The [Guard] makes a grumpy face when Jabal joins us for the trip to the heart of the Menders campus, but he doesn’t object to the [Automation Foreman]’s presence other than a few ugly words grumbled under his breath. He leads us down an austere stone hallway, which terminates in an arched doorway that’s heavily enchanted and reinforced with bands of manasteel. He lifts up his right hand, fiddling with a control bangle, and opens the door with a whir of gears and a subtle glow of mana.
The door shimmers as it opens, like a portal leading to a vista of stunning color. Stepping into the courtyard beyond feels like entering a new world. The lush fuschia and vermillion flower beds and decorative shapes of leaping gazelles and soaring falcons etched onto the massive gates stand in sharp contrast to the plain stone of the interior halls in the campus.
Instantly, I recognize my surroundings from the scrying image that Ozana “accidentally” let me see. I’m definitely heading toward the [Headmistress]’s chambers.
Exactly as I hoped.
As much as I’d like to sightsee and take in the beauty of the floral arrangements, we don’t dawdle. A quick march across the paved walkways that wind through the gardens brings us to another locked door covered in inscriptions. This time, a second [Guard] is required for entry; she confers with our escort for a moment, gesturing and whispering in low, terse tones, before confirming his identity and granting us access. She thumbs in a command on her own control bracelet, and the two work in conjunction to open the way.
Once inside, we’re rushed through a tangle of passages that make me slightly dizzy. It reminds me of the strange, recursive space in a Labyrinth, which makes me narrow my eyes in suspicion. The sensation is like nothing else I’ve encountered. It’s too memorable for me to mistake it for something else, though I haven’t encountered it outside of a Rift before.
I suppose it makes sense. Gilead rose to power on the back of the Greater Rifts below the ground. It’s a time-honored tradition among the great cities of Densmore. Replicating the effects of a Labyrinth this well is new to me, though. I shouldn’t underestimate the leader of the Menders, or at least not her organization.
When we emerge from the other end of our disorienting journey, we find ourselves in a large, rectangular room with a raised dais at the far end.
“Looks more like a throne room than a storeroom,” Jabal whispers to me. His eyes are wide, and he’s craning his head to look around like a peasant on his first visit to the capital city.
I nod once in agreement. I’m about to tell him to stop looking so painfully out of place, but the [Guards] are gawking just as much as he is, so I refrain from bothering him. I try to look just as impressed as everyone else, all while keeping my head down and my Domain clamped down to prevent mana leakage that would give away my distinctive signature.
A presence sweeps over us a moment later, so vast and fathomless that I instinctively want to kneel. I go to shrug off the influence with a flex of my Domain, but catch myself at the last second. They would notice me instantly if I did that. I gulp, realizing my near-mistake, and go down to one knee.
On either side of me, the [Guards] and the [Automation Foreman], Jabal, are kneeling with their heads inclined toward the newcomer striding across the stage at the back of the room. I breathe a sigh of relief from my spot on the ground. If I didn’t join them, then I’d certainly stand out in a bad way.
While the others are no doubt staring at the [Headmistress] of the Menders, my eyes are locked onto the glass artifact she carries in her hands: the Azure Rod. Thanks to the dense network of infinitesimal inscriptions that cover the entire surface of the rod, the relic empowers all healing magic channeled through it.
Never before have I been so greedy to peer deeply into the secrets of past Masters of the craft. I desperately wish that Melina and Rakesh were with me, both to slow down time and to accurately record the information we’re seeing. Without them, I have only a few moments to try to memorize the dizzying array of runes—many of which I’ve never seen before. Legend has it that it’s capable of elevating even an average [Healer]’s Skills into the realm of miracles.
Whether that’s true or not, hushed reverence seems appropriate. I hold no love for the Menders, but I’m overwhelmed and grateful for the opportunity to meet the saintly leader of the order. She’s serene and beautiful, elegant and graceful—
I bite the inside of my lip, fending off the charm that makes me view her so favorably. I can’t fully break the mental compulsion without revealing my Domain, but now that I realize she is influencing my emotions, I can be on guard. My natural skepticism and trust issues will take care of the rest.
Vague words buzz around me. Pleasant sounds. The clink of coins. Chuckles and soft expressions of wonder from the [Guards]. All of it passes over me like waves crashing against the shore, but I pay it little mind. I don’t have any time to waste. Committing the intricate runes to memory is paramount.
Moments later, Jabal completes his introductions. He takes me by the arm, guiding me away from the throne far sooner than I’d like, though not before I drop a tiny, folded paper bird by the doorway to assist with surveilling the throne room. I’m not done peeling back the layers of mystery surrounding the Mender order. Something strange is going on.
Mentally, I send my thanks to Rakesh for loaning me more of his communication papers. I hope my hastily-scribbled message on his paper bird makes it to the [Headmistress].
While we walk, my mind fixates on the glass masterwork I just saw. To think that another practitioner of the craft attained such lofty heights! When I was younger, I envied other Masters. Now, I find their work profoundly inspiring. It’s proof that one day I, too, can ascend the peaks of glass making and proudly stand beside the greats as a peer.
My fingers twitch at the thought. I’m anxious to get back to the hot shop and work on my own projects. My task here isn’t done, however. I can’t blow my cover. Not yet.
Setting aside my visions of grandeur, I follow Jabal to the next set of sensors to repair. It comes as no surprise that we’re not lingering in what I’ve dubbed the throne room, as I imagine the [Headmistress] fancies it. Her receiving chambers are impressive, but they also represent the seat of her power. I’m not ready to challenge her here, despite her bodyguards’ continued absence. I can’t believe they’re still chasing my golems.
Unease slithers in my gut. What if they found one of them and connected it to me? It’s not particularly hard to forge a link between the angry [Mage] yelling at the gates and the glassmaker taking the Orpheus by storm. Let’s be honest. My disguise is tenuous at best.
My attention snaps back to the present, but not fully. My thoughts still linger in the room we just left, even though the next overloaded sensor is right in front of me and the [Guards] are looking at me expectantly. I get to work repairing it, flying through the procedure. I barely need to spare it any thought now, going through the motions almost automatically while I focus on my connection with the incredibly tiny paired paper bird that’s affixed to my ear and made to look like a daith piercing.
Anyone examining it closely will see that it’s not truly an earring, but I doubt that the bird will draw much attention. The sound coming from it is barely audible to me despite the proximity to my ear, so I’d be shocked if the [Guards] can hear it.
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Just then, the two powerful bodyguards return. They dash through the hallways, blazing to my inner eye even though I’m keeping my Domain strictly in check. Their mana signatures are simply too potent to conceal—not that they’re opting for a stealthy approach.
I focus, picking out the words of their angry report to the [Headmistress]. Vanity drives me, perhaps, but I want to know what they’re saying about me.
“Threat assessment, Fazzalaro?”
“Nothing more than a hot-head,” the bodyguard named Fazzalaro growls. His voice is harsher, lower-pitched than the other bodyguard, who speaks over him at the same time.
“Coward. Not likely a danger. Worried for his friend. Commendable.” The timber of the second voice is resonant and melodious. Each brief word is delivered with precise and pleasant articulation, a quality that I’ve always associated with highly-trained nobles, but he doesn’t seem able to use full sentences. I wonder how he ended up guarding someone for a living.
“You admire him, Talagrand?” the [Headmistress] asks. Her voice comes out with a hitch, as though exerting herself to speak two sentences in a row is a heavy burden.
“No. Unstable. Trampling the rules. Unwelcome,” Talagrand answers.
A soft, wistful sigh brushes across my ear, making me shiver. There’s so much pent-up regret in the simple sound. “Intriguing case. Perhaps I should intervene?”
My breath catches in my throat. Hope wells up in me like a fountain of water bursting forth from the deep—only to fall apart a moment later.
“My lady, I must protest!” Fazzalaro says. The outrage fairly crackles in his voice like a jagged bolt of lightning. “Your flesh and blood is far too precious to spend on a young man who associates with such an upstart cad. Look at you! You’re on the verge of collapse.”
By now the [Headmistress] is nearly out of breath. Her words come out in a squeak. “I’m quite certain you’re glad that I didn’t judge you for your company when you were young.”
“Be that as it may, we can’t reward such posturing! Did you know that he broke into the building and threatened the staff? No bargaining. No negotiation with terrorists.”
“I see. Thank you for the additional context.” The [Headmistress] breaks off in a fit of wet coughs. “Perhaps you’re right. I’ve still yet to recover from my last enhanced healing.”
“You can’t keep exerting yourself like this! Sit, sit,” Fazzalaro says. His frustration bleeds through each word, although he seems genuinely concerned for her. “Ungrateful wretches have no idea what you sacrifice on their behalf. They don’t deserve you.”
“Enough,” the [Headmistress] reprimands, still coughing.
“My lady. Rest. Please. Agree with my brother in arms,” Talagrand interjects. “Cancel auction. Too soon. Recuperate longer.”
“And how will I pay our healers without that income? What should I tell their families if they go hungry? I won’t sit here in luxury and comfort while they starve,” the [Headmistress] responds, anger lending her a burst of strength.
Fazzalaro huffs. “What good are a few extra miracles this month if you die young? It’s getting worse each time. You can’t deny that.”
An uncomfortable silence stretches on. I don’t realize that I’ve been holding my breath until the [Guard] elbows me and asks if I’m done yet. When I nod absently, he guides me to the next scrying sensor. I go through the motions to fix it, but I’m far more invested in the fascinating conversation back in the throne room.
“Your concern is admirable, but misplaced. The other Menders will restore me, and I will resume my duties. People need help.”
“Need the money,” Talagrand adds.
“Confound the money!” Fazzalaro huffs. “She’s half-dead, we’re in the middle of a nasty power struggle, and all the Gilead elite care about is whether or not we’ll put up another healing slot for auction.”
“They need me,” the [Headmistress] says gently.
“They think of you as their own walking miracle. Such entitlement.” Fazzalaro spits out the words with cold fury.
“Don’t know. Truth too difficult,” Talagrand says. “Patience. Stick to plan.”
“Ha! Truth,” Fazzalaro echoes bitterly. “You think that would make a difference? We both know it wouldn’t. That’s the worst part of it, to me. They could see our beloved Lady bleeding on the floor, trading blood for blood, and not blink an eye. They’d just demand more and more—like leeches. Give, give!”
“I won’t hear it,” the [Headmistress] breathes out. Her tired voice is hauntingly fragile, like spun spider silk in a storm, but there’s a note of iron underneath the pain. “Don’t demean the people we’re here to save. Now, please help me to my chambers. I’m feeling faint.”
Conversation complete, they withdraw from the public room. I wait until I can no longer hear the echo of their footsteps. Now that the coast is clear, I need to get rid of the note that I left behind. Winning over the [Headmistress] was a fool’s errand.
Disappointment, guilt, and anger well up within me. It would be easier to simply hate the Menders for their underhanded tactics, but the [Headmistress] is clearly suffering. She’s both a perpetrator of their schemes and a victim herself—and I don’t know how I feel about that.
My resolve firms. Regardless of her personal struggles, she can’t be trusted. I compress my Domain and extend it in a thin line, almost like drawing molten glass into cane, and quest into the throne room in search of the paper bird. The slim thread of my consciousness finds my target, and I send a pulse of [Greater Heat Manipulation] through the connection. I burn the note that I left for the [Headmistress]. She isn’t the ally I seek. We have to be our own backup.
An hour later, we finish up our repairs. The [Guards] swear us to secrecy, presenting us with a [Binding Contract] that prevents us from revealing that the [Headmistress] is back in town. I scrawl down the name Zebulun with a smirk; a fake name, but it’s enough a part of my identity that it satisfies the enchantments and doesn’t raise any suspicion. No doubt the [Guards] would faint on the spot if they knew how easy it is to circumvent their flimsy safeguards.
I reconnect with my brother and depart, praying that no one noticed our presence. While I’m confident of surviving a fight and escaping on my own, I can’t risk it. The collateral damage to the legitimate patients in the building is reason enough, but I’m far more concerned about the repercussions to Lionel, since he’s still nominally in the Menders’ care. I trust Uttara, but I don’t harbor any delusions that he’s strong enough to fend off direct orders from the top. Fazzalaro and Talagrand are far too powerful to resist.
Our trudge back to Jabal’s workshop goes by in a total blur as I plumb the depths of my mind for a solution to our predicament. I can’t rely on the Menders, but I also need their Skills to restore Lionel. If only there were a way to borrow them. Asking Mender Shiphrah for help seems like a bad idea. If she finds out about my enmity with her niece, I know she’ll pick family first. If I can’t borrow Skills directly, then maybe I can enhance Uttara’s abilities.
Against the backdrop of my fears and schemes, the complex runes from the Azure Rod burn themselves into my memory like fire, scorching and urgent. My brother and I bid farewell to Jabal’s work team and return to our hidden [Sanctuary].
All the while, I’m lost in thought. Twice Mikko pulls me out of the way of an oncoming cart, but I barely react other than to mumble my thanks. I’m too busy putting together all the jumbled pieces of a puzzle. I’ll need Rakesh to help me with the finishing touches, but a new theory is consuming me: if I can learn what each of the runes mean, and how to activate them, then I can make my own healing artifact. Even if there’s no way to recruit the [Headmistress] to our cause, all is not lost.
Even if she won’t heal Lionel—or me, I think wistfully—I might be able to make my own version of the rod. I’ll convince Mender Uttara to allow me access to his inner world, so that I can enhance his Skills. I’m not sure if I can make anything that’s as advanced as the Azure Rod, but I have to try. A healing artifact, combined with the Skill enhancements, ought to be enough to heal Lionel.
The pained discussion I just heard etches itself onto the slate of my mind. The incredible miracle of restoration isn’t free. If my suspicion is correct, then the [Headmistress] is sharing her own vitality with her patients as part of the healing rite. Convincing Mender Uttara to take on that burden might be difficult, but perhaps I can share the burden and help spread out the load.
After all, I’ll do anything for Lionel. Anything. He deserves more than I can ever repay after what he’s done for me. I’m still in his debt, but this is a step in the right direction.
And maybe, just maybe, if he feels like he needs to pay me back, then he can restore my hand once he’s awake and healthy. I grind my teeth at that thought, struggling with the guilt of my overwhelming selfishness. I don’t want a glass hand, even if I can direct it with my [Glass Animation]. I want a real hand. Skin and bone and muscle. I won’t give up until I find a way to make it happen. I want to be healed. I want to be whole again.
No pressure, Lio.