18 - A way into darkness
“Our past is riddled with mysteries. Historians quibble over details of the Thaumocracy governance and policy, they reconstruct the history of the Men in Silver in agonizing detail. But they dance around the gaping hole in our understanding: we don’t really know how the Thaumocracy ended.
We know the capital disappeared in one night. It left a crater *still* burning with Else-Fire, after all. We know the Empress and most of the dukes disappeared that very night. But we don’t know what happened, much less why.
There are theories, of course, but they’re vague, and there’s barely any active research. The truth is, magic was always a part of our world. We’ll never piece together our past, until we’re willing to study and discuss magic like something that can be studied and understood, not an aberration to be ignored.”
* Opinion piece from Professor Toroek, University of Rakavdon, appearing on the Vorokan Journal for Historical Studies
Learning magic sounds cool! Except when I pictured a magic lesson, I expected a nice, dark library full of candles. Or maybe a comfy subterranean ruin, full of mysterious glyphs and ancient statues. Not trudging in the snow.
“It’s cold,” I point out, “we’ve been walking for hours. Can’t we stop? Isn’t there a spell to get there faster?”
“We’ve been walking for fourteen minutes,” Iketek says, her voice pleasant, as she checks her phone. “It’s five degrees and sunny, which is as warm as it gets here in winter. Didn’t you grow up in this Captain-forsaken place? You should be used to the cold.”
“Xe did,” Daravoi says, “xe just loves whining.”
“I simply think trudging through snow is undignified for powerful mages,” I say. I’m clammy with sweat under my thermal vest, and walking with snowshoes is a torture.
“I like hiking,” Daravoi says.
“So do I,” Iketek answers, because of course they’d gang up against me. “Even if I’d prefer hiking in a warmer place. But it’s an hour-long trek, I’m reasonably sure you’ll survive.”
I grimace. “How can you enjoy hiking, it’s just getting tired while looking at fucking trees, forever.”
We took a train to a small town near Rakavdon, and we walked out from there, in the snow. Now we’re following an ancient stone road built by the Thaumocracy - which sounds cool, but what we actually see of it is just a strip of empty, flat snow between rows and rows and rows of boring trees.
“Couldn’t we fly instead?” I ask, suddenly excited, “can you do that?”
“Even if we could fly,” Iketek sighs, “The whole purpose of this trek is to reach a place where we can practice magic undetected. Getting there by means of very obvious, powerful magic would be spectacularly self-defeating. Anyway, true flight is an option only for a Master of the Path of Wind, so far outside my reach. Average mages can levitate at best, but I find that awkward and inconvenient. And I doubt either of you would manage it.”
A pity, I could do so much unhinged stuff, if I could fly. But I got the best path for fucking with people anyway.
“Can I at least know where we’re going?” I pester Iketek further. “I mean, if it’s a trap, just tell us. I’ll roll with it, it’s not like I could do anything else by now. I’ll pretend to be surprised while they harvest our organs or whatever.”
“Not a trap,” Iketek answers, amused. “I thought we had that firmly established. But I’m not telling you yet.”
“Why?” Daravoi asks, a bit harsher than necessary.
“I could say I don’t share information without need, as a policy,” she says, “but truly, it’s because I enjoy aggravating your friend.”
Iketek seems pretty nice, for a criminal mage who’s probably going to sell my kidneys. She’s being evasive with any question we asked, but she’s not nearly as serious and stuck up as I expected. Also, she’s hard to read, but I don’t think she’s really fed up with me, yet.
It’s a strange experience, walking with her and Daravoi - I’m being my worst, weirdest self, but while they complain, they don’t seem as exasperated as most people. Is that a mage thing?
“Come on, tell us where we’re going. You want to be all knowledge-is-power? I’ll tell you a secret in return, then,” I say. “Just ask.”
Daravoi scoffs. “That’s a shit deal, Kore. You’d answer any question anyway. I mean, you answered even questions I didn’t ask. I’ve known you for a month, and I think I know everything about your life.”
“Not true! I bet you don’t know…” What’s a personal question most people wouldn’t answer? “I bet you don’t know the first person I had sex with?”
“Your classmate Avenri, in senior year,” Daravoi answers immediately. “she was inexplicably into you and you were curious. You found the whole thing overrated, and she called you Jolien at one point. Also, that was the only person you ever fucked.”
“Uh,” I say, feeling my ears burning with embarrassment. “when did I tell you about that?”
Daravoi sighs. “I don’t even remember, you talk all the fucking time.”
“Yeah, but I had no idea you listened!” I explain.
“It’s surprising you two survived like this for a month,” Iketek says. “And I don’t mean it exclusively as a joke. You… clearly aren’t experienced in navigating the criminal underworld, mundane or magic. And you had no teacher, no protector, and a book which - while clearly useful - didn’t teach you to hide your signature. Given you’re quite powerful, in most places you’d have attracted ThauCon much earlier. Or the magical factions.”
“We did attract ThauCon,” Daravoi says. “They just suck at finding us.”
“Which is unusual in itself,” she answers. “The Agency is no joke - usually. They’re skilled at finding and catching mages, they know our tricks better than most of us.
“The only saving grace for rogues is that the Council is unreliable – some of their mages are skilled, but a lot are completely useless. And ThauCon needs them, because Theta detectors aren’t nearly as good as a sight-mage, to find us. Still, there’s a full provincial base in Rakavdon, which means six Council mages. At least one of them must be capable. Don’t take it this the wrong way, but it seems strange that they repeatedly failed to catch you.”
“Wait, if ThauCon is actually good, how do most rogues survive?” I ask. “How did you do? It’s not like finding an intro magic teacher is easy. And wait, what magical factions? Are you part of them? And…”
Daravoi groans. “Unmaker’s tits, shut up and let her answer.”
“Sorry, sorry,” I say. I try not to speak so much, but it’s hard. “I get carried.”
“I can see,” Iketek says. If she’s bothered, it doesn’t show. “Well, my story isn’t that interesting, really. I grew up in Ten Korok – you wouldn’t have heard of it, it’s an unimportant town in the western Riverlands. My family moved to Landfall, but it didn’t work out well for us. When I found out I had powers, as a teen, I saw a chance to get out of poverty more than anything else. I found myself a Council book, and traded magic lessons with another rogue who could hide her signature.
“At first I thought I’d join the Council after getting some cash for my family but… well, it didn’t go like that. Especially after I realized my main affinity was for the Path of Mind, which is forbidden to Council mages. I had a few nasty encounters with the Syndicates, but quite fortunately, the Prop Master - that’s how my business partner wished to be called - found me and helped me stay hidden, in exchange for the use of my powers.
“Beside my specific case,” she goes on, a little too eager to change topic, “you must understand that most mages are found by either ThauCon or the factions. Rogues usually end up in re-ed, or in the Syndicates, or - more rarely - sheltered by the Hidden Schools.”
She frowns, her expression turning pensive. “But ThauCon seems to have a weak control in Rakavdon. And the Syndicates are almost non-existent here, which is a blessing for me, because they don’t like competitors. As for your other questions, there are way too many magical groups, but the major ones are the Hidden Schools, the Faceless Army and the Syndicates. I’m not part of any faction. I just want a peaceful life, and no one to give me orders.”
There’s a hint of bitterness in her tone, and even if she tries to keep her usual blank expression, her mouth distorts with some emotion as she mentions the Syndicates. I’m pretty sure she has a history with them.
“The Syndicates are a blight,” Daravoi says, gloomy. “You can barely breathe in Kalestre without paying them protection money. They own everything and everyone. Caravaneers hate them, but they’re also terrified of them. The things they do to their enemies…”
He shakes his head, looking away. Ok, I’m probably the only one who barely knew the Syndicates existed.
“The Syndicates are very different from each other,” Iketek says, her tone so carefully flat, I’m sure she’s hiding some strong emotion. “But most of them are ruthless and bloody. They must be, since they’re either regular criminals forcing mages to serve them, or mages commanding vast numbers of mundanes. The ones in Kalester… mostly the Green Hood Clan, right?”
Daravoi looks at her, surprised.
“You’ve been to Kalester?”
“No,” she answers, “I actively avoid places where the Syndicates are strong. But I travel a lot. And people in the underground talk.”
“So, there is a magical underground,” I say. “Are there like… I don’t know, secret mage parties? Are there pubs where everyone knows the patrons are mages?”
She laughs.
“Unaffiliated mages like us are very rare,” she says. “A subset of a subset of those mages who refuse to give up their powers. The freelancers, we call ourselves… must be wary. No social dinners, and no governing bodies, of course. We avoid social media like the plague. But there are places where we tend to meet, like the Moonbreaker.”
Daravoi frowns. “That looks stupid. Might as well be called illegal mages here.”
Iketek waves a hand, dismissively. “ThauCon probably knows. They’re not stupid, I told you. But usually, they don’t push too hard against the informal network. It’s not an official policy, but they prefer keeping an eye on freelancers than risk pushing us to join the factions en masse.”
“So, once we can hide our powers they’ll just… let us be?” I ask. I knew crime was a good idea.
“Absolutely not,” she says. “If you attract their attention, or just make a mistake, ThauCon will catch you and send you to re-ed, or to the hangman. You’ll need to keep a low profile. Moving every year or so is your safest bet. A lot of mages leave Karesia - there’s much less electronic surveillance, in the other continents, and some places are more tolerant of mages. But no path is ever safe, or comfortable, for us.”
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
“I know that makes me sound like the worst entitled rich kid ever,” I say. “But I’ll pick magic over being safe and comfortable any day.”
“I’d have been happy with safe and comfortable,” Daravoi grumbles, “but that wasn’t an option for me, with or without magic.”
We look at Iketek, but she says nothing. For all her tough act and information isn’t given freely bullshit, she’s answering pretty much anything I ask - as long as it isn’t about her. I’d like to pester her for information about the Factions, but I'm too cold and tired to prod her.
Couldn’t I Lie to make myself an outdoorsy type? Maybe one who likes the snow? Korentis, professional snowboarder.
It doesn’t seem a much larger stretch than Korentis, party animal. But without even trying, I know this wouldn’t work, even if I can’t articulate why.
So we keep walking, cold and miserable, for an eternity or so. Or at least, I’m cold and miserable. Iketek looks around, seeming fascinated by the endless, boring forest, and sometimes stops to take a picture with an incredibly pretentious reflex camera, while Daravoi whistles a tune.
I’m considering dropping dead on the ground and leaving them to cry with regret in front of my frozen corpse when we glimpse something in our way. Through the softly falling snow, the road ends against a black, sheer cliff.
“Here we are,” Iketek says, “as you see, it was a largely survivable hike.”
“Yeah, I made it,” I say, as I try to catch my breath. “A pity my frozen bones will have to lie here forever, because by the Forgotten Enemy, I won’t survive the journey back. Also, what is this place?”
As we get closer to the cliff. It’s smooth and artificial - a dark stone wall, as tall as a three-story building. It’s pure black and translucent, like obsidian, and not a single snowflake clings to it.
“What are we going to do?” I ask, “bash our heads until that wall until we learn magic?”
Iketek shrugs. “That could be a valid approach. As for me, I think I’ll walk inside.”
It takes me a moment to see it - the dark isn’t as sheer and featureless as I thought at first. Right where the road ends, there’s a pointed arch, like the gate to an ancient fortress. Inside, it’s completely dark - so dark I didn’t see the opening at first.
“What the fuck is this place?” Daravoi asks, on edge - he raises a hand, as if to summon magic.
“Our training grounds,” Iketek says, with a smug smile. “Welcome to Rak Telon. Built in a single night by Duke Kerilirek, twelve centuries ago, if you believe the chronicles. It was a Thaumocracy fortress, where a handful of mages could stand against whole enemy armies or upstart peasants. And now it’s a good place to train, because its wards hide your magic.”
“Wards?” I ask. “Like, there’s magic that still works? Who keeps them up?”
Iketek laughs. “Say what you want about the Thaumocracy, they built things to last. It hasn’t been maintained, but its magical defenses still hold. That’s why it’s still in pristine condition. It’s not that strange, though – some kinds of wards require a mage to refresh them, but some are passive, and keep working until they’re broken. The Art of the Veil teaches both kinds.”
We approach the fortress. The obsidian wall is exactly as smooth and clean as it looked from afar - it’s like walking toward a dark mirror. Through the archway, I see a stair leading to a long, curving corridor, with light on the other end.
Too curious to stop myself, I peek into the Else - the black wall is there, too, as solid and thick as it is in real life, except it’s covered in burning white sigils. Usually, directions mean little in the Else, so there’s no such thing as a line of sight. But I can’t see past the black wall.
“Doesn’t ThauCon know about this place?” Daravoi asks, frowning. “It’s been here since forever.”
“They know,” Iketek says, “and can’t do much about it. There are ten fortresses like this in just the Rakavdon municipality, and if they tried to guard them all, they’d do little else. Especially because fighting here is risky for them - mages can still exploit the fortress’ defenses. Also, they risk getting sued for damage to invaluable historical heritage, even if this isn’t exactly a tourist magnet.”
“I wonder why it’s unpopular,” Daravoi says, gloomy. “It feels like walking into your own tomb.”
“Nah, it’s cool!” I say, sprinting to climb the black stair first. I love ruins, even if I like Precursor ruins the best. Maybe I shouldn’t have snubbed the Thaumocracy so much, though! I didn’t know that their magic still worked in some places, and I’d never seen a fortress like this.
Inside, the corridor is so smooth, it feels like entering a cave of black ice. Blessedly, it’s warmer than the outside - is it just because I’m out of the wind, or is it some ancient magic?
“The ruins should be safe,” Iketek says, sounding surprised, “but in the future, I advise against running enthusiastically inside ancient, dark buildings full of mysterious magic.”
As she walks up the stairs, she summons a snake-like thread of Else-Light and makes it slither around her arm. It’s a beautiful hue - like gold and honey and the sunset light, but fiercer than any of those.
“You’re happy to walk in the cold and damp snow,” I say, finally unclasping my snowshoes, “but then you’re worried about a nice, dry ruin. You’re weird.”
Daravoi and Iketek catch up with me, and we follow the corridor. The walls are so smooth, I want to know how they feel, so I run a finger along the black stone. As soon as I touch it, I jerk my hand away - my fingertip burns, feeling hot and freezing cold at the same time.
“Ouch,” I say. I look at my finger, but it’s unharmed. “It felt like touching a mosquito zapper.”
“I assume you have a lot of experience touching mosquito zappers,” Iketek says.
“I licked one too, once,” I say. “Can I use magic now? We’re inside the fortress, right?”
Iketek sighs. “Your impatience is one of the many things that will get you killed. But yes. Once you pass the outer wall, your magic can’t be detected from the outside.”
With a sigh of relief, I Reach into the Else and summon a small, beautiful spark of blue light. It feels so right, using magic again. Like drinking after days of thirst.
Now that I have my own torch, I notice there are symbols etched along the wall, like a line of small-font text running along the whole corridor, at knee level. I bend down to get a better look at the text - assuming it’s text at all. The symbols are angular and intricate – I immediately think of the anchor glyphs shown in the Introduction to Else manipulation.
“Are these the wards? How do they work?” I ask. “Could you do something like this?”
Iketek shakes her head.
“These are wards, and they’re active, but I’m not sure what they do, let alone how they work,” Iketek admits grudgingly. “I studied the kind of magic a single person can practice. These wards are very complex, they’d require several mages to set up, and an understanding of magic far beyond mine. Their making could also be a lost art, since the Thaumocracy possessed some powers that we can’t reproduce. But the Council, or at least the Black Library, surely studied them, and very likely can reproduce their effect.”
“Does the Black Library study ruins?” I ask. “That’s what I wanted to do, you know. Study precursor ruins, using magic. It would be so cool.”
I feel stupidly happy, walking in the ancient, magical ruins, discussing stuff I considered myth or remote history - the Black Library, the Thaumocracy - as things that could affect my life.
I should have been a mage-scholar. It’s clearly what I was born to do. I’d have managed to study at school, if we had subjects like advanced mindfuckery and unspeakable secrets. I’d have done my homework and shit.
Sure, dear, keep wishing for impossible things, so it’s never your fault if you fail, I think, and I wince. Mama told me that once, and deep down I know she was right.
But now I could make myself something different…
“I’m not a member of the Black Library,” Iketek says, taking me back to reality. She must have thought about the wards for a while. “I know they collect magical knowledge. They preserve it, according to them. Whether or not they study the Thaumocracy, I don’t know - they pay well for relics, though, that’s for sure. Now, can we focus?”
“And please, don’t lick the walls,” Daravoi adds.
I scoff. “Why would I do something that stupid?” I ask.
Daravoi shrugs. “That’s what I keep wondering about you.”
It seems stupid, but now that I think of it, I wonder how the wall would taste. Would it zap my tongue, too?
Before I decide whether it’s worth a try, the corridor opens into a snow-covered courtyard, surrounded by black walls on every side. It’s shaped like a diamond, with four slender black towers at the corners. It’s large enough to play a spinball match. Not that I’d do it, I hate spinball.
There are black statues, twice as tall as real people, lying across the courtyard. Unlike the walls and the towers, they’re broken and eroded, as if time had passed inside the courtyard, but not outside.
“Moonbreaker’s tits, this place is creepy,” Daravoi says, running his fingers along his tattoo.
“It’s cool!” I say, “it’s like having an audience.”
The statues all look inward, toward the center of the courtyard. Some are broken at the waist, or above the pedestal. Some are worn beyond recognition. But some are well preserved - I can make out their armor, etched with glyphs, their faces, young and old, all grim and solemn.
“Who were they?” I ask.
“If you ask another history question, I’ll kill you,” Daravoi says.
Iketek glances at them. “They were the duke’s retinue. His mages,” she answers, seeming lost in thought. “Well, his supporting mages, since he was a fifth level mage himself, by our system.”
It’s strange to think mages got statues once. I knew the Thaumocracy was run by mages, that was the point of it. But looking at them - at people who were what I am, and were honored for it - hits me differently than just knowing it. A toppled statue near me has an etching on its forehead - a face tattoo, I realize. The style glyph is a little different from the current one, but I recognize it - mage. Only convicted criminal have that on their faces, now.
“Can we begin this lesson?” Daravoi asks, looking uneasy. “I really don’t like this place.”
“There’s nothing to be feared here,” Iketek says, her voice soft. “It’s one of the few places where we don’t have to be afraid. But you’re right, we came here for a purpose.”
She flicks her wrist, and something like a sphere of golden light forms behind her. She sits on it, cross-legged, and it bends like a cushion.
“Now,” she says, “I’ll teach you to use magic without being easily detected. First, you must understand that what ThauCon detectors pick up is not the magic itself, nor the Else. It’s the tearing of the Veil, the process of reaching for the Else.”
“But we must Reach through the Veil to use magic!” I complain.
“Yes,” she says. “But it’s like plunging your hand in a pool of still water. If you do it slowly enough, carefully enough, you can avoid making ripples.”
“So we must use magic… more slowly?” Daravoi asks.
“In part,” she says. “Going slow helps. But it’s more about doing it cleanly. Think it like diving into water feet-first, instead of splashing randomly. It’s about control. Now look at me, in the Else.”
I close my eyes and follow her instruction.
The courtyard looks like a bubble, cut off from the rest of the world. There’s only me, Daravoi, Iketek, and a faint impression of statues and snow, translucent in the endless blue. It feels… calm. Like the silence of being underwater.
It takes me a moment to realize what’s missing - I can’t see the Crack. For the first time, in the Else. I can’t see the faraway, roaring glow of the broken moon.
“It’s… calm,” Daravoi says. He’s touching the Else now, so his vague profile becomes sharp and it fills with the sullen red of his magic. He looks weird when he uses magic – all angular and jagged, like a statue made from pieces of broken glass.
Iketek nods. She looks almost normal, in the Else, golden color aside. But there’s something subtly strange about her, too. Everything about her is smooth, her movements are more fluid than they should be. Like she’s actually a liquid, poured into a person-shaped container.
She also looks more vibrant and defined than Daravoi, more present. She’s more powerful than him, I realize.
“We’re insulated from the outer world, here” She says. “That helps with training, too, since you aren’t distracted by the background. It must have been easier, studying magic, before…”
She doesn’t end the sentence. But it’s obvious, the words always linger unspoken between mages. Before we broke the moon.
“Anyway, look carefully at me,” she says. “I’ll Reach through the Veil in the wrong way, and then the right way. Watch for the difference.”
She moves her hand downward, in a cutting motion. I feel the Veil tense around her fingers – I see it too, in the blue calm of this place. It’s a subtle warp around her hand, like the Else gets stretched, thinned, and then it breaks. For a split second, I actually see a tear, jagged and irregular, that spreads in every direction. Like ripples in a pond, but also like paper being torn.
In the Here, now, she holds a lump of golden glass.
“Now I’ll do it properly,” Iketek says. “Don’t worry about how I do it, yet. Just focus on seeing the difference.”
I watch, very carefully, barely breathing for worry of missing something.
I must learn. I must be good at this. Because I received something impossible - magic, and even a magic teacher - and if I’m bad at this too, what else is left for me? Except accepting Mama was right, and the problem was me all along.