Naereni
I darted down one of the empty streets, my breath coming in spurts as I tried to ignore the smell of smoke in my nostrils. The sky was alight with an angry orange glow as fires burned in the long distance, the tinge silhouetted against the night. I skated on boots of ice, nearing the end of my alleyway. I engaged my recently upgraded crest, brushing my hand against the edge of the building as I whipped to the side.
A frosty glyph shone where my palm had touched. I knew it wouldn’t be noticed.
Come on, I thought with an undercurrent of terror. You want to chase me, don’t you?
In truth, I didn’t know if my spell would do anything worthwhile. But I had to try.
I spun on my feet, a dagger of ice coalescing on my palms as I felt that horrible mana presence barrel through the alleyway. My arms shook as I prepared to spring my trap.
A vicar burst from the alleyway, his black and red robes fluttering. Lines of red and green traced his skin, disturbingly familiar patches of malformed blithestain spreading along his skin. He grinned, a horrid mist seeping from between his teeth. The sickly emerald vapor churned as red veins pushed it on, the swirling substance drawing memories to the surface.
I saw my dad, years gone now, slowly collapsing on the floor of our meager apartment. A needle in his arm, the green contents drained entirely. I’d shaken him, asking him to wake up. To stop sleeping. I was hungry, after all.
I hadn’t known. Not until the next day when my dad still hadn’t woken up. And then he’d grown cold. Colder than any spell I could make.
“You should stop running, Rat!” the vicar mocked. “Drink of our elixir! Stop fearing your final peace!”
He’d been chasing me for the last few minutes after what he’d done to poor John, one of Bloodstone Elixirs’ guards. I’d watched as the mist seeping from the vicar’s mouth had enveloped the man I’d known, leaving behind a blithe-broken body that spewed more of that same horrid toxin. So that it would continue the cycle.
John was one of the better ones. He knew what it was like to grow up on the streets, to fight for every drop of food. I’d stolen a few of his silver buttons, but he hadn’t minded. In turn, he’d helped mediate disputes between the people of East Fiachra fairly. He hadn’t deserved to become what this vicar made him.
“I’d say the same for you!” I said, my voice strained. I threw the dagger I was holding at the vicar. He smacked it out of the way, but it left a shallow cut. The dagger embedded itself into the stones nearby. “You’ve gotten slower since you murdered John! Why don’t you lay down and rest?” I said in turn.
The vicar took a step forward. I threw another dagger, putting on a mask of fear as I backed up. It wasn’t entirely feigned. Once again, the vicar smacked it to the side. That horrible gas moved independently of the man, trying to reach my lungs and change me, too. I was far faster than it, but I needed to end this before the gas spread further.
Good, I thought, my eyes darting to the side. My frosted mark glowed behind the vicar.
“I give my body to glorious purpose,” the vicar snarled, flexing his fingers. “Mardeth is going to make us all ascend into something better! And soon, you shall join us, too,” he said, taking a step forward.
“I’m afraid I’m going to decline,” I said. Then I clapped my hands together.
The rune I’d left marked on the wall erupted with thick chains of ice, the whiplike cords streaming with high notes as they clinked together. They shot forward with purpose, beelining for the vicar.
The man turned slowly, trying to batter away the icy chains. Yet they dipped under his arms, wrapping his body and anchoring themselves to the daggers left embedded in the stones. The vicar struggled, straining against my spell. I grit my teeth, holding my palms together in concentration. My chains cracked.
“Any time now, Wade!” I called out, feeling my arms strain.
As if on cue, a dozen rats scurried in from the surrounding alleyways. They squeaked with rage, running toward the vicar. He thrashed, kicking a few away. Yet a few managed to sink their teeth into his skin, drawing little bits of blood. But it wasn’t enough: this was a mage, and his body appeared tougher than expected.
I was about to open my mouth, asking if he could do anything more with his control of rodents, when a veritable swarm of rats churned from the darkness. From drain pipes, the empty canal, hell, even from the rooftops. The chittering mass surrounded the vicar on all sides, but they didn’t yet dogpile him. The vicar, apparently, still felt fear. He paused, his breath steaming red and green.
I was able to hold my ice chains as he stopped thrashing. I heard footsteps tapping beside me as Wade slowly walked up. His brown locks were in a messy disarray, something I’d learned to love about him. His eyes were shadowed by both his glasses and his bangs, but I blinked at the utter fury I felt radiating from him. Apple the skaunter was perched lazily on his shoulder, the large, scaled rodent watching the swarm imperiously.
“I’ve waited too long for this,” Wade said angrily. “I’m going to rip you to shreds, vicar. For what you did.”
My eyes darted to the vicar, whose grin had replastered itself back in place. “You’ll never get the chance, fool!” he snarled, opening his mouth wide. His jaw seemed to unhinge supernaturally as blithe gas coalesced along the rims of his rotten teeth.
“Wade!” I yelled in fear. He didn’t have body-strengthening magic! I would need to–
The rats surrounding the vicar piled upon themselves, scrabbling in a mishmash of limbs, teeth, and fur as they created a living barricade against the outpour of blithe gas. The rodents gnashed angrily as their bodies soaked up the spray.
“My rats watched how this stuff spread,” Wade said, fury lacing his tone as he stalked further. “Your gas only tracks and affects mages. But when it enters a nonmage, or in this case, an animal without mana,” he said, trailing off as he looked at the rats who had tanked the attack. They looked sickly, but the effect clearly wasn’t as bad as it had been for John. “It spreads about as slowly as it did when your Doctrination tortured those I loved.”
The vicar had the audacity to grin. “Did we take someone from you, boy?” he mocked. “Don’t worry, you’ll be–”
The vicar suddenly screamed as something ripped at his leg. A particularly large rat, one that must have weighed a few pounds, tore gratuitously at the priest’s heels. He buckled, flattening against the ground so his chin was pressed into the uneven cobblestones. My chains tightened automatically as he splayed out.
“That’s the Achilles tendon that my familiar just ate through,” Wade said, loping forward like an uncaged wolf. I felt my breath pick up and my blood began to surge as darkness overtook my lover’s face. “I read about it in a book a while back. That’s what allows your heel to flex. Without it, you can’t run. Can’t escape.”
Wade knelt down to look at the prone vicar, who was getting an up-and-personal perspective of the swarm of rodents around him. The vicar’s fear returned full force as his eyes darted around, only being greeted by beady black dots from every angle. “You think I’m afraid of a bunch of rats?!” he called, sounding frantic as he began to thrash at his bonds again.
Wade shifted his spectacles further up his nose, the fires burning all throughout the city reflected in the glass. He rested a palm against Apple on his side, the mana beast purring slightly, and something in his face changed. I could swear the color in his pupils bled away to a beady black, patches of fur growing along his chin in something that looked like sideburns. His face narrowed out slightly, his nose becoming a bit more prominent. “Rats aren’t what you need to worry about,” he said, his voice a bit higher pitched. Somehow, it felt even more ominous. “It’s what I can make them do.”
I watched in mute fascination and mild horror as all the rats around us mutated, growing greenish scales that matched those of Apple. The rodents bulked, growing to twice their size as their claws elongated and their jaws became razor sharp. The aforementioned skaunter chittered loudly, a cry that was slowly taken up by a chorus one hundred strong.
The vicar thrashed in horror, screaming obscenities and damning us to the Vritra. The chittering of a hundred mini-skaunters drowned out his cries.
“This is for Kori,” Wade said coldly.
The swarm pounced almost as one, sinking their teeth and claws into the pinned vicar. He yelled for a time, but eventually, that dropped off as his blood sprayed high into the air. The amped rats chittered with glee as they ripped into their prey. I watched, my eyes wide at the carnage.
The vicar was devoured alive by an army of fur. I traced the path of a rivulet of blood as it streamed to the side, dripping into an empty canal nearby.
When they were done, there wasn’t even a corpse left. Only bare tatters of blood and cloth and few chips of bone. Blood smattered the mouths and claws of every pseudo-skaunter, their beady eyes surging with bloodlust.
I turned mechanically back to Wade. Those strange changes to his face melted away, the rats around him slimming down in size and shedding their green scales. He exhaled weakly, bending over as the strain of what he’d just done threatened to overwhelm him. Apple teetered woozily on his shoulder.
I took a few steps forward, the rats parting around me. Wade looked up at me, his glasses slightly askew. His eyes were blown wide beneath them as he watched me approach. “Oh, Naereni,” he said as if it were a curse. “By the Vritra, I didn’t want you to–”
I gripped both of his shoulders firmly, pulling him into a deep kiss. He hesitated for a moment before returning it, his body slackening even as the world burned around us. I separated a moment later, pushing his glasses back up his nose. He flushed as he always did when I did that.
“That was the hottest thing I have ever seen,” I breathed huskily. “Just don’t do it again without telling me. Or to someone who isn’t a vicar.”
Wade glanced back at the remains of what used to be a human. Scratch that, I thought angrily. That thing could never have been human.
“I’ve been planning to do that for too long,” he said tiredly. “Ever since they broke my mother and sister. It’s all been boiling up. Waiting to explode.”
I raised a brow, squeezing my Wade tighter. “Is that what happens when you get angry?” I teased. “You grow sideburns and a longer nose?” I paused, thinking a bit. “Hey, if your nose gets longer, does that mean that your–”
Wade flushed, cutting me off hastily. “It’s just something I figured out recently. I told you how my magic was acting weirdly with Apple, right? Well, when I tried to hone in on that feeling, I was able to do that,” he said a bit quickly. “Though it tires me really fast.”
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I gave Wade’s shoulder one more squeeze, then separated from him. I opened my mouth to say something, then my head snapped to the side in surprise. A tide of mana was rolling toward us, seeping through the stones. A wave of green gas, interlaced with red lines, seemed to hone in on our location.
”Wade, how fast can you run?!” I said, grabbing his arm and preparing to try and carry him. That gas tracked mages somehow. I was under no illusions that it wouldn’t try and change us like it did to John.
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a strange mist seeped up from the cobblestones. It swirled unnaturally, enveloping the two of us in a cocoon of woven water. I could somehow see and sense my surroundings just fine.
The massive cloud of gas churning toward us immediately halted in its path, seeming to be confused by something. Then it arced upward, surging toward the northwest with a mind of its own.
I breathed in Karsien’s mist, feeling in awe of this strange new power of his. He’d pushed one of his spellforms even higher recently, allowing the mist he created to become even more powerful. There was something deeper to this spell of his that I couldn’t put my finger on, however.
It seemed that my master’s spell was able to hide us from the probing effects of the blithe gas.
Speaking of my master…
I turned on my heel, looking at where he stood. Wade did the same a moment later. “Hello, Kar,” I said jovially. “You missed out on all the fun!”
Karsien’s eyes–hidden behind his mask–flitted to the remains of the vicar. “We need to move to the center plaza,” he said, his voice short and curt. “Plan some sort of response to this. I’ll need you both.”
I swallowed, looking past the mist to the burning outline of the city. I could smell the smoke in my nose. Every now and then, a blot of blithe gas would rise into the air from somewhere and dart in that same northern direction. I felt my hands clench.
“Yeah,” I said angrily, remembering how hard I’d worked to erase this death drug from the world. “We need to plan.”
—
The central plaza oozed with chaos. Men rushed about uncertainly, looking for their wives. I heard a child crying somewhere as a mother tried in vain to shush him, a haunted cast to her eyes. I barely caught a man as he tripped on a protruding stone. He didn’t seem to recognize me, his eyes bearing a shell-shocked cast.
A hundred and one conversations fought to be heard over the din. Beyond East Fiachra’s borders, the city rumbled as mana fluctuated wildly. Whatever was happening, it was worse in the other districts.
I turned around in concern, Wade, Karsien, and Hofal by my side. The normally stoic shield’s face was even more haunted than that of a corpse. He’d joined us on the way to the central plaza, barely responsive to words.
He was part of the Doctrination way back in the day, I thought, But he left because of the horrible things they did. Is this… is this like that? I wondered.
The people of East Fiachra thrummed with fear and uncertainty. They could see and feel the city breaking down everywhere but here, and the only incursion of the disaster happening afar were the vicars bearing down on the mages of Bloodstone Elixirs.
I heard a raucous clanging that echoed over the panicked voices of the crowd. Instinctually, everyone quieted down, turning their heads uncertainly toward the loud noise. After all the action had been ingrained in their bodies for months every time the stew was finally ready.
Auntie Greahd moved her aging body, standing precariously atop a pile of rubble that overburdened an empty canal. “Everyone!” she called out hoarsely. “Everyone, stop!”
I blinked in surprise as Greahd commanded the crowd. “We need order! Order like at our cookfires and gatherings! Not pushing, shoving, and trampling!”
I was shocked by how quickly the East Fiachrans settled down, looking hopefully up at the old stewmaker. Gradually, the crowd–several hundred strong at least–became less an unruly mob and more an unordered troop.
Greahd looked over us all as a resounding explosion sounded somewhere far to the north. She shuddered from the vibrations but didn’t flinch. Her graying hair was pulled into a haphazard bun as she looked over the desperate crowd.
“Fiachra is burning,” she said. “Most districts are under attack from vicars spewing a blithelike substance, infecting them and continuing the destruction,” she said slowly.
The crowd almost exploded again.
“Where is my daughter–”
“Almost lost my life to–”
“Buried in the rubble–-”
But one question rose above them all. “What are we going to do?” someone finally voiced over the growing chaos.
Greahd clenched a hand. The crowd’s eyes settled on her, looking desperately for guidance. For some sort of assurance that things would be alright. “I’ve lived in this district for over twenty years,” she said quietly. “I’ve grown with you all. Learned with you all. Cooked for you all. And fed you all from my own stock. And never have I asked for anything in return.”
The crowd held its breath, and to my surprise, I felt my own breath refuse to leave my lungs as well. I leaned forward, my eyes intent on the woman who had raised me. What was she aiming for?
“The infection that is attacking this city is only striking at mages,” she said. Then the woman who was all but my mother braced herself atop that rubble as if about to face the gales of a hurricane. “But it leaves nonmages alone. Right now, only you all have the power. The power to make a difference.”
There was a beat of silence. Two. Then an eruption of pent-up fury.
These people, who had been beaten and trodden over all their lives by the well-to-do mages of this city, surged in fury at Greahd’s suggestion.
A chorus of shouts rose up. What had any mage done for East Fiachra? Were they supposed to just forget their oppression? Why should anyone put themselves in danger?
A few moved forward as if to tear Greahd from her perch, and I felt my mana churning as I prepared to intervene. One of them grabbed at Greahd’s leg, but she stepped around it.
“Look at you all!” Greahd yelled hoarsely. “Listen to what you’re saying! At how you’re acting!” She slammed a closed fist against her breast. “I am a mage! I always have been! And yet I have always been here, toiling in the mud alongside you all!”
“Then maybe you just want to get your greedy friends out of trouble!” a voice said further up. “Just like a mage to save their own skins!”
From my faraway vantage point, I couldn’t make out his exact features. But Greahd obviously could. “Chaerlo,” she said pointedly, her eyes piercing the exact spot the man stood. “I remember you. I helped your wife deliver her child when the clinic was full.” The man recoiled as if he’d been struck.
“And Warren,” she said, pointing out another man. The one who had tried to grab at her leg. “When your children nearly starved, it was me who you came to for food.” She turned on her perch, seeming to grow bigger with every word spoken. “Baela, you couldn’t afford medicine for Benny’s frostbite. I helped soothe the wounds of his lost fingers. Do you all remember?”
The crowd had gone silent, each person remembering their small moments of kindness from the woman. Images of her smiling face as I darted around her small apartment playing at being a mage surfaced. The first time I’d awoken a rune. The utter joy on her features, but also the sadness that I would be leaving. Yet I didn’t leave.
“You think it’s the mages who oppress you all?” Greahd said, lowering her hand and clenching her fists. “Maybe some do. But do you know who pushes for it? Revels in it?” she demanded, drawing the crowd’s emotions further. “The ones who truly make this happen?”
“You’ve seen it all your lives, but never been allowed to think! Constantly, we’ve all fought against the epidemic of blithe. How many nights have we spent weeping in prayer, hoping our children would awaken? And when they do awaken, knowing that they’ll be sent off to war to die in the first wave or be swallowed by an unnamed zone in the Relictombs? And how many times have you been told the only one to blame for your suffering is your lack of faith?!”
“The fault is with our Sovereign gods!” Greahd cried, her body trembling. “It’s our horrid, despicable gods that let this happen to us! It is their Doctrines that grind us into the dirt. That demand we pay in flesh and blood simply for a right to live. It was the Doctrination who made blithe, and the vicars who distributed it! It is the vicars who deny you magic! It is the vicars who burn this city! They burn our city!” she yelled, her voice becoming more manic and hoarse as she went on. “If you want someone to hate, hate Agrona Vritra!”
The entire plaza had gone deathly silent. An aura of shock suffused every man and woman. I felt as my eyes went wide at Greahd’s declaration. He statement of disloyalty to our Sovereigns. To the ones who had given us everything! How could she–
I caught those thoughts as they came, for some reason only now recognizing how twisted they were. The broken logic of it all pressed against the insides of my skull. And from the shuffling of the crowd, I knew they were realizing it, too.
And it terrified them. It terrified them because it made sense. The horror-induced understanding that… that our very gods cared not for our struggles.
The Doctrination preached that all who struggled and gained power would be rewarded by the Sovereigns. But where was Sovereign Orlaeth when men starved and froze during the winter? Where was the Doctrination when petty gang fights ripped East Fiachra apart?
Where was Agrona Vritra when those we loved died in a pointless cycle of poverty and despair?
I took a step forward mutely, pushing aside bodies as I wove my way to the front of the crowd. The silent, terrified lull continued, but I didn't care.
I made it to the front of the crowd, then slowly climbed the same rubble that my mother in all but name stayed perched on, her eyes wildly tracing the shocked–horrified–masses.
I stood up, feeling the wind on my cheek. The attention of all present had shifted to me as I stood beside Auntie Greahd. I raised a hand to my face, feeling the rodent-like masquerade mask resting there.
I took it off slowly, allowing the breeze–tainted with the smell of blood and smoke–to caress my face. “Many of you know me,” I called out. “And many of you don’t. But know for certain that I know all of you. I am the Young Rat!” I called, hefting my mask into the air. I heard murmurs of recognition spread through the crowd. ”All my life, I’ve lived in East Fiachra. Just like Greahd, I’ve bled with you all. Sweat with you all. And when push came to shove, I decided to make a change!” I balled my fists. “I’ve stolen from half a dozen highbloods! Scammed more nobles than you can name! And every single one of those was deserved!” I cried.
“But there is good among the Bloods of Fiachra,” I said, my voice going quieter as I thought of a friend. “Toren Daen fought for you! Bled for you, too! And he never gave up on you! He showed you at his concert, didn’t he? That you and the mages that are dying right now are not so different? And he joined us at every cookfire. At every sharing of warmth and community!”
The crowd began to shuffle in anticipation. I felt heady, adrenaline coursing through my body as I raised an icy dagger into the air. A crash of power and rumble from far in the north threatened to upset my balance, but I stayed strong. “We need a plan to save our city!” I said. “I’ll take the purse of any highblood who dares flaunt his wealth in front of my eyes, but I’ll be damned to hell if I let the Doctrination take my home! They’ve taken our families! Our hopes! Our dreams! Our futures! They won’t take our home from us, too! Who is with me?!”
I stared out at the crowd. After a beat of silence, a cry of support rose from the center. Then another. And another. The cheers of resolve grew in volume as the infectious anger of a people long oppressed finally found an outlet. A place to pour their buried energy that could make a difference.
I thought about Toren, in that instant. I thought I understood what he’d been trying to do with his music, creating a bridge between two worlds. I didn’t think my speech would have been nearly as successful without solid proof that there were good mages from the outside.
Toren thinks he understands us, I thought quietly. And maybe part of him does. But he still hasn’t fully experienced our world. Our pains. Our struggles.
I exchanged a solemn smile with Greahd, giving her a hug before I dropped back into the crowd, the stream parting around me as they shouted for what must have felt like the first time in their lives.
Maybe Toren can be a bridge, my thoughts continued. But he wouldn’t know how to direct these people. That’s my job. The Rats’ job. We’re the voice for the voiceless.
My eyes settled on where I’d left Wade, Hofal, and Karsien. Then they narrowed as I spotted two unfamiliar figures. One was talking with Karsien in a clipped tone, but they turned as I approached.
I blinked as I recognized the cloaked face. “Sevren Doubouir?” I asked, my eyes flicking to his empty sleeve.
The other guest chuckled. “It’s Denoir,” she said, lowering her hood to reveal long, navy hair. Her scarlet eyes sparkled as they met mine. “My name is Caera of the same Blood. That was a fantastic speech you gave.”
“Thanks, Boulders,” I said to the well-endowed woman, turning back to Doubouir. I caught the lady flushing in either embarrassment or anger in the periphery of my vision, an affronted cast to her face. Oh, it was so fun when they got pissed off quickly. I could sense her strength from her mana signature, the glimpse I caught leaving me impressed. “A friend of Toren is a friend of mine, Doubouir,” I said, offering the man a hand to shake.
He looked at it critically. Oh, I thought, feeling stupid. I switched to offer my left hand. He shook it reluctantly, and his eyes narrowed as they caught my fingers snaking toward his cuff links.
“I’ve heard a lot about you from him, too,” he said, making sure to keep his golden links safe from my fingers. Clearly, Toren had told him about my best qualities. “And I think I have a way to stop what’s happening here for good.”