Elidé rearranged her flowing blue robes and gave Orvall a nod of thanks as he took their empty plates and placed the refilled tea pot down on the table. The dwarf squeezed Talia’s shoulder reassuringly.

“I will spare you the gospel and fanatical bile. If you wish for occult foolishness, then I suggest you attend a sermon at one of the temples. No, what I tell you now is what we know as fact, knowledge gleaned from research before the topic of mages became taboo, or from what little information the Ancients attempted to pass down,” the elf began.

Immediately, Talia opened her mouth to ask one of a dozen questions, only for Elidé to raise a hand.

“I understand that you will have many questions but ask that you hold on to them until after I am done. I imagine that some will answer themselves,” she said, her rumbling tone at odds with the dry amusement in her voice.

Talia’s mouth snapped shut with a click. The young mage nodded sheepishly. Elidé chuckled, smacking her lips and refilling both of their cups.

“Now where was I…right, right. So, as I was saying, much of what I will tell comes from a time before the mage-madness, before Bill 32, when mages practiced their craft freely and magic was the subject of many a study. Your parents, if memory serves, were some of the last free mages in Karzgorad. The last of the old guard. Oh, the shame they would feel at today’s state of affairs…”

“How did you—” Talia began, forgetting herself.

Orvall cleared his throat loudly, sitting down between the two women with a groan. His daughter shot him a side-eyed glare. The elf continued

“Back then, it was largely understood that mages fell vaguely into three categories: Evokers, Shapers, and Psions. Broadly speaking, Evokers have dominion over some form of energy. Shapers, as the name implies, have control over matter, generally a specific element, to begin with. Psions are more varied in presentation, but their defining trait is the ability to influence others with their mind, parsing thoughts like you and I would the words of a book.”

She turned to Orvall with eyebrow raised, who was tamping his pipe.

“You did ensure she got proper schooling?”

Talia’s adoptive father scoffed.

“O’course, I made sure she went to school, who do ye take me for?”

“Worst years of my life…” Talia muttered into her cup.

Elidé’s expression softened.

“Children can be cruel at even the best of times. I can’t imagine your peculiar appearance helped that fact,” she said.

Talia laughed dryly. A smug smile stretched across her thin, cracked lips.

“Didn’t help when I got better marks than the whole lot of em’, either.”

The elf’s eyes gleamed with mirth.

“In that case, I apologize for the assumption. You wouldn’t believe how many people these days can’t even write their own name, let alone string numbers together coherently. A true travesty.” She cleared her throat. “Now, back to Evokers, Shapers and Psions. Understand, these were vague boxes, useful for initial categorization of the newly awakened, but rarely used in most circles of any real import. It was not uncommon for powerful Psions to develop an affinity for kinetic force manipulation nor for Evokers to extend their dominion into mastery over gases or fluids. Moreover, many talents and affinities are universal even in newly awakened Gifted. The rapid healing your father told me about is a good example. Others include heightened senses, minor physical changes similar to the wytch-marks you already have, improved strength, balance, and dexterity, as well as increased longevity and many more.”

She paused to sip at her tea. Talia blurted out questions before she could stop herself.

“What type of mage am I? And what about mage-madness? Didn’t they—”

Elidé barked out a grating laugh, looking over at Orvall, who seemed similarly amused.

“She can’t help herself, can she? I see why she did so well in school. If she weren’t in her current predicament, I’d recommend her to the Chronicler’s Guild.”

Orvall nodded.

“Aye, mind deeper than the Maw itself, my Talia,” he boasted, “Reginald couldn’t stop complaining about it during her first week of apprenticeship.”

Talia blushed.

“Reginald Deepwell, the arcanist?” asked the elf.

“The very same,” Orvall replied.

Elidé gazed at Talia speculatively for a moment, pondering.

“Interesting,” the elf said, “In any case, to answer your question, at your current stage, I would hesitantly call you a kinetic Evoker, given what your father told me about your awakening. I think we can safely rule out Shaper, but time may prove you to be an oddly presenting Psion. I meant it when I said the categories are vague guidelines at best.”

Talia nodded, thinking back to when her Gift had presented itself. She filed ideas away for later questions. Focusing on the most important one.

“…and what about mage-madness?” she asked.

A sad expression settled on the elf’s face. It made her look…worn. She sighed.

“We aren’t sure,” Elidé replied, “but we have a couple theories. The first is, in my opinion, the most plausible, but is also the most bleak. The second is more hopeful, but also, in my view, the least likely. Bear in mind, every possible conception of the reason why mages go mad is full of holes, and as I said, the simple answer is that we aren’t sure.”

“Tell me,” said Talia.

Elidé girded herself.

“We know that Magic, or rather mana, travels mostly through the blood. The Gift is more likely to be passed through the mother if she possesses it, than the father. This we know from Wyrr the Ancient’s teachings. What we theorise then is that, as a Gifted channels more and more mana, it damages the brain through their blood, causing mage-madness. If this is the case, then mage-madness is incurable. We have no way of preventing mana burn to the brain.”

Talia’s thoughts spiraled. Secretly, she had nursed a small hope that this ancient woman would save her, offer a solution that differed from the bleak future her ‘Gift’ had laid before her.

I guess if the solution were simple, they would have thought about it by now. But wait…

“If you’re right, then wouldn’t the solution just be to not use magic at all?” she asked the elf.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“We thought of that, and though it slows the onset, even those who never used a drop of their power went mad before the age of fifty in humans. The age differs by race, but the result is the same. We hypothesize that even without conscious use, a mage’s less active talents still pull a constant flow of mana through their body.”

Talia’s hopes fell. The pity in Elidé’s eyes burned her.

“Ok…well what’s the second option?”

“The second theory,” said the elf, “is that at some point in the last century, magecraft lost a crucial piece of knowledge, something that allowed mages to combat the madness or avoid it entirely. Unfortunately, the problem with lost knowledge is just that, it is lost. The trail to follow is a dark, winding tunnel shrouded in old secrets and littered with dead hopes of scholars and mages.”

“Well, that’s not depressing,” Talia said sarcastically.

“Indeed, now, before we go too deep into the darker asp—”

Elidé was interrupted by loud thumping at the front door.

Bang bang bang!

They all froze. Talia’s heart skipped a beat. Orvall was the first to react.

“Probably just a patient,” he said after a moment.

He’s right. Panicked patients come in here all the time. Besides, anyone in their right mind would assume I died in—

“City Watch! Open up Orvall! I know you’re in there, Meriam said you were in!”

Orvall froze, halfway out of the kitchen. He turned to the two of them and mouthed for Talia to hide. The fiery haired woman nodded numbly, creeping out of the kitchen towards the stairs. She glimpsed Elidé’s admirable forethought on her way out, as the gnarled old elf slipped Orvall’s empty teacup off the table and into her sleeve. She winked reassuringly at Talia, shooing her with an arthritic hand.

Bang!

“C’mon healer, I don’t have all day! Don’t make me bust the door down! We just have some questions for you!”

Talia heard her adoptive father call back from the hall as she slipped into the small water closet by the stair.

“All roight ye laggard, don’t get yer panties in a twist I’m comin, I’m comin. Is that you Wyatt? What would yer poor dead mum think? Bangin’ up a ruckus on an old dwarf’s door and threatening ‘im in the middle of the afternoon for all ter see… why she’d be rolling in her grave she would be.”

The bolt on the front door clacked open. Holding her breath, Talia pressed her ear to the thin drearwood of the lavatory.

“Right, ye’ve got me ere’, now whaddaya want. I’ve a guest, so if ye’ve caught a rash from some Low Quarter harlot ye’ll ‘ave to come back later,” Orvall growled in his faux surly voice, the one he reserved for the unreasonable family members of patients and the occasional young lad playing at being a thug.

Talia could practically taste the smarmy smile on Wyatt’s face. He’d been a year ahead of her in school and had taken great pleasure in harassing her. The day he’d graduated had been a weight pulled off her shoulders.

“Well, you see, healer, these fine folk with me are the magisters’ own mage-hunters. They had some questions about a runaway mage from about a week ago. From their tale, she jumped into the Maw rather than do her duty to the gods. Survived too by the looks of it, the lucky bitch. They found her cloak and her bag on the upper terrace, by a warrener shit pile of all things.”

Wyatt paused dramatically.

“But no body. Now, they reckon if she made it into the city, she’d need a healer. This ringing any bells in that thick head of yours? Mayhap you treated a filthy stray recently, out of the kindness of your heart?”

Talia imagined her father shaking his head.

“Sorry ter disappoint ye, lads and lass, but I aven’t ‘ad any seriously injured folk in over a week. Go ask Durvin, if this mage made it back inter the city, and didn’t just fall right into the Maw, that’s where she’d go ter get treated on the sly. Good luck on yer chase, hunters. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

Talia heard wood hit steel-capped leather.

“Isn’t that the funniest thing! You see, we stopped by Durvin’s right before coming here, and he said that a few days ago you woke him in the dead of night begging for some… what did he call it?”

“Irsid Root,” a high-pitched woman’s voice answered, “a powerful antiseptic and clotting agent. Costs a pretty penny too.”

“Right, right,” Wyatt continued, “Irsik Root. But then you know what I learned, Master Angrim?”

Talia tensed in her hiding spot.

Shit shit shit—

“Nay, but I’m sure yer ‘bout to tell me,” came Orvall’s flat reply.

“My mage-hunter friends never got a good look at the runaway, but one thing they do remember is that she had short, bright red hair. Very red hair. What shade did you say it was John?”

John never got a chance to reply.

“Ach’, get ter the point friend! Unlike soma’ yous’, I don’t have time to stand around jabberin’ all day.”

Ooh good one da’.

Talia smirked. She could hear the frustration in watchman’s voice when he replied. Nothing irked him more than having his dramatic windups interrupted. Talia knew from experience.

“Where’s Talia?” Wyatt snarled. “Her coworkers claim you told them she was sick, and that they haven’t seen her in a week. Odd coincidence wouldn’t you agree? If she’s here, then have her step out. My new friend John’ll confirm she’s not who we’re looking for and we can all go on with our day. Sound good, friend?”

Talia could hear the scorn bleeding from Wyatt’s voice. Orvall’s rumbling tone was flat by contrast.

“Sorry, gents ‘n’ lady, can’t help ye. I sincerely apologize fer the wild goose chase Wyatt ‘as led ye on. I’m sure t’were right easy ter match up me adoptive daughter with the woman yer looking for. Her antics are well known ‘round ‘ere,” he paused, “I’m also sure Wyatt never told ye she ‘n’ him have been…rivals…since they were children. Ifn’ yer wondering why the good watchman were so diligent with ‘is detective work, that’ll be why, I reckon.”

Talia reigned in a cheer, settling for silent support, pressed up against the wood of the door. She couldn’t make out what was said next, but from the questioning tone of the mage-hunters’ voices, she imagined her childhood bully squirming beneath pointed questioning.

“This is ridiculous! It must be her, no one else would match. How many young women with bright ruby hair could there possibly be in Karzgorad,” the watchman said. “Step aside, Orvall. There’s a simple solution here.”

Orvall’s rumbling reply fell dangerously low.

“Ye’ll be wantin’ ter rethink that choice, boy. This don’t end well for any of yous’”

Wyatt’s only reply was a wordless snarl. Tensed up against the drearwood, Talia heard the beginnings of a scuffle. A meaty smack rang out and a grunt of pain rang out from the front door. Hurried steps from the kitchen passed by the young mage’s hiding place. It seemed Elidé had decided to get involved. What she could possibly do was unclear to Talia, but the fight seemed to be escalating until suddenly…

Crack—crunch!

“Ah! Ma bnose! Yu bwoke mah noose!” Wyatt wailed.

Talia imagined him flailing around, holding back tears, and gushing from his face. Just the image was cathartic.

“Wut awe yu doing? Helbp me!” the watchman whined unintelligibly.

Talia could sense the mage-hunters’ hesitation. It seemed chasing down mages was one thing and attacking a healer in his own home was another. Thankfully, she never had to find out if they had the stones to press the assault, as Elidé’s grating voice rang out like a whipcrack.

“What is the meaning this?!?”

Shocked silence fell over the group, punctuated by Wyatt’s pitiful moans. The elf pushed her advantage.

“I came here to offer my condolences to a dear friend whose daughter is afflicted with the Grey Wasting. The poor girl will surely perish within the week. Imagine my surprise when we are not only rudely interrupted, but I then bear witness to an unprovoked assault on his person and home. By a watchman no less. Have you no shame? Is this conduct becoming of the Magisterium’s forces of order?”

Any reply was too low for Talia to pick up but sounded sufficiently contrite to her ears. The high-pitch woman’s voice from earlier spoke up, while Wyatt moaned incoherently about his nose.

“We apologise for the misunderstanding. I assure you that Master Angrim was not specifically targeted in any way, ma’am. Magister Kayn has personally ordered that the runaway be tracked down by any means. Had we known about Watchman Burgon’s…personal vendetta we would have acted differently. Again, my sincerest apologies”

Elidé harrumphed, unmoved.

“Regardless of your intent, your actions, or rather your inaction, displays a worrisome disregard for the processes that ensure the law functions as it is meant to. If you wish to search Master Angrim’s home, by all means, seek out a warrant and return when you have obtained one.”

The nasally woman hurried to agree. Elidé continued, talking over her.

“In the meantime, you may tell Magister Kayn that Magister Evincrest has concerns about the activities of his mage-hunters that will need to be addressed. And you. Watchman Wyatt Burgon was it? Rest assured Captain Whitman will be hearing about your utter disregard for the rule of law.”

Talia heard an audible click from the female mage-hunter’s jaw all the way from the bathroom. Her own thoughts stuttered to a halt. Confusion and fear bubbled up.

Evincrest? Magister Evincrest?!?

How in the hells did Orvall know the longest serving magister in the Magesterium?! And more importantly…

Why did he tell her about me?!?

Had Talia been captured, Elidé would have been amongst those deciding her fate. So, then the question was…

Why is she helping me?

The young mage lost herself in her frantic thoughts, such that she didn’t even realize when Elidé—Magister Evincrest—opened the door the water closet, nearly causing Talia to tumble out onto the floor.

“I imagine I have only increased the number of questions on your mind. Come, I will answer what I can while Orvall gathers some supplies for you. I had hoped we would have more time, but it appears the city is no longer safe for you.”