Chapter 4

I forced myself to lean back hard against the wall, rough wood digging into my back. My heart still raced from the thrill of using magic, and the whiskey I drank down so fast it buzzed in my veins.

I scanned the little bar, noticing the crowd began to shift as murmurs spread around the room like a wind. As intended, my stunt had caught their attention.

A group of hard-eyed men sitting nearby exchanged glances. One of their group, a stocky man wearing a mangy beard, slid his chair back and got to his feet. He walked over to me, looking around the room as a smirk danced across his lips.

“Thought we’d seen it all, but you might just earn the crown, old man,” he said, his voice booming above the murmurs. “You got guts showing off like that. But you must know, mages ain’t welcome here.”

I met his gaze, a burning anger hot in my belly.

“I’m here to change that,” I replied, my voice steady as it could be. “And I’m looking to make allies, not enemies.”

The man’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of interest. “Allies, you say? What makes you think any of us want to associate with a mage?”

“I’m not here to fight,” I said, leaning toward him. “Surely, there are some in this city who remember what true magic once meant. And I aim to remind them.”

Another man from the group spoke up, his voice dripping with skepticism. Everyone was listening close now.

“How do we know you’re not just another washed-up mage looking for a quick drink before vanishing into the desert?” he shouted. “We’ve seen your kind before.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I chuckled, though the pain in my side twisted sharply at the movement. I matched eyes with many in the room. “Not until I‘ve reminded every last one of you.”

The bearded man leaned closer, intrigued. “What’s your plan, then?”

“I’ve seen what happens when mages stand aside,” I said, my voice stumbling slightly. “And I’ve lost far too many friends. If you want to live in a world where magic isn’t a curse, where The Motorized don’t rule everything we do, people need to band together.”

A tense silence hung in the air, and I felt the weight of their skepticism. But there was something else too — a hint of curiosity, perhaps held back by fear. But it was there. I leaned back, allowing the moment to linger, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Alright then,” the bearded man said after a moment’s pause. “You have my attention. We need you to prove your power, show us something. No parlor tricks.”

I raised an eyebrow and nodded, silently accepting the challenge he’d thrown down in front of the entire room. I reached for another piece of granite from my store of matter, feeling the cool rock in my hands.

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I held it up in front of me, taking a moment to draw every eye to me, feeling the essence of the rock’s simple matter thrumming. I focused carefully on the stone, then with a movement of my other arm I drained it of its matter and it disappeared from view. There was no sound in the room.

I flashed both my hands as quick as a blink, and wove the matter into a new form, quickly transforming it into a shimmering and floating orb of light.

After the transformation, the orb floated up gently above the table, resting near the ceiling and illuminating the dim tavern with a warm glow. Gasps rippled through the crowd, and I felt the tension ease and shift into a kind of awe.

More importantly, the orb would stay there, floating bright in this tavern for weeks, perhaps months, until another mage cast a dissipation spell. As a result, the memory of my vist would live on—making people talk, as people did.

“Now,” I said, my voice commanding yet calm. “Which of you is ready to fight for a world without fear of the old magic? Watch because very soon you’ll see my signs.”

It was time for me to move on before that runner came back with an army of Motorized thugs. I stood up, wincing at the pain in my side, grabbed my staff and slung my pack over my shoulders again. Then I shuffled out the thin burlap door.

No one moved to stop me.

I visited three other dingy taverns in the outer city, where I received a similar reaction to my demonstrations. In every town and village before this, I’d always found those who remembered The Way quickly — though they were always few in number and often keeping their allegiance hidden.

I had very limited time now, and I started to worry that I wouldn’t find someone willing to risk themselves to help me.

On the street outside the fourth tavern, I stepped into an alley out of sight so I could inspect the blanket tied around my midsection. The blood had nearly soaked through. The pain had lessened considerably thanks to the many drinks I’d had now, but I desperately needed treatment. I looked up and searched the streets in front of me. There must be a healer here somewhere.

A flash of light caught my eyes.

I flicked my head around, seeing nothing irregular. A man on a steam-powered motorcycle buzzed nearby, another man helped an older woman walk by, and she used a walking stick to hold herself up.

Then I saw him.

Crouched in a narrow alley across the way, a boy stared directly at me. His hands flashed a small piece of mirrored metal, catching my eyes. At first, I thought he was just trying to annoy me. But then, very carefully, he waved me over.

I looked around and nobody else seemed to be paying attention, so I shuffled across the street. This could certainly be a trap, but at this point, I was desperate.

As I neared the narrow alley, the boy backed deeper into the shadows. I followed him, tucking myself into the shade beneath the wooden eaves of the building covering the alley. He stared up at me from where he crouched, and I stared back. He had a mousy mop of brown hair, and shifting eyes. His head flicked around, and he seemed to be looking out for watchers, making sure we weren’t seen.

“Do you have — ” I began to whisper. But the boy leaped up and covered my mouth with his hand.

Quiet.

I nodded, and he removed his hand from my mouth. He looked back out on the street, and I caught a distinct look of fear in his eyes. This boy was afraid for his life.

He wore old, torn clothes, scraps barely hanging on his body, and his hair was matted and uneven. He hadn’t bathed in months and his body was scrawny—he must have been ravenous.

I took a piece of hardened bread from my pack and handed it to him. His eyes flicked to mine, wide as a dog’s and filled with wonder. He took the bread and stuffed it in a hidden pocket, then waved for me to follow him as he took off down the alley.