24 - A humble researcher

Maybe the greed of three arch-mages truly broke the moon.

Maybe the One World Alliance is ultimately right in forbidding magic.

But their war upon children can’t be forgiven. There’s no logic and no humanity in brutalizing confused teenagers instead of teaching them control, the way mages always did. These kids didn’t break the moon, and they’re not part of our war.

They’re just convenient targets, unable to fight back, for an Alliance that needs an enemy to justify its existence.

I’ll leave Keidesek to mend the sky, and Kaeli-Sha to care for demons. I won’t fight the Alliance any more than I need to.

But I’ll protect young mages however I can. I’ll give them a safe place to grow up.

And those who wish to hurt them shall fight me.

They will learn I’m not an easy target.

* Archmage Irillion, founder of the Hidden School of the Blue Haven

After my first lesson, I’m half-tempted to have lunch in the uni’s mass and chat with some more students, but I have no classes in the afternoon, so no real reason to stay here. And Iketek wanted to have a talk. So I walk out of the university and take the tube to our flat.

“You did pretty well,” Iketek says, from behind me, making me jump out of my skin. For someone that draws the eye as much as she does, she’s surprisingly sneaky.

“Is it a good idea to meet in public?” I say, keeping my voice low. My heart is still hammering in my chest - did she have to do that? But hey, I respect people who do pointlessly aggravating stuff.

Iketek walks to my side. “I’m your flatmate, idiot,” she says, “it’s perfectly normal for us to hang out. Especially since you’re new to the city.”

“What does your covert identity supposedly do?” I ask. “Watching people creepily isn’t a job.”

She pats the heavy-looking bag at her side. “It is, because I’m an amateur photographer. I really enjoy photography, it gives me an excuse to loiter a lot, and doesn’t require me to talk with anyone.”

“Talking to people isn’t that bad, really,” I say, “you should try it sometimes!”

“I don’t mind talking,” she answers. “The problem is, other people talk back, and what they say is invariably stupid.”

I grin. “But you keep talking to me, would that mean I don’t count as stupid? Abyss! That was a smart point I just made!”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re useful, so it’s worth tolerating the considerable annoyance of a conversation with you. Also, you are pretty smart. You did well today.”

“But?” I ask.

She raises an eyebrow. “Why would there be a but?”

I shrug. “It sounded like there would be one.”

She doesn’t answer, and I’m increasingly sure there’s a but.

“We’ll talk about it at home, some topics aren’t safe to discuss in public” she says. “But the core issue is, you’re really good at keeping up the student persona. Better than I expected. You must understand there are risks with that, though.”

She remains silent during the walk home - did I do something wrong? People being mad at me for reasons I can’t understand is the story of my life. But Iketek looks more worried than angry.

We go back to our flat, take out the thermal clothes, and find Daravoi waiting for us, sprawled on the couch. He hasn’t left the house without me, since we took up this job: he still can’t put a decent Lie on himself.

I’d go stir-crazy in his place, but he doesn’t seem to mind: he really enjoys making our flat as comfortable as possible. He ordered new dishes and cups, plus some rugs for our room and for the kitchen - which makes sense, since we have to keep up with the Lanfaller bullshit and eat on the floor.

“So, how did it go?” Dara asks, still lying bonelessly on the couch. “Has Kore been expelled yet?”

“Xir Lie is very convincing,” Iketek answers, frowning. “There’s no indication anyone was suspicious of xem.”

“Oh I’m not saying they’ll catch xem,” Daravoi answers, “it’s just that xe’ll get xir new identity expelled anyway. Xe can’t last a full day without starting some bullshit.”

“That’s unfair,” I say, “I had to switch only three high schools, you know. And the second time it wasn’t even my fault.”

“What about you?” Iketek asks. “Have you worked on your disguise?”

Daravoi shrugs. “My face keeps shimmering if I get distracted. And giving me a Var-Esh clan background is bullshit, anyone can tell I have a Kalestran accent.”

“You should still practice it,” Iketek says. She summons a golden cup, fills it with water and makes it boil with a gesture, before soaking her dried leaves mixture in it. “Changing your appearance is a key skill for any rogue mage.”

“I can put a Lie on him,” I offer, “it will only be a physical illusion, of course, but it will work.”

Daravoi makes a dismissing gesture. “See?” he says. “I’ll focus on breaking stuff, and maybe moving stuff if I feel discreet. Kore can make up bullshit for us both.”

“Hm,” Iketek says, sounding distracted, “You can’t entirely rely on Korentis for disguises - unless xe’s close by to refresh a bound Lie, it will decay in a few hours at most.”

Daravoi shrugs. “Look, I practiced this instead.”

He makes a sweeping gesture, and a shell of purple light appears around a controller we left on the floor. Wobbling unsteadily, very slowly, the controller flies into Daravoi’s hands.

“Whoa,” I say, “that’s so lazy. I must learn it too.”

Iketek tried in several different ways to teach me telekinesis, but I can’t go past the basics - I can give an object a sharp lurch by lying about which way is down. Now, however, I have motivation.

Iketek stares at the floating controller, and sighs. “At least you practiced something. Still bad, but it could be worse.”

It’s unusual that she doesn’t give some more specific criticism. Whatever is eating at her, it must be bad, she loves pointing out our mistakes.

“Anyway,” she says, “you’ll practice with me later. Now you both listen to me, before Kore goes to xir study group.”

Dara frowns. “Study group? Why? It’s not like you have to really pass exams.”

“But I’ll meet students who know their way around the university,” I say, “also, I think Iketek was trying to tell us something important.”

“Thanks,” she says, only mildly exasperated. “Come sit here.”

It sounds stupid - I was leaning against the door, Daravoi sprawled on the couch, but it’s not like we wouldn’t hear her. We obey, though, and we kneel on the floor next to her. At least, the new rug makes the position more comfortable.

“This is something I would have preferred discussing at a later time,” she says, “Or possibly not at all. But since we’ll have to spend some time together, I feel responsible for your education, to some extent.”

“I already know where babies come from, you know,” I say, “I asked that to Big Sis when I was like five, and she gave me a two-hours biology lecture that scarred me for life.”

Daravoi snickers, but Iketek doesn’t.

Iketek stares at me, her gaze intense. “And what do you know about Veil-madness?”

A heavy silence follows her question. Veil-madness. I tried hard not to think about it. I remember, in the jewelry, the sudden outrage that the world wouldn’t bend to my will, the desire to make it do so.

And I remember, after the attack in Valanes, Daravoi’s question which I couldn’t answer – what will I do if he starts going Veil-mad?

“I thought,” Daravoi says, careful, “that it’s one of those things ThauCon exaggerates. Yeah, some mages are bad. So are some regular people. Maybe… it’s a bit easier to go bad, with magic. It makes emotions stronger. Like, I get really angry sometimes when I touch the Else. But that’s it. After all, council mages are sane. Right?”

There’s a long pause as Iketek sips her infusion. There are golden flecks in her eyes, and I realize with a start that they’re always in the same, exact position. It’s not that she’s using magic right now - she’s beginning to disincarnate for good.

“ThauCon, and the Alliance in general, definitely do their best to inflate the risk,” she says. “The risk of Else-madness, and catastrophic control loss, justifies their favorite pastime of torturing teenagers, so they’re happy to overstate it. I personally met old mages who showed no sign of mental deterioration. But… the dangers of Veil madness are not entirely ThauCon misinformation.”

“I felt it,” I admit, “I used too much magic, once, and… I wasn’t thinking straight. I mean, much worse than usual.”

Iketek nods.

“My teachers didn’t tell me about it at first,” she says, “of course, they were manipulative criminals with no concern for my wellbeing, but for once, I think they meant well. A mage should reach for the Else with confidence, especially at the beginning, or they’ll fail controlling their power at all. So, warning a new mage about the dangers can make them less safe. But you can both Channel and Cast reliably, by now. And Korentis’ talent for Lies is considerable.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Daravoi raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean? That since I don’t have any special talents, I shouldn’t worry?”

“You should absolutely worry,” Iketek says, harsh. “Especially given your path. I met an Else-touched Ruin-mage, once. She looked sane, at first. But she always, always found excuses to use her power. On things, on people. Once, a lower-rank initiate tripped and spilled her wine. She smiled, took the initiate’s wrist, and tore him apart. From the inside, piece by piece. It looked like he was being cut by burning knives.”

Silence, again. Daravoi looks distinctly sick, and I try not to think about severed fingers in the subway, and how angry he was.

“The Sacred Song Society tolerates a lot of… antisocial behavior in mages, as long as they do their job,” Iketek says, “probably more than other organizations would, since they have such a strong control on their mages. So, I’ve seen seriously Else-touched people. Some knew they were going mad, and fought against it. Sometimes with some success. More often, not.”

I want to crack a joke, to find an excuse to walk away, or at least tune her off as I usually do with good advice. But I made a promise to myself. I’ll really try to deal with this. So I sink my nails into my palm, and force myself to listen.

“I heard a lot of theories about the nature of Veil-Madness,” Iketek explains. “Or thaumological associated cognitive degeneration, as the Hidden Schools call it. A lot of those theories are at odds. It’s hard to understand why some mages easily remain sane, and others don’t. What’s sure, the more magic you use, the more you’re at risk.”

“So we should… not use magic?” I say. “Like, no offense, but you used magic both to create that cup and to heat the water in it.”

She nods, completely serious.

“You must not overuse magic, compared to your maximum power. The stronger you get, the less you risk when using minor powers. So, practicing your magic at a safe pace protects you, to some extent. That’s why you should train consistently, besides improving your control. But no amount of moderation and training will make you entirely safe.

“An old mage, who claimed to be Hidden Schools trained, told me that we reach the Else through a flaw in our mind. A discontinuity, a crack between our thoughts. Using magic risks… widening the crack. You can actually see it, sometimes - soul-damage, cracks in the physical manifestations of people in the Else.”

She takes a deep breath.

“You must be careful, learn what your crack, or cracks, are. Try to… monitor yourself. Avoid patterns of action and thought that feed your flaw, especially when using magic. And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Kore - you’re good, uncannily good, at becoming someone else. I’m not saying it’s bad. But it might pull at you in strange ways. And the Else has been agitated since the attack in Valanes, more than I’ve ever felt before.”

“The Else doesn’t feel any different to me,” I say, happy to change topic from my identity-changing and whatever is wrong with me.

“Because you haven’t tried the kind of magic that takes you deeper into the Else, yet,” Iketek says. “And before you ask, you’re not ready for that. Just remember what I told you the very first time we spoke: there are things, in the Else. Some of those seek a way across the Veil - and you are a way across the Veil. Some of them can influence your emotions, or whisper to you. Make you do things you’d never do, and enjoy them.”

I nod. “Woah. Magic is scary. Sometimes I think it should be illegal.”

***

I manage to push away all the talk about flaws and demons, and become Tharvais again in time to join the study group. I have to run from the tube station to the small room under the library, but it’s better than being late. Tardiness is the sign of a disorganized mind.

It turns out there are a bunch of rooms students can use freely at the university - this one was probably a lab at some point, with long ceramic tables, an old-school stone blackboard, and rusting machinery covered with plastic sheets.

A dozen students are spreading their books on the old lab tables, chatting profusely as they do. Evenki, the kid I met in Thaumocracy History class, looks at me and smiles.

“Welcome!” xe says. “Everyone, we have a transfer student! Someone who decided to come to the frozen ass of nowhere, even if xe was happily studying, well, anywhere else!”

“I came from the City,” I say, trying to sound friendly, but a bit dismissive. “But I like it here. Even if the climate is terrible. And what’s up with eating insects?”

Students laugh, and they start talking at once, complaining about the food, the cold, the food again, the professors being unfair. No one questions my origin, and soon they start one-upping each other in horrific anecdotes about how cold Rakavdon is – more than half of the students come from abroad.

Talking to them is all too easy. They want to be my friends, I realize with a startle - something I find hard to believe.

Would it have been so simple for me to make friends as Korentis? Had I never manifested magic, would I just have fit here, after never fitting anywhere else? Or do I feel at ease only because I’m wearing the Lie of someone who could fit?

The longer I talk to the other students, the more I question my choices, and that doesn’t lead anywhere good. So, I steer the conversation to Precursor relics, and how to gain access to them.

“You can do hands-on work on the relics for a couple of exams, and of course as your graduation project,” a girl says- she’s one year older than most students here, I gather, and fell behind with her exams. “I know it sounds cool, but believe me, relic description is the most boring thing ever - you basically catalog stuff in the Vault. And there’s nothing really good there, because anything interesting gets sent to ThauCon or destroyed.”

I don’t have to pretend a flinch of distaste as she says destroyed.

“Well, I want to work in that field if I manage,” I say. “I might as well start somewhere. What professors should I ask if I want to do a relic study project?”

The student puts a hand on her forehead, as if she was about to faint. “Fallen Home, you want to specialize in Relic studies? You have only two choices and both suck. Professor Kairim is the most boring person on Refuge. Xe’ll make you scan every millimeter of a precursor toilet board or something, noting every single scratch, and then… oh, Lost Stars, the archive research. Xe’s obsessed with checking what the Thaumocracy has said about anything, and you’ll have to comb the archives for ages.”

“Xe’s a historialist,” a young man says, with obvious distaste, “xe doesn’t care that we study precursor relics and not pot shards. Xe treats them as exactly the same. You should try with Professor Adavert - she’s the functionalist.”

I nod, and with some relief, I know what he’s talking about - historialists believe Precursor relics should be studied in the context of history, functionalists think what matters most is what they are and what they do.

“Yeah,” the girl from before says, “but Adavert believes you should study ten books in seven different languages, and possibly get a couple technical degrees, before you can be trusted to make her a coffee. And her TA is a special kind of asshole.”

“He’s hot, though,” another student says. Some nod, some make disgusted faces.

“Anyway,” the older girl says, “if you want to go into relics, you’re in for a world of pain.”

***

Professor Kairim’s office looks something out of a movie on the Thaumocracy, all black walls, angular stone furniture, and libraries overflowing with paper books. Sadly, it lacks the random skeletons chained to the walls that movies always add.

The professor xemself is thin, bony and dressed in a sharp black tunic, sitting on a thin, sharp black armchair that looks like an evil wizard’s throne.

I shouldn’t think about such silliness. There’s no such thing as evil wizards, after all. We prefer ‘morally-challenged practitioners of the Art’.

“So,” the professor says, looking at me like an entomologist appraising a pinned butterfly, “you’d be interested in working on relics.”

I nod, trying to look eager and serious at the same time.

“I’m fascinated by the Precursors material culture,” I say, repeating bits from the introduction to xir textbook. “I think they’re still understudied, compared to the ruins themselves, or literary sources from the Thaumocracy. There are vaults full of relics waiting for proper cataloging.”

“Hm, you understand the formal description of relics is a job that requires both patience and precision? Some would call the work tedious.” Xe doesn’t add much emotion to xir words, but from the twinkle of interest in xir eyes I can tell xe’s pleased.

The problem is, even in my boring student persona, I’m not that boring. I think describing random Precursor junk, without trying to understand what it does, is a waste of time. But everyone says working with professor Kairim is much easier than the more demanding professor Adavert. So, I must fake being a student who fakes interest to get credits.

“I think patience and a solid methodological approach are some of my strengths,” I say, a lie so ridiculous I half-expect to spontaneously catch fire.

Professor Kairim moves xir fingers on a tablet, which xe put on an old, thaumocracy-style black metal lectern. Lost stars, this person is insufferable. But part of scholarship is dealing with the quirky personality of other scholars, I’m aware.

“So, you’re a second-year student. Transfer,” xe says, as if that was a moral failure of some kind. “I appreciate your foresight in already considering your graduation project. If you’re interested in cataloging relics, you could try a minor description as part of my exam. I offer that as an alternative to the regular quiz. That will help you learn the basics of our work, and decide whether you can really stand the excitement of our branch of scholarship.”

Xe makes a small smile as xe says that. Of course xe likes xir humor dry.

“I’d be thankful for the opportunity,” I say, “do I need some kind of formal request?”

Xe waves a hand. “The bureaucracy can be settled in time. The question is, what kind of…”

Xe stops, as a notification blinks on xir tablet, and sighs.

“The pains we must endure for scholarship’s sake,” xe says. “Wait a minute, please. And be careful. He bites.”

I have only a moment to be confused, before the professor taps a button and the door slides open, revealing a thin, dark skinned young man with blue-dyed hair.

“Good afternoon, prof,” he says. He sounds unusually curt for a student addressing a professor. It could be his strong Taerish accent - except he’s staring at the professor like he dares xem to disagree. “Could you join us at the excavation? We’d like to move the new find, and you insisted to be present.”

“I’ll join you in a short time,” professor Kairim says, “I was discussing with a student…”

The young man smiles, and he looks positively murderous. “I’m sorry, I must respectfully insist. We’re on a tight schedule, since we need the ThauCon security detail, and they’re already here. Please come now, or Professor Adavert will remove the find by herself.”

“No, no, Adavert doesn’t understand the subtleties…” the professor says, scrambling to get up. But I don’t listen to xem anymore - ThauCon security detail, the student said. Are ThauCons here?

For a moment, I want to run away, and, since Tharvais would have no reason to run, I feel a dizzying confusion - wait, who am I - and with horror, I see my image, reflected on the professor’s smooth black desk, flicker.

Calm. ThauCons aren’t looking for me. Especially not this me. I’m here to talk to a professor about an undergrad project. I take a deep breath, and checking my reflection, I look right again - brown skin, round eyes, a bit older than Korentis.

I notice, however, that the blue-haired student is staring at me full of suspicion. His green eyes are reduced to slits. Fuck, fuck.

“Korentis,” a voice whispers in my mind, urgent, “someone is scrying for mages. Don’t touch the Else! Don’t react in any way! Pretend you notice nothing!”

I barely have time to process Iketek’s words before I feel something - like sharp, cold fingers going through my brain, a ghostly touch passing through me.

I fight the reflex to look into the Else, to protect myself - I’m just a student. Magic is a strictly theoretical idea for me. I’m simply curious about the TA who interrupted a professor so rudely.

After an eternity, the touch goes away. I make sure not to relax myself - I don’t give any sign of having felt anything, because a mundane wouldn’t feel the scrying.

Most of all, I don’t look at the blue-haired student. The mage, hiding in plain sight.