“Dorian, my son,” said the queen. Emotion choked her voice.

“Mother,” the betrayer declared. “This is not the welcome I expected. Where are my siblings? Where is Aria? Where is Zev? Why have you alone come to witness my glorious moment of triumph?"

“Dorian, I order you to stand down at once. Lay aside your madness.” The Queen spoke tenderly, but her words bore iron resolve. “I will not fight my son.”

Dorian mounted the steps of the dais, climbing toward the Throne. “Mother,” he said. “You will abdicate the crown. We have cowered in fear for too long. The false threat of the Tephalian Invaders has prevented us from flourshing. No longer will we cower behind our shields and defenses.

His voice dripped with condescension as he spoke. “I have silenced all the mocking voices,” he said. “Those who criticize our weakness, who laugh and scorn our our wealth. We have been enslaved to the weakest among us for far too long. Now we are free. Today, we triumph.”

----------------------------------------

This workshop was clearly not a hospital, and the tools Gorman worked with looked more suited for a garage. He punctured a hole in a sheet of plastic and threaded transparent tube through it, then taped the plastic around the tube. He wrapped the plastic sheet around Kasm, covering the wound.

He secured the other end of the tube onto a shining metal cylinder with a lever on one end; a lever-action hand pump.

“Here,” he said, handing Elion the hand pump. “Pump this.” Then, placing an empty drum on the ground beside Elion, said, “Into that. Don’t spill.” Elion began working the lever, which actioned a piston through the cylinder. Air pumped through the tube, suctioning the plastic down over Kasm’s injury.

Gorman wrapped ratchet straps around Kasm’s torso, securing the plastic. He cinched the straps tighter and tighter, squeezing the boy. As Elion pumped, the tube filled with thick black fluid.

When it reached the hand pump, it began gushing out of a nozzle, dripping into the drum Gorman had provided. As Elion pumped, Gorman tightened the straps, forcing more black ooze down the pipe and into the drum.

Elion’s forearms burned, but he continued working. Frustrated by the way Keyla spoke to him—judged him without knowing him—and irritated by his confusion about everything around him, he focused in on the ache of his arms. This, he could do. If pumping black ichor out of Kasm would help, Elion would continue pumping until his arms fell off.

Inky goo dribbled into the drum as Elion worked the hand pump. Exhaustion loomed in the back of his mind, beaten back by the adrenaline surging in his veins.

Kasm groaned, the first sound he’d made since the pemalion attack.

“It’s wearing off,” Gorman said, his voice low. “The infection is still too strong. Can you use your skill again?”

Elion tried to remember what he had done in the first place. “Maybe,” he said.

“I can help. How familiar are you with Praxis?”

“Who?”

“So not at all. That doesn’t matter.” Gorman looked, checking to see what Keyla was doing.

Keyla had wandered back over to the table, and stood just behind Gorman, arms folded as she watched them work. Out of the corner of his eye, Elion saw her staring at him.

“Keyla,” Gorman said, a note of warning in his voice. “You’re hovering. Go check on the other patients. Make sure they’re still out.”

Keyla bit her lip, her eyes flashing slightly. Annoyance blossomed on her face, but she reined it in, respecting Gorman’s authority.

“Keyla can be a bit feisty, but she’s smart, and a good apprentice,” Gorman said when she was out of earshot. “She’ll make a great artificer one day. I’m training her.”

Gorman met Elion’s eyes like he expected something. Elion didn’t know what the man was suggesting.

“It’s hard to learn to navigate your abilities, without someone to help you,” he prompted. “Praxis can be confusing.”

“You’re offering to teach me?” Elion asked.

“I don’t mean to be rude, if you already have a mentor, but—”

“Please,” Elion said. “I have no idea what to do.”

“I’m not a Knight,” Gorman said. “Artificers have a different Ascendancy, but the basics—”

“If you can help me at all I would be grateful,” Elion said.

Gorman glanced over at Keyla, where she crouched over one of the patients from the pemalion attack.

“You must be from far away,” he said to Elion, his voice low. “You clearly don’t get it. You have to ask me to mentor you.”

Elion stopped pumping and nearly asked why, but caught himself. If Gorman was willing to teach him about things on Kylios, Elion was willing to play along with his customs.

“I would like that,” Elion said. “Would it… be permanent? Could others teach me?”

Gorman chuckled. “Of course you could learn from others. Why would you think otherwise?”

Elion shrugged. “Will you mentor me?”

“You are an Aurelian Knight,” Gorman said. “Many things I will not be able to help you with. But seeing no other who might take my place, I am willing.”

“Thank you,” Elion said.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

“Now keep pumping. And don’t say anything to Keyla. I’ll have to figure out how to explain things to her…”

Elion returned to pumping black goo out of Kasm’s side.

“We’re going to need you to cast your spell again,” Gorman said. “Or knack, boon, whatever Aurelians call it. As an Artificer, I tend to call abilities talents or skills. ‘Spell’ is more of a warlock thing.” He shrugged. “I guess you don’t know either.”

“I don’t,” Elion agreed. “I don’t know anything.”

“You obviously have Aurelian parentage. They didn’t teach you anything ?”

“Nothing,” Elion said. “They died when I was young.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. You seem a little young for your parents to have died in The Breaking of The Sky. What happened to them?”

“An accident.” The words left Elion’s mouth even as he considered everything he had learned over the last several days. Years of believing his parents died in an accident, only to discover that his uncle, Dorian, had killed them.

“Then we’ll start at lesson zero. I won’t assume you know anything. First, close your eyes.”

Elion closed his eyes. “Should I keep pumping?” he asked.

“No, you can leave that alone for a minute. It won’t matter if you can’t use your talent again.”

“Now what?” Elion asked. He could see nothing against the blackness, except for the << Translation Active >> notification.

“How have you interacted with Praxis before?” Gorman asked. “How have you selected options? Used your talents?”

“Um… I saw text.”

“How did you interact with it?”

“I usually said things aloud.”

“Then say, ’Praxis,’” Gorman instructed.

“Praxis,” Elion repeated, and text appeared in his vision.

<< Welcome to Kylios, Elion Starholder of Earth, Knight of Dawn >>

“Now what?” he asked.

“What do you see?”

“My name.”

“Good. Praxis is like a control panel. You can learn to interact with it without speaking, which I highly recommend. For now, ask for your abilities.”

“What are my abilities?” Elion asked.

<< Manifest Armaments >>

‎ << Summon divine armaments to your aid in battle >>

<< Save a Friend >>

‎ << Protection, Preservation. Stabilizes and slows, stopping infections from spreading, wounds from bleeding, and other malicious effects from spreading >>

“Okay,” Elion said, even as he wondered about the ‘Manifest Armaments’ ability. “It’s called Save a Friend. It says that it helps stop malicious effects from spreading.”

“That’s exactly what we need. Can you cast it?”

“Do I just say it?”

“It’s been working so far.”

“Save a Friend,” Elion said. Nothing happened.

Gorman sighed. “One of the first things we teach apprentice Artificers is how to order Praxis so that it works more concretely and logically. At its core, Praxis depends a lot on your intentions, and it takes some training before things work the same way every time.”

Elion listened, keeping his eyes closed as Gorman spoke.

“Try putting your hands on Kasm, and focusing on your desired outcome. Clearly visualize in your mind what you expect the talent to do.”

Elion placed his hands on Kasm, lightly resting his fingers on the boy’s chest. Kasm felt cold beneath his touch. He imagined light flowing into and around Kasm, like it had before, protecting the boy.

“Save a Friend,” he said. “Save him, save Kasm.”

This time it worked. He felt the cold rush of energy flowing out of his body, strands of light twisting from his hands and weaving into a shield around Kasm, settling into the boy’s skin.

Black infectious ooze spurted down the hose, into Elion’s bucket.

A wave of nausea washed over Elion. The floor of the garage tipped, jumping up and hitting him in the side of the head. He curled into the fetal position, trying not to throw up.

“Keyla!” Gorman exclaimed. “Keyla get over here and help!”

Keyla shuffled grudgingly over, and knelt beside Elion. She seemed suspicious at first, her bright eyes intense and searching. Elion groaned, clutching his stomach, and her face filled with concern. She helped him roll toward her so that Gorman could look at where he hit his head.

Holding up a finger, Keyla tried to get Elion to follow it with his eyes. She moved brusquely, clinically checking him for signs of concussion.

Elion stared past her finger and smiled at her. Then he vomited, a geyser of stomach acid and chunks of partially digested food spewing from his mouth, splashing off her overalls.

“Ewww,” Keyla screamed, disgust twisting her face as she sprang away.

“We’ve asked a lot of him today,” Gorman said. “It’s probably skill exhaustion. Help me get him upstairs to rest.”

“But I’m covered in barf,” Keyla protested.

“So is he. You can clean up after we get him situated.”

“I never expected so many bodily fluids when I apprenticed to your garage,” she grumbled. “Besides, what are we doing helping out an Aurelian anyway? He’s—”

“Enough. He saved Kasm, and that’s what matters. Help me get him upstairs and let him rest.”

“I’m sorry,” Elion groaned, though he felt so weak that talking was a struggle. He allowed them to lift him from his pile of puke, Gorman on one side, Keyla on the other. He listened to them talking about him in a daze, not quite processing their words. His legs wobbled as they walked, knees buckling beneath him.

The moment they reached a bed, Elion’s eyes closed, and he drifted off to sleep.