Talia looked over the whirling cumulus of clouds that gathered on the horizon. Beyond the blinding glow of the green sun, a field of twinkling lights flickered faintly. It was like a tapestry of faintly sparkling diamonds, spilled across a milky pink and purple backdrop.
Stars. Thousands of them. Sometimes, during the more lucid moments of her treatment, Talia had sat out on the balcony, trying to count them all, marvelling at just how many there were. That such a task was impossible bothered her little. It was enough to take her breath away and make her heart rise in her throat from sheer wonder.
But there would be time for wonder later.
Now was the time for answers.
Talia pulled her chair in and laid her hands on the table, unsurprised when the found a thick tome already opened to a blank page, pen waiting for her. Isha glanced at the book with amusement but made no comment, simply setting her oversized cup on the table and giving Talia all her attention.
“Why—How…? Hmm…” Talia’s face scrunched up as she tried to phrase what she was going to say.
Isha smirked lightly but otherwise remained silent. Talia cleared her throat, feeling a blush creep onto her cheeks.
“Why do you need to ask questions?” she finally got out.
What looked like understanding settled onto Isha’s face.
“Ah. You think that because I acted as your…mind healer—” the word she used wasn’t exactly that, but whatever magic made them able to communicate in this place translated to it “—I know everything about you and your situation. Am I right?”
Talia nodded, not quite uncomfortable with the idea, mostly curious.
“Hmmm. I see how you could think that, but you’re wrong. How do I put this…” Isha sighed, sipping at her cup, “Alright, set aside our little game for a moment, I can see that I’ve been less than diligent in my excitement.”
Talia gave another slow nod, jotting down a note and then waiting for the Ancient to collect herself.
“What you went through…was too much for you to handle. That’s not a value judgment, you understand. It’s a fact. At some point before we met, you experienced something, or many things, that shook you so badly that it…interfered with your brain.”
“I know what trauma is, Isha,” Talia uttered, somewhat peeved.
The Ancient smirked.
“Right, of course. And if that was all that there was, we wouldn’t have been here for nearly as long as we have. However,” Isha raised a finger, “Then, someone did something idiotic to you.”
Talia winced. She remembered casting the crystal mind spell. Remembered…a lot about what followed. In hindsight, idiotic didn’t cut it.
One of Isha’s thin eyebrows rose into her crimson hair.
“Or maybe you did something idiotic to yourself?”
“You should know this already,” Talia grumbled, embarrassed.
“Tsk. Patience, I’m getting there. Right, so you did something stupid. Once again, not a value judgment, but an objective fact. You crafted a weaving that, from what I can tell, forcibly suppressed parts of your psyche, while ripping others to the fore. If your brain is a delicate puzzle composed of innumerable intricate pieces, then what you did was hack and slash those pieces with a dull blade until they created an image you were happier with. And then you tossed the crumbled remains into a corner to rot. Thus, the first splinter.”
Talia shivered at the vivid image of someone going at her brain with a knife. Isha noticed, favouring her with a commiserating smile.
“Quite. But that’s not all. Then, to make matters worse, at some point, the weaving failed. From one moment to the next, your psyche was allowed to return to its default state. Only it couldn’t. Too much had changed, too much was missing. To pick our puzzle analogy back up, you tried to recreate the original image, only to realize that all the pieces had changed.
So your mind did what minds do. It adapted on its own, shunting useless pieces to the back, contorting others into places they did not fit, and truly just making a mess of things. But it worked. You, or something close to it, survived. With me so far?”
Talia nodded impatiently.
“Still not explaining why I’m not the only one with questions,” Talia pointed out.
Isha gave her a flat stare.
“I’m getting there. I should think you’d be paying more attention, so as to not repeat your mistake. If I ever get my hands on your teacher, I swear, I might strangle them. The sheer recklessness of teaching a novice such a fundamentally dangerous weaving as the mind splinter…” Isha growled in disgust, “And improperly at that.”
Talia considered telling the Ancient that she’d never actually had a teacher, but kept silent, not wanting to derail the conversation.
No need to make her more disappointed…
Isha sighed, collecting herself.
“Right. Then, my adjutant —I’ll explain what that is later— used you up like a little meat bag of pure arca, with no regard to the integrity of said bag, nor any consideration for what your conceptual foci could handle. Not exactly its fault, as your designation wouldn’t have really registered…and— I’m getting off track. Suffice it to say, you channelled a great big chunk of the Arcaneum for a moment there.”
Isha looked genuinely chagrined and angry for her, giving Talia a look that she couldn’t quite interpret. She was just confused and impatient, full of questions begging to be answered.
“Which is partly… No matter. In any case, needless to say, you weren’t equipped to be channelling that much of the primal essence of the universe through you. The analysis wasn’t quite clear on it, but I think that’s where the third splinter occurred. A natural one, just like the second. If you can call what happened to you ‘natural’, I suppose.”
Talia opened her mouth, one of a dozen questions already on the tip of her tongue, but shut it with a click, gesturing for Isha to continue. The hint of a smirk ghosted across the Ancient’s lips as she watched her charge visibly restrain herself.
“Luckily for you, there just so happened to be an academy-certified archon of psionic theory —the best on this side of the galaxy— nearby to put the pieces back together the proper way,” Isha blithely boasted, a mischievous look on her face.
Talia rolled her eyes, unable to reconcile the woman in front of her with the enigmatic deity-like being she’d first met.
“Still not explaining why you don’t know everything about me,” Talia pushed, “I distinctly remember giving you permission to muck around my head. Hell, that doesn’t explain why I can’t remember…much of what happened.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Isha waved an imperious hand.
“I’m getting there, child. I’m getting there.”
“Get there faster,” Talia groused.
“Dealing with trauma is tricky,” Isha began, “Dealing with three traumatized shards of the same person is trickier. Luckily, I have centuries of experience—”
Talia glared.
“Fine, fine. Tch. No respect in the youth, these days. ‘Fixing’ you, and fixing is an understatement, required targeted emotional dampening, selective memory removal, and a host of other therapeutic and psionic measures. Those’ll be why your memory is so…hazy. I was quite literally rearranging it in your head in subjective time. Not to mention that Anima copying the missing parts of your psyche is a traumatizing process on its own. Once all of that is done, imperial standards dictate—”
“Anima copying?”
Isha gave Talia a Look.
“Sorry, continue,” Talia said sheepishly.
Isha sighed.
“I guess the answer is simple, really. The Association of Imperial…mind healers” —there was that word again— “follow a code of conduct. Part of that code dictates that we maintain our own splinters, separate versions of ourselves, for the strict purpose of treating patients. Once the treatment is over, the splinter goes dormant. I quite literally have no memory of treating you, beyond the basics of the original prognosis, and certain signs to look out for,” the Ancient finally explained.
Talia gave Isha a flat look.
“It really took all of that explaining just to get to— wait… Didn’t you just say that splinters were dangerous?” Talia accused.
“No, child, if you were listening, then you’ll realize that I said that irresponsible, ill-advised and poorly designed weavings that create rogue splinters are dangerous,” Isha corrected, sounding just like Talia’s long-ago history teacher, “Splinter personalities, like all weavings, are tools. Used correctly, they can be useful for any number of things. Most astral navigators err on the side of splinter constructs, rather than the House Ordis equivalent, for example, for their flexibi— you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
Talia shook her head.
“I suppose that was the point of this conversation,” Isha sighed, “To get us to a similar playing field.”
Talia snorted at the notion that she would ever be on the same level as the Ancient in front of her. The very idea was preposterous. Centuries, millennia of knowledge and experience separated them.
“I know it must seem overwhelming,” Isha soothed, reaching over to place her huge palm over Talia’s hand, “But the beauty of liminal spaces is that they give us a lot of time. I promise I will do my best to teach you what I can. All I ask in return is that you give me an idea of what’s going on out there. As you can imagine, I am somewhat out of the loop, so to speak.”
Talia nodded slowly, still grappling with the idea that time was so…malleable. It was the stuff of fairy tales and fanciful bedtime stories.
And it’s happening to me. Hah! Does that make me a hero? Sure doesn’t feel like it…
“Now, why don’t you start by telling me how you got into my lab? Spare no details, please. Even the most minor of things could be important.”
Talia frowned as a stray thought flicked through her head.
“Couldn’t you just…read my thoughts? I mean, I can't be that precise, but you’re so much more powerful than I am…”
For the first time since Talia could remember, her caretaker looked uncomfortable. The Ancient shook her head, her horns glinting in the soft light of the stars.
“I could, yes. And as your…mind healer, I have, as we discussed. But there is…etiquette around such things. We are all of us connected on a superficial level, in a way that can’t easily be turned off, nor would most want to if they could. Even now, I can sense your curiosity, your confusion. Your gratitude. It is a comfort I would not rid myself of.”
“So why not just…take what you need? I can give you permission, if that’s the problem,” Talia hedged, thinking back to half-remembered nightmares.
I had to give permission. That stuck with me even if the rest is hazy.
Isha grimaced, looking off into the distance with a sigh.
“It’s not that, though your consent is obviously necessary. Apart from very specific instances, most don’t…share that deeply with just anyone. Path mates, lovers, family. And even then, the recipient generally receives, they don’t go fishing through the giver’s mind like…Ahem. As I said, there is etiquette here that you are unaware of,” Isha shifted in her chair, raking long nails through her thick hair. “If you were capable of packaging away your experience and transmitting it to me, that would be one thing. But you can’t…”
“Do it,” Talia said.
“Talia, treatment is one thing, your most personal thoughts, without the filter and security of a splinter…”
“I trust you.”
And she did. For whatever reason, Talia trusted the woman before her implicitly. More than she thought she’d ever trusted anyone before. More than she trusted herself. It was an odd feeling, knowing that the person in front of you had quite literally rebuilt you from ruin.
“No, child,” Isha said gently, “I am touched, truly, but I can’t. It wouldn’t be right. You can’t make an informed decision. There is a reason splinters are standard practice in the treatment of trauma.”
“I—”
“No, Talia. I am honoured, but no. My answer is final. Opening yourself up like that for a matter of convenience is… No. Not when we have all the time in the world.”
For some reason, the Ancient’s refusal hurt. It shouldn’t have. They didn’t know each other. Isha had clearly said that sharing in that way was reserved for people who were much closer than they could ever be.
So why does it still hurt?
“Alright,” Talia muttered.
“Good, now why don’t you start from the beginning?”
“It all started when I awakened…”
Talia told her story without reservation, explaining her first moments as a mage, her flight from the mage-hunters, and her meeting with Elidé Evincrest. Her decision to leave the city, and the revelation that the arcano-sun was failing them. As she spoke, Isha’s expression got more and more serious, but she didn’t interrupt to ask her own questions up until the revelation about the arcano-sun.
“Wait, stop. Leaving aside the deeply concerning developments in your society and what they represent, can you be more specific about how the… ‘arcano-sun’ is failing? Do you know if the output is fluctuating? Is it structural damage? Has it begun demanding injections of external arca? If so, how much?”
Talia frowned.
“What do you mean, ‘outside arca’?”
“Mana, child, what you call mana. The essence of the Arcaneum.”
“No, I got that part, I meant what do you mean ‘has it begun to demand’? Most of the mages in the city are in the upper reaches, feeding it. That’s not new.”
Isha blanched, sitting back in her chair. An errant hand reached up to rub at the base of her horns.
“And the other cities? Karzacath? Karzakaad? Karzinkol? What about them?”
Talia shook her head, realizing just how little the Ancient knew.
“Um— they’re gone, Isha. I don’t think we even have a map of how to get to the ruins of Karzakaad. It was lost in the first Exodus, or something…”
Isha blanched further, if such a thing was possible, her face draining of colour.
“And their ‘arcano-suns’? No, you don’t need to answer that. BYRON!” she shouted into nothingness.
Who the hells is Byron?
Talia’s silent question was answered an instant later as a faceless…man appeared at Isha’s shoulder. He —it?— had close-cropped black hair and…no face. Not even the hint of a nose. Just a featureless plane of smooth skin. The rest of him was normal, well, normal-ish. Sized just between Talia’s diminutive stature and Isha’s colossal height, he wore tight-fitting black clothes in a simplistic style she didn’t recognize, with several decorative pins on his lapel.
“You heard?” Isha asked.
“Yes, academician.”
“Run a projection on the estimated survival time of basic House Scylla infrastructure with only a single Arcaneum Gate at one-fifth power. Focus on the effects of OSSN rampancy on the known Ward populations of Sach’elcor,” she ordered the faceless man, turning to Talia, “How many people live in Karzgorad now, do you know? Even an estimate would work.”
Talia scratched her head, bewildered.
“Err—close to, uh no, just over two hundred thousand…I think? I’m not sure though.”
The Ancient said nothing, she just nodded, her multi-coloured eyes flicking back and forth as if reading a book only she could see. Once she was done, the alien woman turned to her assistant once more.
“Compare projections to the readings we had from Talia’s OSSN, pre-injection.”
“As you will, academician. I must remind you, however, that—”
“I know Byron. It’s not pressing, I’ll deal with it eventually, once I’ve gotten her up to speed.”
Finally, Talia couldn’t take it.
“Can someone tell me what the hells is happening?!”
Isha jerked over to look at her as if just remembering she existed. Then, with the finality of a hammer blow to the head, she told her.
“Your people are dying.”
Talia frowned.
“I knew that already. If you’d just listened to the whole story—”
“Did you think we created the ‘arcano-suns’ just for heat and light?” Isha interrupted, “Of course not, why do that when a few scripts would do the trick? There’s so much I have to tell you, but the fact of the matter is if the ‘arcano-sun’ fails and the Arcaneum Gate shuts, the—”
The Ancient said a word and scowled as it was immediately garbled into a meaningless jumble of syllables.
“Fucking Blackout. Seriously? That’s what you have a problem with? Incredible,” she muttered angrily before continuing, “If the ‘arcano-sun’ fails, your people will die. Not slowly, not from starvation or light deprivation, but nearly immediately. Within hours.”
“Oh.”
That’s not good.
Then, Talia shrugged as it registered that her predicament really hadn’t changed.
“So, what else is new?” she joked.
Just another day in the life of Talia Vestal-Angrim.
Isha froze, and Talia caught a glimmer of something in the other woman’s eye. Then they laughed. They laughed like the world was ending, because it was. In some ways, it already had.