I’m sort of sane, I’m not going to say well then, I might as well start now, gimme a kitten. I’ll find my own way.”

As usual, I fucked up. I flinch by instinct, expecting the mage to attack me, or at least shout at me.

They laugh.

“You’re clueless, and naïve,” they say. “I don’t think you’ll last long. And if you do, you’ll change. The path I offer you is far, far from the darkest a mage can walk.”

I’m ready to protest, but they raise one hand.

“But I won’t force you,” they say. “Honestly, I respect your decision, in the way I respect a drunk man who tries to arm-wrestle a bear. I wish I had more time – we’re really not as nefarious as you think - our more bloody days are in the past. But we do kill people, and not only in self-defense. I can't lie about it, and it’s not a choice I’ll force anyone to follow.”

Weirdly, this admission makes me more ambivalent about the whole thing.

“Look,” I say, “you’re a real mage, right? Can you just tell me how to hide my signature? I’ll keep thinking about it. And I’ll consider joining the Faceless, once I know more.”

They snort.

“You have balls to make demands, kid,” they say, looking again at the wrist thingie. “But, honestly, I’d teach you if I could. Mages should help each other. But even if I were a good teacher, and I’m not, it would take far too long. I must be gone in minutes, and if I took you with me, you’d have to stay with me. You picked a really shitty time and place to discover your powers.”

“Well then…” I say. “Look, I’m sorry, maybe I’m being incredibly stupid. But I can’t join your war on the spot. I think.”

They snort.

“I had to try. It was for your sake, believe it or not. Well, you’re young and ridiculous, but I almost like you. In the unlikely chance you survive, and even more unlikely chance you seek and find the Faceless, tell whomever you speak that you have an invitation from Agent Eighty, of the Midnight Brigate. That will save you some of the trouble, if you join us.”

“I… thanks?” I say.

“Don’t thank me,” they say, and for a moment, I get a glimpse of a man in his thirties, dark-skinned, but with white hair. And I can tell their tone is gloomy. “I… Fuck, I must go. Six decades to prepare, and still so little time.”

They turn to leave the room, then stop, still not facing me.

“Korentis,” they say. “Be careful. Be wary of bounty hunters. Stay away from the University. And whatever you do with your life, don’t deal with the Lady in White.”

Before I can answer, they’re no longer there – it’s not like they disappear, it’s like I lose a moment of time, and after that, the door is closed, and my room empty.

“And what the fuck did that mean?” I say. Now that the Faceless isn’t here anymore, the fear is catching up with me – my heart pumps faster, my legs feel like jelly. “Daravoi won’t ever, ever believe this shit.”

***

“It does sound like a bad trip,” Daravoi says, “and you took, like, three different drugs at once, two days ago.”

Before I can protest, he stops me with a gesture.

“But I believe you,” he says. “First, because I mean, it figures. We just needed more shit. That’s how my life is.

“Second, I knew you can’t see the face of the Faceless. And since you obviously didn’t know, you couldn’t have hallucinated that. And some of the other stuff. Bounty Hunters are people who catch rogues and turn them to ThauCon for a reward. I thought you didn’t have them in Vorok, though. Keeping away from the University sounds like good sense. And I’ve heard about the Lady in White.”

“Is she Kalestran?” I ask.

He snorts. “Because of course, if I know something, it must be because it’s from my exotic, faraway land. No, you racist goat, I know of her because unlike you, I traveled a lot. She’s popular in some countries. Mostly in South Zelenia, I’m told, but I’ve never been across the ocean. Anyway she’s… sort of a folk hero?

“Some say she’s a ghost, some say a mage. She helps poor people, fights the Alliance when they do their oppressin’. Kalestran clans don’t like the story, because they hate mages in general. I thought she was just an urban legend, honestly.”

“She’s probably a rival brand of terrorist mage,” I say. “Anyway. Did I fuck up, in telling them no?”

Daravoi lets himself fall on the mattress, next to me. He looks exhausted.

“Moonbreaker’s tits, Kore, it’s not like I’m an expert on good decisions,” he says. “I don’t know. It might have been our best shot to avoid re-ed, or the noose. But… I know something about the Faceless. They’re not the fucking Syndicates, but they’re bloody. They kill soldiers, government officials, random people who cross their way. I… I’m not sure I’d have sent them away. But to be honest, I’m happy you did.”

***

I dream of the moon, perfect and round and blue, like a jewel. I could reach with my hands and take it, steal it, make a necklace of it. But that would be a bad idea. Bad things happen when you steal jewels. Bad things happen when you touch the moon.

“Do you remember me, this time?” A voice asks, patient. I met her already. But I don’t remember, memory is squishy and treacherous, here.

There’s a flower around the moon. A flower, a spiral, a gate. There are things beyond. They’re beautiful.

“Will you stop doing that, you’ll attract a demon sooner or later…”

Demon. Danger. I must be careful. Of what? The hunters. The University. The Lady in White. Dark hands reach for me from the darkness…

Wait, this is a dream. Just a dream. I can’t see the moon – my eyes are closed.

“This is becoming truly annoying…”

I wake up, nervous and jumpy – but I don’t really remember why.

Above me, there’s only the low ceiling of the rental room. But as if through smoked glass, I see the shape of the Moon.