Part Seven

Answers

…beep…beep…beep..beep..beep. beep. beep.

“Ah!” Terry yelled as the insidious sound continued to ruin his rest. He abruptly sat up to shut off the demonic alarm and found himself falling right back down as pain flared across his chest and through his right thigh. The pain forced labored breaths in an effort to steel himself against the pain. The demonic alarm clock was keeping pace with his agitated heartbeat.

“Calm down dear, calm down,” a matronly voice intoned that Terry did not recognize. “Move like that much more and you’re likely to tear out the stitches I worked so hard on.” Terry looked up and saw an elderly First Nations woman sitting in a wicker rocking chair nearby. She had a round face that sagged with the creases of age and stress lines. Long black hair streaked with gray was tied into twin tails that ran over her shoulders. The hair tails were adorned with bird feathers of various size and beads tied off at the ends. The elderly woman wore a bright blue robe hemmed with white; gold stylizations of the moon’s phases worked around the white hems. The woman looked like a kind grandmother—one Terry never had.

She smiled as Terry studied her and set aside a bead work that she had been busying herself with. “I’m glad to see you so energetic after your ordeal. Had you slept any longer I would have been concerned something else was wrong with you,” the elderly woman said with playful admonishment. “Oh, the young have no cares in the world and just sleep their time away.”

“Uh, sorry?” Terry sputtered in response. He moved his focus away from the First Nations elder and studied the room he was in.

Terry laid in a hospital bed next to IV drip stand and vitals monitoring equipment. That is where the infernal beeping was coming from. The rest of the room was rather standard for a recovery room as far as Terry’s experience led him to believe. Sterile white walls, florescent lighting, clean countertop with sink, and a couple under-stuffed chairs for visitors. The only outliers were the wicker rocking chair and the unknown woman sitting in it.

“Who are you? Where am I? and why am I here?” Terry asked in quick succession. He internally winced a bit at demanding so much from someone who seemed to have helped him through something.

The elder laughed, “you must be closer to Priscilla than I’m sure Jack would like. You sound just as impatient as she does when asking questions.” Hearing Priss’ name made Terry wonder where she was. The last thing he remembered—

Cards- Forest- Smoke- Terror- Monsters- Darkness

Memories of what happened to Terry in a place not of this world rushed back into conscious thought. He gasped and fell back onto the bed. His mouth gaped open and close like a fish out of water for a bit. Once Terry regained control of himself, he looked back towards the elder. There was concern written across her face, but her eyes did not waver. She was studying him for something. Apparently, this grandmotherly figure was not just about fresh cookies and stories from her youth.

“Where is Priss?”

“I see you remember some of your ordeal already. The trauma you experienced was about middling for Veiled Ones when they are dragged into the Hidden World. Definitely seen worse. At least you survived your time there,” the elder finally said after continuing to study Terry for a moment. “And don’t worry about Priscilla. She is just fine. She got beaten and battered rather nastily by that feline monstrosity, but she is a tough young lady; she is already on her feet.” Terry sighed in relief at the news. He opened his mouth to state his question hadn’t been answered, but she kept talking; completely ignoring the social contract that conversations were a two-party dialogue that went back and forth.

“She is somewhere in the building. Probably getting debriefed by her father and other ranking members of the Sun Department.

“As to where you are, you’re in the Crescent Dawn Headquarters building. Headquarters is a bit assuming a title, I’ll admit. It is the only building our organization has when that term would make one assume there are multiple branches. Oh well, That’s the name Jack put on the building. Things carved in stone and all that nonsense.” The elderly woman took a breath and then continued.

“You’re more specifically in the medical wing of said headquarters. We just tend to call it the Infirmary—no need to reinvent the wheel with names. You got cut up and bashed quite nastily. Lost more blood than is generally recommended by the Red Cross, and you suffered an abnormal amount of mental strain in addition to the standard trauma of crossing the Veil for the first time. There was some healing already done to your body prior to getting into the Infirmary, Priss can’t heal, so I’m curious if you know how some of your cut muscles were already knitting themselves back together?”

Terry panicked internally and it must have shown on his face because the elder commented, “it’s alright dear. You can tell me nothing can harm you here, not even Jack’s brutes. You have my confidence and attention.” She smiled genuinely as far as Terry could tell, but her previous studious look put him on edge. So, he went with a half-truth.

“It was a monster,” Terry lamely said.

“A monster healed you?” the First Nations elder asked incredulously.

“Yeah, a bat that sucked blood and then used something from that to heal me,” Terry explained. “I don’t know where it came from or even what it was. I thought it was another thing hunting after me. It killed a trio of goblins and then disappeared just before Priss arrived like a heroine.”

“From the report I heard from her, you handled yourself rather well for a defenseless Veiled One,” the elder said kindly. The conversation hitting a valley as Terry did not offer anymore details and the elder not asking for more.

“Thank you for taking care of me and my pains,” Terry said with a tired voice. He was already feeling exhausted from the effort of staying awake and talking.

“You’re very welcome dear,” she answered kindly. “You look exhausted, get some rest. Shaman’s orders.” Terry agreed wholeheartedly he was tired, enough that he didn’t catch the strange word choice. He did, however, see the wicker rocking chair start slithering like a snake as the woman stood up. The strands of vine that composed the chair began to weave themselves into the fabric of the robe the elder wore. Once the process was complete the blue robe gained a latticework of green veins throughout it. With the wicker rocking chair gone the room now looked exactly like a standard, sterile recovery room.

Seeing the surprised look on Terry’s face, the elder gave him a smirk. “You’re Unveiled now dear, that small bit of magic won’t be the strangest thing you see from now on if I were to guess,” she said with a wink. At the door to the room she spoke once more. “Get some rest while you can dear. I’m not sure what Jack will decide to do with you, but being well rested will only help.” She then slipped away and closed the door. Terry watched the closed door in silence for a time. Before he could think further on his situation or the elder’s words, Terry fell asleep once more.

The next time Terry woke up the room was covered in the inky veil of night. Only faint illumination came from monitoring equipment at the bedside and a low shimmer beneath the door. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Terry felt a weight shift against him. Glancing over, Terry saw another person laying on the hospital bed with him. They comfortably laid on their side and snuggled up to the contours of Terry’s prone form. Familiar dark hair ran down from the head rest on his chest and the scent of an orchard pleasantly stole the sterile air from Terry.

As Terry gently moved some hair from Priss’ face and tucked it behind her ear, an eerily familiar voice spoke. A voice that did not belong here. Its baritone did not fill the air’s silence, but rang in Terry’s mind.

This is the first sleep your mate has taken since crossing the Veil with her people. It would be best to let her rest peaceably.

Terry scanned the room for the source of the voice, doing his best not to jostle Priss awake. He saw nothing at first. However, something new within Terry’s instincts guided his gaze to a corner of the room. Once looking there, Terry froze up as he saw familiar grey eyes staring back at him. Had the creature of his nightmares moved on to waking terror now? Was he still asleep?

Calm Alpha, be calm. I mean you no harm and there is no way for me to do so regardless. Search within yourself for what is new to your sense of self, but as comfortable as if it were always there. Answers are easier found this way. The grey eyes intoned with its calm voice inside Terry’s mind.

Terry didn’t feel the usual sense of dread associated with the grey eyes now that the initial moment was gone. Deciding that the lack of usual fear might be a good thing, Terry heeded the words of the grey eyes. There was something to them that was calming him down. That was a first. Closing his own eyes, Terry brought his thoughts and awareness into an introspective quest. He wasn’t entirely certain what he was looking for. The grey eyes said to seek something new, but known, or something like that. So looking for the odd and out of place wouldn’t work. What about a change in perspective? Nope, still seeing the world from his own point of view.

A sigh of consternation escaped Terry as ten minutes, then an hour, went by. Priss shuffled a bit in her sleep at the disturbance before wrapping an arm around Terry and settling back down. A chuckle echoed at the edge of Terry’s mind. He glanced towards the grey eyes with irritation.

“Not helping,” he whisper-yelled.

Wasn’t trying to, the voice replied. Look for parts of you that go beyond yourself, but are still part of you.

“Yeah, that makes a whole lot of sense,” Terry quietly grumbled.

Give it a try, regardless.

“Fine,” Terry huffed. He then tried sensing for himself beyond his self—whatever the zen nonsense meant. Then the damnedest thing happened, it worked. Almost immediately after searching for himself beyond what he perceived as himself, such as his body, Terry found what he could describe as a resonance. It was a familiar echo that had no tangible or simple connection, not like the… not like the Sanguine Bat he conjured from the Fate’s Hand card. With that thought, more memories, those associated with the magic he, Terry, had used to survive the goblins, came back with clarity. The sensations, emotions, and bonds Terry felt with the vamp bat and the fog came back and he was able to compare those to this resonance.

Though Terry still didn’t know what he was doing, then or now, he did have an understanding of the difference between his bond with the grey eyes and the vamp bat or fog cloud. The connection with the grey eyes was far more intimate. Terry’s mind brushed against thoughts that were not his own as well as emotions that were not from him, but a part of him. Right now the grey eyes—

Winter, the other half of the resonance supplied. I am Winter. You and I are bonded as mage and true familiar. In many respects, we are the same entity now.

You can hear my thoughts? Terry questioned with a thought of his own.

Only when directed towards my half of the bond. Though there will be a bleed of thoughts and emotions from time to time.

So this means I’m a mage, right? A wizard?

Of course. Though I do not know the accepted words that this culture uses to identify those connected to magic. The grey eyes, no, Winter, answered with humor. Though your mate has worked tirelessly for two days to keep that fact a secret. For those of her kin in this den are concerned, you are a regular person who was taken hostage.

How is that the story? Terry asked, curious about what Priss had been up to since he blacked out. And how do you know this?

I followed your mate for most of that time. Her kin were concerned a ‘monster wolf’ would be a threat to you and everyone on this side of the Veil. She convinced her kin that I was something called a bonded mana beast and that I took a liking to the injured you. That I protected you and then make a mana bond instinctively. To be fair, it isn’t terribly far from the truth, but it satisfied her kin enough not to kill me and let me stay near you.

You can die? Terry asked in horror.

Yes and no, Winter answered helpfully. It will hurt, but I will just be sent back into the darkness until you open another rift gate for me. I can never truly leave. Terry was surprisingly relieved to hear this. The resonance he felt with Winter already became natural to him. If it were to leave, he would feel less than whole.

I think we talked a bit before I, summoned you? Conjured you? I’m actually not sure of the jargon for magic either, but anyways, you said something about a pack. Can you explain that? Terry asked, excited to finally get some answers for once.

Every alpha has a pack, and you are the Alpha of our pack.

Didn’t you say we could be considered the same entity? How does that compute?

Winter sighed mentally, which Terry heard, then replied. We can be considered the same for our souls are bound together. We will never contest each other for control of the pack. We are both the leader. Think of us as different perspectives of the same entity. You are the human aspect, bringing logical and morals to our decisions, and I am the power and symbol of our pack. Well that answer just brought about more questions for Terry.

So what does one do with a pack? Terry ventured to ask, hoping for more comprehensible answers.

Build it up with strong members, create a den, and establish hunting territory that the pack lives off and defends from others. Winter replied. Terry thought that answer was very… interesting. Winter seemed to be incredibly intelligent, but there were certain concepts that seemed hardwired into his perspective. He sounded like a wolf.

Winter, what kind of familiar are you?

A true familiar, I thought we covered this already.

No, well, yes, but not what I was referring to. What is your physical form?

Ah. My physical form at this mana level is that of a wolf. My physical form is a reflection of your character and soul. Your loyalty and desire to protect allowed my form to manifest into what is thought of as the embodiment of those traits, Winter answered helpfully for a change. This also helped Terry understand part of Winter’s weird perspective. Part of Winter’s logical was rooted in how wolves processed the world. Or, at least, that was the theory Terry had to go on for now.

How do we do all that then? Create a pack, build a den, establish territory. That all seems like quite a bit. I have no idea what I’m doing magic-wise, or with anything else really. Terry asked, hoping to understand the mission his familiar seemed set on.

The pack will grow the more rift gates you command. Creatures from the dark place will respond, as I did, and you can assert your authority as Alpha and add them to our pack if they are worthy. The rest will come with time. We are surrounded by predators right now and need to proceed cautiously. Winter replied with a mental yawn. Terry yawned himself, getting rather tired. This mental conversation was talking a toll on him.

Alright, one last thing. What are rift gates?

Rift gates are beacons, summons for things from the dark place to enter your reality. Your mate showed me what your rift gates look like, the were rectangular and had images on both sides. Winter answered with another yawn, this one Terry heard with his ears.

Hmm, that sounds like my Fate’s Hand cards. Which makes sense since I called the vamp bat and the fog from them during the goblin attack. There called rift gates, huh? Terry pondered what this could mean for him. After debating for bit he decided he didn’t know enough to actually understand his position. He needed more answers that were from someone other than Winter. Thanks Winter. See you in the morning?

Of course.

Terry felt the mental equivalent of eyes closing to signify the conversation was over from Winter. Before would soon follow suit, but before he did, Terry looked down at the sleeping form of Priss snuggled up against him. Now that he remembered clearly, it was difficult to match this sleeping beauty, or snoring beauty, Terry mentally amended as she let out a small snore, with the warrior woman that saved his life is the Scarred Wood. Priss had moved with a lethal grace that came from years of endless and intense practice and purpose. There had been no hesitation on her part to end the goblins nor had she paused before standing between him and that nightmare cat.

Priss’ life had secrets, more than most it seemed. Terry knew that. Had known that there was more to her life than he was a part of. He had decided that as long as those secrets didn’t harm her then it was alright, he wouldn’t make a fuss. But now he knew better. He knew that Priss’ secrets put her directly in harm’s way. Clearly she could take care of herself a whole lot better than he could himself, so there might not be much ground for him to stand on, but Terry was afraid. What if she encountered something too much for her incredible skill? Sure, they were both young by the standards of most, but Terry knew that Priss was the best partner, friend, and love he could have asked for or dreamed of. Better than either of those actually. She was more than all of that. If Terry was to be alright with Priss’ secrets he needed to know she would be safe when something more than she could handle alone came for her. He needed to become her partner in her Veiled and Unveiled life.

And to do that, I’ll have to become a mage.

Morning greeted Terry with a kiss. After taking a moment to understand what was happening, and another to enjoy it, Terry opened his eyes to Priss’ face scant inches from his own. “Morning,” she whispered while creating space and studying his face. Though her usual morning rituals of taming her hair and freshening her face had not been done yet, Priss still looked beautiful to him. Even though her hair looked like a veritable rat’s nest. How the transformation transpired, Terry had no clue, her hair had not been like that in the middle of the night.

Right now those beautiful features were marred with hesitation and doubt.

“Morning beautiful,” Terry replied as he raised a hand and ran it through her hair trying to get rid of knots. “What’s wrong? You look pensive.”

“Leave it to you to use difficult words so soon after waking up,” Priss chastised as she leaned her head towards his attention with a small smirk. That smirk looked much better than the doubt on her face.

“What?” Terry faux whined, “it was the first words to come to mind that matched the look on your face.” Priss sighed, closing her eyes for a moment then opening them to address Terry. A distant and serious look on her face now.

“Guess I can’t really hide my feelings from you.”

“You do tend to wear them on your sleeve.” That earned Terry a smack on the arm. Priss tried to maintain her distant and serious look while keeping eye contact with him. There was a struggle of some kind, and she ended up looking away and down. She refused to look back up.

“Priss, look at me, tell me what’s got you so concerned you aren’t even looking at me,” Terry gently said. Priss slowly brought her head up to meet his gaze and he saw a gentle, sad smile. The corners of her lips quivered, like she was anxious, and then she looked away again.

Changing tactics, Terry brought his hand down to her jawline. He gently rose her head back up and leaned forward, which turned out to be rather painful due to his injuries, and kissed Priss’ nose. “Talk to me Priss. I already knew you had secrets before. Don’t starting building walls now that I’m learning some.”

“You don’t hate me?” Priss asked quietly, tears welling in her eyes as she looked at Terry as bravely as she could in her fragile mindset.

“What?!” Terry gasped in surprise. “No. Of course not. Why would you think that?” Terry was genuinely surprised that Priss was concerned about this. Priss could be a vulnerable person when things included animals or trashy romance novels, but he did not think that she would be concerned about this.

“Because I lied to you. Kept secrets. Tried to change you. Anyone would hate someone for doing all that to them.”

“I will tell you this again,” Terry said patiently, his thumb drying away a runaway tear from her cheek. “I knew you had secrets. I just didn’t know what some of them were until recently. I trust you to know if you omitted or avoided telling me the truth it was more for me than for you. And I have changed since meeting you. Not due to your wishes, but by simply being a part of your life. A part I will still be regardless of learning a few secrets.” Terry had not planned any of that out, but it felt like the perfect thing to say in this instance. Perhaps, since it stemmed from honest feelings, nothing more or better could be spoken.

Priss looked at Terry, doubt and hope now warring across her face. She said nothing and the space between them grew heavy with silence. Terry waited quietly while Priss went through her emotions and came to a conclusion. Patience and silence were often times the best solution when there is nothing helpful to add. Too bad others do not follow this best practice all that often.

The heavy silence broke with a pair of large, black and white furred paws landing on the edge of the bed. Startled by the intrusion, Priss and Terry looked over. A massive wolfhound with black fur covered in a layer of white stood against the bed at eye level with the two humans. Terry had never seen Winter in his lupine form before, but he knew the grey eyes that stared back at his. Then the damnedest thing happened. He spoke. Aloud.

“I tire of the Alpha and his Mate speaking in circles and avoiding the true topic of concern.” Winter’s mouth did not move, so how he spoke aloud was a bit of a mystery. Before Terry could put more thought into the quandary the familiar continued. “Alpha,” Winter moved his head as he addressed Terry, “after what you experienced and learned about your Mate’s secrets, will you still hunt and den with her?”

“What?” Terry sagely asked. The question was just more evidence that despite Winter’s intelligence, some wolf-ish perspective was hardwired into him. Winter sighed heavily with exasperation. Not the way people project emotions and motivations onto animals to humanize them, but actual exasperation that conveyed frustration.

“… do you still trust her?” Winter rephrased after taking a moment to think. Ok, maybe the wolf-ish perspective wasn’t as hardwired as Terry suspected. Firming himself into this serious conversation and away from straying thoughts, Terry looked from Winter to Priss. She tried to put on a calm mask over her face, but there was real worry etched into the creases around her eyes.

“I trust her,” Terry answered, more to Priss than to Winter by way of unwavering eye contact. “Never stopped.” Before Priss could reply to Terry’s words, Winter’s head swiveled and he addressed Priss.

“Do you still wish to hunt and den with the Alpha after learning what he is?” This time Winter’s question did not need translation. Priss hadn’t looked away from Terry as the wolf asked the question to her. Her eyes remained locked with Terry’s, and he looked back. Moments stretched into seconds as Priss’ silence lingered.

“I,” she started, pausing, then blinking hard. She opened her eyes and spoke with a smirk, “I think he is going to need a lot of work to keep up with my hunting and my den, but he’s worth the extra effort and patience.” Terry smiled back at her grinning face, happy to see she finally addressed her internal debate. He reached out with his hand to take up one of hers, and gave it a squeeze.

“Good,” Winter said with a huff as he dropped to the floor. “Now stop trying to figure out if you’re still mates and move on to something more productive; like where the best hunting grounds are. These dried pellets they’ve been trying to feed me are for prey and completely unsatisfactory.” Winter went back to the corner he had been previously occupying and curled up, tucking his nose under his fluffy tail.

Priss and Terry lightly laughed at Winter’s words, and then went back to looking at each other quietly for a time. Both kept straight faces, becoming a small contest of will. Priss cracked first. Her lips quirked and another chuckle of mirth escaped.

“What is it?” Terry asked with a raised eyebrow and a chuckle of his own.

“Did our dog just give us relationship counseling?” she asked with humor glittering her eyes and escaping her lips yet again.

“Our dog?” The other eyebrow joined the first in being raised now.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Yes, our dog,” now Priss had a single eyebrow raised as she stated this with finality.

“I don’t recall you calling him forth from an endless void and passing out before getting to see it happen,” Terry playfully sniped back. He knew this was a faux argument. But having it would bring some normalcy and lighten the tense mood previously saturating the room.

“What?” Priss asked, a flash of real concern lighting across her face, “you called Winter from the Void?

“Uh, oh, wait… that makes sense I guess. You are a void-sourced mage after all,” she continued, mumbling by the end. Deciding sidestep the ‘my versus our dog’ conversation, Terry asked a question.

“What does that mean anyways? I thought magic was just magic. And how is it different from what I saw you do in the forest?” Terry opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Priss put a finger on his lips to stop the flood.

“Hold on there,” Priss commanded. “That is already a lot to ask. Let’s start there.” Priss got up and retrieved her slate from the bed. The rectangular piece of glass-like material could be attached to a forearm, as most were when used, or lain on a surface, as Priss was doing by placing it at the end of the bed. Terry gave her a questioning look when she glanced back to him. “I find this information is better digested with visual aids,” Priss answered to unspoken query.

“So you’re going to lecture me with a slideshow?” Terry teased, “that unimaginative presentation medium will garner the disinterest of your audience and no one will pay close attention.” His tone altering to mimic the voice of the Speech and Communication professor they shared freshman year at Fallsbend University.

Priss lightly smacked the top of Terry’s head as she admonished him, “oh shut it. I’m using the slate for a display board.” As she spoke the slate projected a white, opaque rectangle above it. Before the advancement of holographic projection technology a whiteboard would be comparable to this.

“So,” Priss began, her voice taking a lecturer’s cadence, “I don’t know everything about magic, not my personal field of expertise, so let me start with what I know best and move onto what I have a basic grasp of.” With this Priss wrote QI on the left side of the display board.

“I thought we were talking about magic?” Terry helpfully piped up.

“You asked what the difference between you and I can do are, and to do that you need to know what I can actually is,” Priss said patiently. “I gave you a general rundown of what I can do back in the Scarred Wood, but It would probably be best to visit it again.” Terry nodded his head in agreement and Priss got started.

“Qi is an internal energy flows through our bodies and allows those who can access it willfully to perform physical feats that are generally consider superhuman. Such as jumping vertically several stories from a standing position, lifting a literal ton of weight without much effort, or moving several miles in a minute at the pace of a light jog,” Priss lectured counting her examples on her fingers.

“That sounds more like Superman than anything else,” Terry commented.

“Those examples are outliers mostly. They are possible for those of cultivate qi within them, but very few can accomplish those feats. The more common examples would be having the speed of an Olympic sprinter without losing any stamina, or lifting a large piano was a warm-up. The more superhuman the ability, or, rather, the capability, of a qi user the fewer actual people there are of that caliber,” Priss explained while writing a few new things on the display board.

“So it’s like a pyramid, or an ecosystem?” Terry asked while she wrote on the display board. “The higher you go up the pyramid, or the more dangerous creature in the ecosystem, the fewer there actually are?” Priss turned back to Terry, now done writing, and nodded.

“That’s a fair comparison. There are different designations for the different levels of ability in regards to qi cultivators as well as mages. Each region of the world has different words that basically refer to the same thing.

“ Like I told you before everything happened with the nightmare cat and Dr. Ramirez, I am a Mason, an American practitioner of qi. So I’ll explain this by using our words.”

“Jargon,” Terry quietly muttered to himself.

“What was that?” Priss asked far too sweetly. Terry knew it was a trap, but he couldn’t help himself. Using the proper words, or more precise words, rather, was a quirk of his.

“Jargon. It refers to language that is used in the context of a specialized field. Like medicine or any science really,” Terry explained and then waited for the verbal retaliation. Priss just narrowed her eyes and continued.

“Yes, well I will the words of our region to keep things simple for now,” Priss restated in challenge. Terry wisely kept silent this time. “Qi cultivators and mages are separated into five general levels of strength. Each level is more powerful than the previous by an ever-increasing margin.” Priss moved to the side and revealed what she had wrote on the display board.

Mason Tiers of Strength

Novice

Squire

Knight

Champion

Hero

“This list goes from weakest tier to strongest, if you couldn’t infer that yourself,” Priss added once Terry had a moment to study the display board. “Each of these tiers has three general distinctions between them: Lesser, Median, and Principal. In their simplest form, Lesser is the weakest, Median is the middle, and Principal is the strongest. There are no hard lines between these distinctions; more of a general understanding of strength. A Lesser Novice will most likely lose a fight against a Median Novice, but there is no guarantee. Strategy, circumstance, and overconfidence have caused the downfall of many higher tier Masons before.” Terry’s attention was now firmly on Priss’ words. This sounded just like the web novels he read before going to bed or on a slow day at Cardstock.

“Like in your comparison before,” Priss continued, “the higher in strength you look, the fewer examples there are. Most Masons are in the Squire tier by the time they can’t advance any further. It depends more on the Mason Organization if their average is Median or Principal. The gap between Squire and Knight is usually one most Masons never cross.”

“How long does it take to get there? And what tier are you?” Terry asked as he drank in every detail his girlfriend provided him.

Priss smirked, as if she just hooked the fish. “Depends on the person whether they grow quickly or not. Qi cores are usually unlocked around age fifteen and you start at the bottom,” she informed Terry. “I am a Median, or Principal, depend on who is judging, Squire,” she added proudly.

“Wow!” Terry exclaimed, “you’re already at the average for most Masons and you’ve only been doing this since you were fifteen! That’s awesome!” Priss had the good nature to abashed, lower her gaze in embarrassment then looking up to respond.

“Well, no actually. I’ve had my qi core since I was five years old. Father forcibly unlocked it to give me more time to cultivate qi. That was actually rather dangerous of him to do, since someone that young doesn’t have a good enough understanding of their own body yet and can do permanent harm with qi overload.” Terry’s eyes widened at the news.

“That sounds incredibly dangerous! Why did he do that to his daughter?”

“Because he wants his child to stand at the pinnacle of Masons, maybe even amongst qi cultivators globally. Better chance of that happening if I learned to instinctively use qi at a young age,” Priss said with something Terry couldn’t really identify in her voice. She quickly added, “it worked out in the end. I’m probably the best at manipulating my qi aside from Father and maybe Gus. I have a good chance of being one of the best Masons in a decade or two.” Terry placed a thumb under his chin and thought about Priss had said. It sounded like she was forced into this path by her father. He didn’t know much about Mr. Daniels, but it sounded like poor parenting to Terry.

“Are you ok with that?” he asked Priss. “Basically being forced down a path that will take your entire life before you knew what it was?”

“Yeah!” Priss answered immediately and excitedly, “I love it truth be told. A Mason’s life is always exciting, filled with adventure and challenges! There are some bad and horrible things I have to deal with every now and then, but if I don’t deal with it then who will have to suffer?” Terry’s objections to Priss’ situation died in the wave of enthusiasm she exuded. If she was happy with this, then he had no right to say anything more.

“So, what are qi cores?” Terry asked, moving the conversation forward again.

She then turned to the display board and wrote three things below QI: Heart : Lungs : Lower Abdomen. “Qi cores are the location that is the focus of qi in a cultivator’s body. Qi cores are called different things—cores, sources, centers, or nexuses are the common ones. Though most don’t call them ‘sources,’ due to magic, but we will get to that soon,” Priss answered.

“What are the differences between these locations?” Terry wondered aloud.

“Quiet you, I was getting to that,” Priss scolded Terry playfully. “The location of qi cores affects the effect qi has throughout the body. Heart qi cores allow a martial to use any qi in the most efficient way possible. The qi core will mimic the heart and circulatory system and smoothly distribute qi when manipulated without extra effort or waste.

“A qi core in the lungs is actually split into two pieces. This reduces the overall amount of qi available at any one time, but has the swiftest recovery of qi out of any of the three locations. A lung qi core martial can basically use low to mid-level qi abilities endlessly because their qi doesn’t bottom out.

“The last, and one you may be most familiar with, is the lower abdomen qi core location. In those xanxia web novels you read it’s referred to as a dantian. It could also be referred to as a ‘sea of qi,’ which is rather on the nose. A lower abdomen qi core has the largest reserve of qi out of all the locations. Martials with this qi core location and pull off more powerful techniques and abilities earlier than they should because they can supplement skill and training with a sheer amount of qi.”

Terry leaned back into his hospital bed. The back had been raised, so he was in a sitting position, still facing Priss. “That’s a lot of information to take in,” he plainly stated. Priss just nodded in agreement. “What qi core location do you have?” He asked after taking some time to process the new information.

“Heart,” Priss responded. “Father believed that the more powerful abilities and techniques could be learned at the appropriate time and being able to use qi more efficiently was a better long-term strategy.”

“Do you agree with that assessment?”

“I think he knows what he is talking about. Though it is frustrating at times. James, the mean hockey player,” Priss added with a smirk, “is a Mason as well and has a lower abdomen qi core. He is thoroughly Lesser Squire at the moment, but he is able to pull off Principal Squire skills already. Not very often, nor in great succession, but that fact he can and I can only sometimes do so is greatly infuriating.”

“Oh, wow, I had no idea he was something more,” Terry said to this revelation. “Are there anymore Masons I know but didn’t know that detail? What about mages?” Priss puffed up one cheek as she thought about this.

“No other Masons that I’m aware of. You know a few mages though,” she finally said.

“Who?” Terry quickly asked with glee. Priss just smiled.

“You know one rather well. You lived with him for two years at Fallsbend University.”

“Marcus?!” Terry dumbly exclaimed. “What? How? … I had no idea.”

“That is kind of the point,” Priss said gently, “Veiled Ones, like you once were, are supposed to have no idea about all this. Might and magic is supposed to stay in tabletop and video games for them.” Terry smirked at Priss sly reference to an old game.

“So can Marcus do anything to help me learn?” Terry asked.

“I don’t know,” Priss honestly replied. “There are a lot of politics involved between Masons and mages. Most of it isn’t very good, animosity at best, antagonistic at worst.”

“Is that why the two of you didn’t get along very well when you first met? Or for the next year and half?”

“Yep,” Priss sighed, “old habits and perspectives usually leave us at the grave. Though being around you help both of us see past those as best we can. It is more of a competition between the two of us rather than a fight at this point.”

“Why the bad blood between Masons and mages?” Terry inquired with a confused lilt.

“Well, it is more of bad blood between martials, those who use qi, and mages, in general,” Priss expounded. “Martials are akin to a policing force for the Veil. Mages use power that originates from the Hidden World and with that power could tear open the Veil. Martials make sure that doesn’t happen. This relationship inevitably leads to conflict. Martials and mages historically don’t mix well.”

“That’s no good,” Terry complained, “both sides are still people, there has to be examples of mixing between the two groups.”

“There are,” Priss acquiesced, “but those are mostly Romeo and Juliet stories that end like Romeo and Juliet.”

“Oh,” Terry dumbly said as he realized he and Priss were a martial and mage mixed together. “Will we end up like Romeo and Juliet?”

“Not if we have anything to do about it,” Priss said with confidence, “those examples usually ended earlier rather than later because one group or another caught onto what was happening. We have a couple of advantages: one, you were Unveiled prior and have no affiliation with a mage group and therefore won’t have anyone trying to stop our relationship. Two, the mage who saved us cast a rather potent magic that seems to help hide what you are.”

“What kind of spell? And what mage?” Terry asked.

“I’ll explain that later, let’s move onto the generals of magic,” Priss deflected. Terry happily nodded, mollified.

“So,” Priss began, her lecturer’s tone returning, “I don’t know everything, or even most things, regarding magic, but here are the basics.” She paused and wrote MAGIC on the right side of the display board. “Before getting into the very little I know about magic, here is something I do know to be accurate,” Priss said as she wrote a new list next to the tiers for Masons:

Tiers of Power for Mages

Novice

Apprentice

Wizard

Sage

Archon

“In general, these are parallel to the strength tiers for Masons, including the sub-strength scaling of Lesser, Median, and Principal. Most mages that I work with are around Principal Novice rank. Though Moonsister Yarrow is a Principal Wizard, maybe even Lesser Sage. Never actually asked her.” Terry nodded along with Priss’ words. Eagerly anticipating more information regarding magic. She saw Terry practically vibrating with excitement, ruefully shook her head, and continued.

“Magic is not ‘just magic’ as you said earlier. Like all things, magic comes from something. That something magic comes from is a source. Different branches of magic have different sources, and each source offers different kinds of magic potential to its mages.” Priss wrote NATURE-SOURCED on the display board.

“Nature-sourced magic comes from the world around us… I think,” she admitted. “I know a few nature-sourced mages and they primarily work with plants, animals, or the elements. Basically, don’t fight a nature-sourced mage if they have terrain advantage. The environment is their weapon.”

“So, they are druids?” Terry pondered, trying to make connections with the context he had from books and games.

“Too narrow an identifier,” Priss shook her head. “Druids are in harmony with, and maintain the balance of, nature. All druids are nature-sourced, but not the other way around. At least that is was Yarrow insists.” Terry really wanted to ask who that was, but did not wish to interrupt any further. Priss wrote PATRON-SOURCED next.

“Patron-sourced magic is probably the most variable. There are four commonly known patron types: demonic, angelic, fey, and eldritch. A mage becomes patronized by a powerful entity and gains a bit of their patron’s power. Anyone with sufficient ability for magic can become patron-sourced, even if previously using another source.

“The problem is, patrons, even angelic, are the quick and easy path to power of great magnitude and they always have an agenda. Patron-sourced mages are the largest issue and the kind you will have the most contact with.” Priss closed her mouth quickly as she said that.

“What do you mean? Are patron-sourced mages that common?” Terry asked. Priss’ eyes unfocused as she processed Terry’s question. Before she could answer, tittering laughter sounded from the doorway to the room.

“No dear. She is simply repeating what she knows from her own lessons as a Mason,” the voice was from the First Nations elder Terry met previously. She now hobbled through the door. “Masons mostly have violent contact with patron-sourced mages; their patrons usually have nothing pleasant planned. Masons that police the North American Veil have to stop such threats from crossing.”

“Thank you for explaining Moonsister Yarrow,” Priss said with a slight bow.

Ah, one question down, Terry thought.

“You were doing fine child,” Moonsister Yarrow replied as she began to sit down against nothing. The green latticework in her robe swiftly extricated itself and became the wicker rocking chair Terry had seen before. “Keep going. I can fill in any blanks. Also, when it is just us, or with Terry here, you can just call me Yarrow. Same goes for you as well young man.” Both youngsters nodded their head to comply with the command. Priss continued by writing META-PHYSIC SOURCED on the board.

“Meta-physic sourced mages are the youngest discipline of magic, but the most understood by mages and martials. It is best compared to science of the Veiled World, or the world you know best Terry. It comes in two forms: Alchemic, which uses reagents to create magical things; and formulaic, which rationalizes the process of spellcasting into formulas and algorithms. They are probably the slowest and least battleworthy mages, but are the most versatile.” Terry shifted on the bed, stifling another question.

“Go ahead and ask dear,” Yarrow said, seeing this.

“Are Meta-physic sourced mages related to alchemists from history?” Terry asked. Yarrow laughed right before answering for Priss, who looked lost at the question.

“That they are, very astute dear. During the Dark Ages and Medieval Periods of history, people in the Middle East discovered magic in objects and energy. They became known as alchemists. Sadly, the protectors of the European Veil heard of this and went on a quest to quell the alchemists. They became known as Crusaders ever since.” Terry was surprised that a major historical event had a magical perspective to it. He wondered what other events in the world did as well.

“Did they succeed?” Terry finally asked.

“Eventually no,” Yarrow said. “Alchemists kept coming back because its greatest strength, and weakness, is its written legacy. The alchemists had notes and formulas for others to learn from.” Before Priss could continue the lesson, Yarrow continued speaking, like any old person who had a story to tell and was lost in the memory. “Though alchemists from the Middle East are attributed to the creation of Meta-physic sourced magic, they were not the only ones that discovered the usefulness of reagents and formulas. For example, Asia’s own alchemists and medicine makers discovered some of the most potent magical remedies to be known long before the Crusades started. They just don’t like sharing their secrets. Always been isolationists.” Yarrow muttered this last bit.

A glance a Priss showed a nonplussed look on her face. She did not appreciate the tangent that strayed from her lesson. Turning and giving her his full attention once again, Terry smiled like he had done nothing to annoy her. Priss huffed in irritation and then continued.

“The last source isn’t really a source, but no one really knows much about it,” Priss said as she wrote VOID-SOURCED on the display board.

“Why isn’t it a source but on the list?” Terry asked for the sake of appearances since Yarrow was in the room. He felt like he knew the answer. Intimately so.

“Void-sourced magic has no comprehensible origin. It essentially comes from nothing,” Priss explained cautiously.

“Why not ask a void-sourced mage then?” Terry genuine asked with curiosity. If there were others, maybe they could help him learn what to do with his magic. Priss gulped nervously as she stared at Terry. Yarrow answered instead.

“Because void-sourced mages are rare, and those that exist quickly go mad.”

“Why is that?” Nervousness layering itself in Terry’s voice.

“They draw from nothing for their power,” Yarrow matter-of-factly explained. “Nothing is the stuff of nightmares. Void mages cannot handle the abyss that stares back at them when they use magic. All go mad eventually. Time is the only factor.” A nervous chuckle escaped Terry as he glanced at Winter; his grey eyes looking back at him.

“Surely there are some sane void mages,” Terry half said, half whined as nerves go the better of him once again.

“Only one I know of,” Yarrow answered, “and I’m not sure he is all there regardless.”

“Who is it?” Priss asked interestedly. She must be more concerned about this than she let on.

“They are only known as ‘The Merlin.’ Been around for near a millennium, I think. Goes around putting down other void mages before they go mad. Is honestly one of the main reasons the Veil hasn’t had a major breach in such a long time. The Merlin eradicates threats that others couldn’t comprehend before they happen. The martials of the world only have to deal with what they know.”

Silence hung in the room after Yarrow’s answer. Each occupant thinking about the information with their own context. Except for Winter, he yawned loudly, interrupting the quiet. Yarrow was the one who eventually spoke up with a question of her own. “So why are we informing Terry about the general ideas of magic?” A penetrating gaze bore into the duo. Suspicion clear in her eyes. Priss was quicker to reply. Probably for the best. Terry had no idea the politics going on here.

“Terry wishes to still be a part of my life after what happened. He needs to know the basics of the Hidden World, the Veil, and magic to keep up,” Priss smoothly stated. It was honest, but held glaring omissions. Yarrow studied Priss’ face, looking for the deceit, after a minute she relaxed into her rocking chair rather abruptly.

“I see,” Yarrow replied. “He is a very dedicated young man since that is the case. He got battered rather nastily, so be sure to keep him safe moving forward.” Yarrow stood up, her chair becoming part of the robe again and strode out of the room. Before closing the door she said, “I came to see how he was doing. By the looks of it he should be clear to go in a day or two. Priscilla, you should bring him around every so often in the future. I find myself curious about the beast bond he shares with the monster wolf.” The door closed after that.

A tense minute later Priss let out a relieved whoosh of air. “That was way too close,” she complained while flopping into a bedside chair.

“Yeah,” Terry hesitantly agreed. “Winter told me last night you were hiding what I am from others. But, that old lady strikes me as extremely intelligent. How did she not connect the glaring, bright dots about the situation?” Priss glanced at Winter, giving an appreciative look before answering.

“Magic,” Priss simply said. At Terry’s incredulous glare she smirked then continued. “After you passed out a mage showed up, half naked by the way, healed my wounds and then fixed your mana reservoir with Winter. I don’t remember his name for the life of me, but he was with a woman named Lily. He said, before leaving, that he eliminated the suspicion of you as a mage as an idea. I had no clue as to the magnitude of that kind of magic, but Yarrow is evidence that it worked. The terrifying thing is she knows she doesn’t know something, and is trying to figure it out. Most have just shrugged and moved on.”

“Priss the proceeded to recount the events which transpired in the Scarred Wood after Terry passed out. Terry listened attentively and did not interrupt the retelling until Priss was done.

“What card did he take?” Terry asked as Priss sipped on a water bottle pulled from a bag.

“Fate Sight,” she answered putting the bottle away.

“That sucks, I wanted to know what that did,” Terry groused.

“You’ll get it back eventually,” Priss soothed. “Plus, if that is the price for your life. I’ll take it.”

“Fair enough, I guess,” Terry muttered. “You still have that ring he talked about? The one Dr. R threw at me?”

“Yep,” Priss nodded, “but I’m holding onto it for now. We are in the Infirmary at Crescent Dawn and I’m afraid that ring may set off alarms if near you.”

“Why you think that?”

“It, like your cards, have some sort of connection to you. I get an inkling of it while holding them and I’m not even a mage. No need to trip sensitive sensors or mages by the off chance they bloom magic with you.”

“Mages can sense magic?

“Yea, and sensors called Magcators, don’t ask, I didn’t name them.”

“Ok, if that’s the case, how come Yarrow or these ma… magcators… didn’t sense my magic?” Priss’ eyebrows rose, silently judging Terry and his question. She turned the display board from her slate back on and gestured to the chart on magic sources. “Void magic comes from nothing. How can nothing be detected?”

“Ok, fair,” Terry ventured to say before cautiously continuing, “but then how are void-sourced mages found if they can’t be detected?”

Priss sighed before answering, “void magic creates a huge displacement of existing mana when cast. It can be found by the fact nothing is suddenly there. Though you’re magic seems to create, or call from nothing, not sure what the difference is. I can’t really ask anyone I know either, that gives up the fact we are hiding what you are.”

“Is there anything that can help me get a grasp on this then?” Terry mused and complained. “If I get good at this magic, then I can help you stay safe.” A narrow eye glare made him quickly follow with raised palms of surrender. “I know! I know. You can take care of yourself. You always have and I don’t doubt it. But you got to understand, I want to take care of you as much as you do me. This will help me do so without holding you back.”

Priss looked at Terry hard for a moment, two moments, then her features softened. “This is going to take some getting used to,” she confessed. Terry just nodded in silent agreement.

“Alright, get some rest,” Priss said standing up from the chair. “Dave and Anne are worried sick about you. Once you’re released, probably tomorrow, we are heading to Cardstock to visit them and give them some peace of mind. Father doesn’t allow Veiled Ones in here, otherwise they probably wouldn’t have left your room till you were discharged.” Terry agreed with all that, realizing how tired he was and feeling extremely grateful for having such good friends in Dave and Anne. He laid his head down to rest and before he could say a word to Priss, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next day brought Priss and Terry into the front of Cardstock a little after two in the afternoon. Yarrow had shown up in Terry’s recovery room at noon and spent an hour trying to figure out what she could not know. It was a pleasant experience, given her elderly charm and quick wit. Though she left wanting by the end of their conversation still. Terry, with the help of the Merlin’s magic, had given nothing away. Priss walked in as he was discharged and they walked through the winter streets of Fallsbend to Cardstock.

The shop was empty at the moment. This wasn’t terribly odd, it was a Sunday afternoon during the freezing winter. Anne, Dave’s girlfriend of forever, was behind the counter. When she saw Terry and Priss she squeaked and rushed to them. Anne wrapped Terry in a hug, which squeezed his ribs and flared his healing injuries.

“Ah, ah, ah. Please Anne, a little gentler,” Terry pleaded as he gingerly returned the hug. Anne released Terry and then moved over and hugged Priss just as fiercely. After letting go of Priss, Anne spoke.

“Dave and I have been so worried about you,” she said. “After you never made it to breakfast Dave went out to your apartment to see if you were alright. We were so surprised to get a call from Priss later in the day saying you were mugged on your way here and needed a hospital.

“We tried to visit while you were recovering, but the private medical center Priss’ family took you to wouldn’t let us in, the bastards.” Terry glanced at Priss as Anne spoke. She shrugged, as if saying this was exactly what she had told him already.

“Thank you for being so concerned for me Anne,” Terry said once he brought his attention back to her. “I was wondering if it would be alright to bring someone else inside? They are the one who drove off the muggers and kept me warm till help arrived.”

Anne lit up at the words, “of course! Let them in, let them! Why in the world did you have them wait outside in this weather?”

As Terry went back to open the door at the storefront Priss warned, “They aren’t a person. A stray dog saved Terry and wrapped around him to keep him warm.” Anne’s eyes widened is surprise. Priss just smiled and nodded. “The creature must have found Terry familiar because it hasn’t left his side since. It even stayed in the recovery room with him.” Priss smirked, both at her pun and knowing Anne’s expectations were going to be wildly off the mark.

Anne opened her mouth to respond and then proceeded to drop it the rest of the way to the floor as Terry and Winter came into view. She didn’t scream. That was a good start. Not that screaming wouldn’t have been an outlandish reaction. After all, Winter was a wild-looking wolfhound that out-weighed most teenagers. One lady actually screamed upon spotting Winter on the walk to Cardstock. Terry and Priss just chuckled. Priss had commented that might have been the first time she saw a dog larger than a cat in her life.

“The hell a wulf doin’ in my store?” Dave’s voice sounded from the back. He cautiously made his way forward, eying Winter and pulling Anne beside him defensively. Winter sat placidly next to Terry looking terribly bored.

“This is Winter,” Terry replied. “He saved me from the muggers and kept the cold away until help arrived. Once it did, he refused to leave me and here he remains.” Dave nodded along and relaxed a bit.

“Winte’ here won’t hurt no one, yes?” Dave asked.

“Winter has behaved better than most house pets since I’ve met him,” Priss answered before Terry could. “We’ve decided to adopt him as our dog since it would be a process to remove Winter from Terry it seems.” As to prove a point, Priss left her hand an open palm at hip height and Winter trotted over and got a head scratch.

Traitor, Terry mentally sent through the resonance. Thought you were my familiar not hers. Winter had closed his eyes and leaned into the head scratches, trying to get a nail behind an ear.

From my understanding she is the most important person in our lives. Keeping her happy with simples acts like this is the least I can do. Plus, she is the best at this, Winter replied with a growl of pleasure at the end.

“I see,” Dave said in response to Priss petting the traitor hound. He sighed then continued, “alright. It would go against my hospitality to turn away Terry’s savior. Especially one so well-behaved and loyal.” Terry huffed quietly at that. “Come on ya’ll,” Dave waved his hand towards the stairs leading to the upstairs loft, “we can get a late lunch upstairs. We’ll just close the store for an hour or so. No big loss there today.”

Lunch ended up being an affair of cold cut meats, cheese, and crackers. Anne had gotten over her shock of Winter and quickly took a liking to him. She snuck handfuls of meat to the pooch when no one, well, when Dave, wasn’t looking. Conversation topics were kept simple, not straying from hobbies and news about how the new Fate’s Hand expansion was selling. Once everyone was settled and food put away Dave and Anne gave each other a look, then nodded.

“Terry,” Dave began.

“Yeah?”

“There was something Anne an’ I wanted to discuss with ya the mornin’ ya got mugged.”

“Ok,” Terry replied with a bit of hesitance, “what was it?”

“Ya see, Anne’s grandparents are retiring to warmer places and are leaving Fallsbend.” Terry nodded along, not seeing where this related to himself. “Her grandparents offered to sell their house at a fraction of the value to us,” Dave continued. Pieces started clicking together for Terry. “We took the deal and will be moving out of this loft soon.”

“If you need help moving, I’ll be more than happy to help. No need to bribe me with lunch,” Terry added, thinking this the logical conclusion. Dave chuckled, but Anne spoke to continue instead.

“We want this space to not become storage; to still be vibrant and lived in,” Anne swept a hand, gesturing to the loft as a whole. “We know living with your brother has fallen through and we couldn’t think of anyone better suited to live above the shop. What do ya say?” Terry looked askance between Dave and Anne, unbelieving what he was hearing. Before Terry could respond, Priss spoke up.

“Yes, he would love to move into the loft.” Terry looked at Priss with a bit of heat. She met his gaze evenly. “What?” You would have asked questions that would drag out their kind offer into the plainest, most obvious language possible when you already know exactly what they meant; then refused their kind offer because of some sense of self-reliance you don’t need; next, they and I batter you down until you begrudgingly accept with conditions; we talk terms until yours are ignored; and, finally, reach the point of acceptance. I just skipped all that.”

“And you speak for me now?” Terry hissed icily. Priss’ gaze stayed firm in front of his anger.

“I’m speaking for us in this instance,” Priss said, gentleness entering her voice and features. “After all, I’m not living in the disaster of an apartment you had with Sean when the loft is on the table.”

Terry opened his mouth to defend his disaster of an apartment when it shaped into an ‘O’ as what Priss said finally clicked with the rest.

“Oh.”