“What will you think of me,” Ryan sighed, “when you grow up and the truth is out, or I’m not around?”
Their house was dim as the sun began its descent behind a shutter of clouds. Some rooms caught the light. He could have moved or turned on a lamp, but Ryan didn’t want or need light right now, and he figured the shade might help Hannah sleep.
He’d watched her sleep in a crowded restaurant so he wasn’t worried about talking to her in her crib.
He didn’t have any memories from before he was … what? Three? She was close to eight months old. He wasn’t too worried about the things he said.
“I used to hate you, you know? Or rather, the idea of you. I thought you’d steal mom and dad away from me. Stupid, I know. You’re awesome … I just hope you don’t grow up to hate me in turn.”
He sat on the chair next to the crib, elbows on his knees, leaning forward as if he were too exhausted to sit right though he was on vacation.
“Our mom and dad, they’re pretty awesome, you know? I was a mistake, not like you, they were as old as I am now, they didn’t want me, but they got together to raise me. Against all odds, they made it here with you. They’re together. I’m old enough to see how much of a miracle that is. Somehow, they love each other, but at times … it seems brittle.
“Mom and dad, they’re like … heaters. Those modern metal ones. In the winter—the world is always winter, Hannah—when they’re warm, all you want to do is huddle up near them and feel safe. When they’re cold …
“I used to wish they would yell at me like other parents do. It’s like, I make a mistake, I see them taking a step back. I don’t get it. Is our family that brittle, that they worry if they raise their voice once, it will all fall apart? Is all we’re held together by blood and loneliness?
“That can’t be true, right? But they cut ties with their families because of me. Maybe if I were a better son, I could bridge that gap. I can’t. I can’t talk to them about some things. If I tried, maybe that would be the thing to make it all fall apart.”
He smiled. “You won’t have that problem. At least, I hope you won’t. If there is a or are any Gods in this world, I’d pray, Gods, I hope so. Shepherd, if you’re listening, or ‘Tower essence’, if you’re watching, watch out for my sister, please?”
He had a thought and changed his tone like he was actually speaking to the Shepherd, “And while we’re talking, you better be watching out over Jason right now. He looks up to you too much for you to let him down.”
He waited, awkwardly glaring at the empty air as if he expected a God to answer him itself, and sighed.
“I hope they never yell at you. I would never want that, but if you see them step back … just chase them, okay? Talk to them. I can tell them most things. You can tell them anything, Hannah. Whatever you’re worried about. They’ll love you.”
She slept, one arm next to her head like she’d stretched and failed to get out of bed in the morning.
He wasn’t sure if it was good to let her sleep like that but she looked comfortable.
He hesitated to think of this as babysitting because he was her older brother and supposed to watch over her but …
He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t get any real exercise here and couldn’t use the spellbook, because both required too much of his attention. And if he didn’t use her as an excuse to sit here, what else would he do? Nothing. He would sit alone in the dark.
He felt … empty.
Bored, really. Lazy.
He pushed himself up and paced around the house, looking for quick chores to do and turning some lamps on.
When he heard shoes on the doorstep, he sighed in relief.
The jingling of the keys stopped. His mom must have remembered he was home. The front door opened and she called out, “Ryan, Hannah, I’m—! Oops. It’s so quiet.”
In a stage whisper, she went on, “Ryan. I’m home!”
She looked tipsy and smelled like beer. He expected his dad to fall through the door after her, as he would during a festival, but he couldn’t hear him outside.
“Hi,” he said. “Where’s dad?”
“There you are. David is saying goodnight.” She gestured down the street. “The others are missing Hannah. Where is she?”
“She asleep upst—”
Hannah cried, and they stared.
“Asleep?”
“You woke her.”
She winced like a guilty child. “Oops.” After a moment, she headed up and called, “No, Hannah. There’s no need to cry. I’m here.”
Ryan followed.
“There’s my little wildflower.” Hannah still cried as their mom checked on her, but she soothed her, surreptitiously checked her diaper, and lifted her up. “I’m here.”
“You wanted to … bring her over to say goodnight to the others?” He frowned. His mom and dad had made some friends on the street, unlike in Westhill. He wasn’t sure how this went.
“They’re not used to seeing both of us without her, and I figured you’d be restless. I didn’t expect the house to be so quiet. You used to run up the walls, Rye.”
“I wanted to be responsible,” he lied.
His sister’s piercing wails became small sobs as Hannah huddled close to their mom, and Ryan let himself relax.
“You know, some of the neighbor’s kids are headed out for the night,” she said. “You remember Liam and Derrek, right? Apparently, they’re headed for the club.”
“It’s a little past eight.” That seemed too early to go to a club.
“Well, they’ll probably meet up with friends first. Maybe pregame? I don’t know. It used to be the younger crowds would get there early and get kicked out early. If you wanted to be irresponsible for once, you could go meet up with them and their friends …?”
Ryan hesitated, and his mom watched him. He didn’t know if this was her subtle way of telling him she and his dad wanted the house to themselves, or if they really did want him to go out and get drunk, for whatever reason, but the alternative was staying here with his thoughts, nothing to do, and his tipsy parents.
He was bored. Lisa and Micah were probably dancing in a ballroom right now …
“Sure.”
Her eyes went wide. “Really?”
“Yeah—”
“Really, really?”
“I mean, I’d have to get ready.” He gestured back at his room.
“Well, I was going to go take Hannah down the street to show her off, so if you want me to tell them to wait up—”
“N-no,” he stopped her.
“Too embarrassing? Right, can’t have your mom arranging a playdate when you’re sixteen.”
“No.” He groaned. “Not that. Just … no promises I’ll meet up with them, but I can try? The Plum Tree, right? I know the way.”
“Ahh. Well, great! I’ll put some money on the counter, and uh— You can get home by whenever. Before morning? So long as you make sure to make it home, just stay safe, and stay safe,” she stressed, “and you have fun, alright?”
“Okay.”
“Drop by before you leave! The others will want to say hi.”
“I will.”
“See you in a bit.” She cooed to Hannah as she left.
Ryan waited until the door shut. He stared at his duffels, opened his closet, thinking over options. What did he want to do?
He went through his clothes: mostly sleeveless shirts, ones that were nicer and ones that were more ‘undershirt’, for exercise.
One or two were slightly see-through, either because they were thin or worn out from years of use, and he didn’t know if that was a plus or not. Would they look weird?
He had one ‘nice’ shirt, though he wasn’t sure he was headed for the type of place to wear a nice shirt in. Would it send the right message?
What message did he want to send?
He found one that was missing most of its sides so his waist, armpit, and the sides of his chest would be visible. He hadn’t worked out much this last week but …
He tried it on. It might have looked nice if the shirt wasn’t so cheap.
Ryan had never been one to pay much attention to his own clothes. He bought cheap shirts that all looked the same and let him breathe.
… Some days, when he felt good about himself, he was glad they let him show off a little.
Most of the time, he regretted that feeling the day after and wished he owned other clothes but he never bought them. It was a waste of time and money.
Besides, he didn’t know what would look good to another guy.
He thought of Darren and checked his nice shirt again.
Micah?
Micah copied him—and stole his clothes sometimes. He couldn’t wear his uniform on a night out and it was too hot for a sweater.
Connor … Did he own a cardigan? Ruffling through his duffels and closet, that was an easy no.
Did his parents own any cardigans?
Slowly, he stepped into their bedroom. It was more than twice the size of their previous one, where their closet had barely left enough space to walk around a queen-sized bed.
He supposed this was one of the nicest changes for them, that they had more space for themselves and to themselves.
He opened the closet and found cardigans. He didn’t take any. Ryan had borrowed clothes from his dad before, he knew people who borrowed from older siblings and parents, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it like this. It’d feel weird, like stealing.
If he ran up the street to ask them if he could borrow one, would that seem strange to them? Would it set off alarms? Would they ask him why?
Can’t risk it.
His eyes did catch on something else in the hallway: make-up. He had to go to the bathroom before he left to get ready anyway, to wash up and maybe do something with his hair.
His mom didn’t own a lot and he had no idea what half the stuff did, but he riffled through the options with his fingertips.
He washed his face, found some pale powder with a flat sponge, and dabbed it on his nose.
‘Powdering your nose’ was code for smoking or unpleasant stuff, he thought, but the phrase had to have come from somewhere, right?
He didn’t see a difference, except his nose looked less shiny and paler. Was that a good thing? Was this to avoid sweat or something? … Was sweat a bad thing? Did you even use the powder first?
He wished he had paid more attention to whatsherface, Micah’s alchemist friend, when she had covered up his bruises last year.
What else …?
He found some creams of different shades, hair products, hand cream, lipsticks, and some black stuff he thought was for eyelashes.
None of that appealed to him, except the hand cream—his hands were rough and he genuinely didn’t know if that was a bad thing.
Ryan tried out the different shades and powder some more to see if they made any difference, but as he stared at his face in the mirror … he didn’t like it. He didn’t like any of this.
He scrubbed his face off, put everything back, and took a quick shower. Brushing his teeth, deodorant, shorts, his nice button-up shirt not because of Darren, but because it felt like a ‘neutral’ choice.
He stared at himself in the mirror, tried not to fuss with his hair, and sighed. Just me, I guess.
That hadn’t been good enough for Connor, but screw Connor. If Ryan could hate his friend, he could hate some guy who didn’t want anything to do with him.
He took the money his mother had left him and headed down the street.
His parents stood on a front lawn with a couple of neighbors who smelled just as tipsy as them and overreacted to meeting him. He exchanged pleasantries and ducked out as soon as he could before they made him feel too uncomfortable, smiling and waving as he did.
One street down, he reversed directions to take the long way around.
Ryan wasn’t headed for the Plum Tree. It took him a while to find it; the Riverbank Club blended into the other buildings of the docks.
----------------------------------------
“You have a crush on Anne?” Shala hissed.
“Yeah!”
“And you want to ask her out tonight of all times?”
“Yeah, tonight is perfect.”
“No?” Shala pulled him a few steps back into the alcove of the door. He was nervous all of a sudden, which made Micah nervous.
“Why?” he asked and gestured down at himself. “I mean, you said it yourself, I look good in a suit?”
A pained expression flashed across his face. “The suits really aren’t that good—”
“They’re not?”
“—not compared to the ones she has seen all her life. And today … today isn’t good for other reasons, Stranya.”
“Why?”
“Have you seen the way Principal Denner has been acting? This is clearly important to her.”
“Well, yeah but—”
“This isn’t just a party, Stranya. We’re here for a reason. And it’s not as if this is a school event either. This is the Registry.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like I’m going to do it during the dance or when we’re talking to people. I’ll do it afterward—”
“What if she says no? And then you’re heartbroken, or she is, and you will cause a scene.”
“You think she’ll say no?”
“She might. And you still have to introduce yourself to Spring Knight afterward. What, you ask her out and then ignore her for the rest of the night?”
“Well, no but— Actually, what if she needs time to think about it?” That could work out perfectly.
“So if she says yes, you’ll ignore her.” He said it like saying, Well, that’s just great.
“No.”
“You do know some of her family members are attending this evening, do you not? Have you met them? Introduced yourself? What if they say no?”
Micah scoffed. “It’s not like I’m asking for her, y’know … handinmarriage,” he garbled. That was a topic for ten, twenty years down the line, as Ryan’s parents had said. They were first-year students.
“Then what?” Shala demanded. “They will demand your attention for the rest of the night so you cannot mingle like we are supposed to. And then what? Anne is leaving in a few days.”
“Yeah, so it has to be now.”
“You ask her out, ignore her for the rest of the evening, and then don‘t see each other for a month.”
Micah hesitated. Somehow, Shala was starting to make sense.
“But … none of that matters, right? We can go on a date tomorrow, assuming she does say yes, and I’ll be here when she gets back?”
Ms. Denner was trying to round up their classmates a few meters away. She called, “Micah, Sion? Care to join us?”
The group was loud, excited about their suits, their dresses, because this was it, and the two of them hesitated.
Before he left, Shala simply said, “Don’t do it.” The words sounded like advice but his expression was a plea.
Micah followed him with uncertain steps.
“The guests are here,” Ms. Denner said. “They’re giving their welcoming speeches as we speak, some of which can be quite laborious. We have time. Twenty minutes.”
A muffled tone penetrated the walls. In the distance, someone with an amplified voice was speaking. There was a faint shattering sound like leaves in the wind—applause.
“You will pair up with your entrance partners, and we will lead you to the side of the stage where you will be quiet. When it is time, we will give our speech and invite you out. You will walk out, bow to the crowd, and walk down the steps to the dance floor. After your performance, the Registry will welcome you with gifts, which you will accept and put aside backstage. You will sit quietly at your tables until the speeches conclude, at which point another group will open the dance floor for the remainder of the party, and you can join them, enjoy the buffet, drink—non-alcoholic beverages only—and most importantly, mingle!
“You can stay for however long you want if you ensure you return home by ten, which means nine for most of you, considering you have to retrieve your gifts and get changed.”
It was a little past five now, and from the sounds of it, that would give them roughly three hours before they got kicked out.
Micah paired up with Anne, and Shala with Nina. Anne smiled at him, but when Micah looked over, Shala shook his head. They hadn’t really finished their conversation.
Their teachers led them further into the building, and the sound of the speakers and crowds grew louder, as the hallways became more crowded. Servers and organizers rushed about with silent steps. A few guests hung out in the hallway with drinks or cigars to avoid the speeches.
They walked through ribbons of aroma that trailed from distant kitchens and ribbons of cigar smoke.
“You smell nice,” Anne whispered to him.
It took Micah a moment to respond. “Huh? Oh, thank you. You like it?”
“Yeah. Is that actual cologne this time?”
“Apple mint and blood orange, with a pinch of ground-up fire scales.”
“You made it yourself?”
“Yeah.” He had spent a day making sure he got it right, consulting a few books on the subject. It was nice to know it had been worth it.
“That’s cool … Nervous?”
”Some. You?”
“Some.”
Finally, Micah remembered to say, “You look beautiful.” And not just because of the dress, not just today, he thought to himself.
She ducked her head a little. “Thank you.”
He was glad, because at least she knew he was telling the truth.
The closer they got to the ballroom, the quieter they spoke. A few others didn’t and their teachers shushed them with warning glares.
So they walked next to each other and he kept glancing at her. In a little while, he was expected to take her hand as they walked in, but what if he reached out now with twenty minutes to spare?
He didn’t.
Even more people rushed or milled about the dark backstage area, and they were shuffled into a corner near the stage and told to be silent.
They could only see a small slice of the room, large windows and pillars at the far wall, a separate stage off to the side. His tall classmates in front of him blocked the view.
A man, probably a Registrar guessing by his grey suit, spoke. Micah barely heard the words.
When he mentioned the successful hunt on Morgana and the new floors they had discovered in its absence, there was a cheer.
Micah smiled himself. He’d only glimpsed a smudge in the distance, seen lightning strike down, but it was a relief to know another one of the brood was gone.
He wondered which item it had kept to itself, as Maria had kept the Yellow Fleece to itself.
Before he knew it, Ms. Denner and Mr. Walker were out there, and they spoke of the importance of the Climber’s Guild, the Registry, their relationship, and by way of it, the future, their brand new school, a new beginning which sought to pioneer new beginnings.
He understood the meaning—their school wanted to diversify the skillsets of low-level climbers to discover new information and options rather than wait until a high level for rare Skills.
Micah wasn’t sure what their school’s reputation was like, but they got a smattering of applause. And then …
… then it was time.
Ms. Denner’s arm was out, gesturing toward them, and it took him a second to move.
Luckily, they weren’t the first ones to walk out and by the time they stepped into the stage light, he remembered his lessons.
He took Anne’s hand and held onto it like a lifeline. She glanced down and gave him a squeeze, and he would have expected it to be to reassure him, but her expression looked curious.
Micah had to watch where he was going.
The event hall was massive, at least four times the size of their school gym, shaped like a rectangle with the long sides curved.
It had a separate stage for the orchestra—though they were connected by the same backstage area. Beyond that, large windows with tied-up curtains made up most of the left wall.
To the right was the main entrance, where guests in glittering dresses still snuck to their tables with their heads ducked low like students late to class.
On the far side was a balcony exit with large open doors.
Pillars lined the curved sides. Tables with white dinner cloths, crystal glasses, and centerpieces stood in clusters on the inside of the space they marked off, filling a third of it with people in fine clothing who looked up at them.
A little over a year ago, Micah had had to introduce his Class to the classroom, sixty students he’d known for years. He had almost frozen up, stuttered, and shaken with a frog in his throat.
Now, the stares weren’t the first, second, third, or even fourth thing on his mind: they were forgettable, and the moment passed in an eyeblink.
He bowed, took care to find the steps with his mismatched legs, and walked onto the dance floor in a loose arc with Anne by his side.
[Controlled Breathing] told him he was breathing. He didn’t tip over. Muscle memory mummed the word on whether his posture was alright.
They waited for the orchestra, and the music the skilled musicians created in a room designed for acoustics sounded far better than the disc they had practiced to—or even most music he had heard throughout his life.
It flooded his senses and almost shook him from his daze.
He bowed, Anne curtsied with a smile, and a smile leaped to his lips. They found each other’s hip, shoulder, hands, waited for their cue, and began to dance.
One, two, three, one, two, three. Twenty students in couplets spun around each other on a mostly empty dance floor.
He wasn’t sure they were all perfectly equidistant from one another—probably not; this stage was foreign to them—but he went on instinct, glanced only at other couples when it flowed from the natural movements of their dance, and when that failed, followed Anne and she him.
He spun her away and her dress twirled, the silver stitchings and her hair shimmering in the light. He gave a tiny tug and she spun back to him.
He lifted her as she kicked off and barely had to hold her at first, but he was glad for the training he’d done as he carefully guided her down.
She smiled, and he hoped she was having fun.
Eventually, he spun her away … and she moved on to the next partner in line as a girl came to replace her, taller than him.
Anne flashed him one last smile before she had to turn. Time flowed by so quickly then.
Afterward, they were invited back on stage and the man in the grey suit whose name eluded him—someone high up in the Registry, who was probably important enough he really should be trying to remember his name—dropped a massive book set into his waiting arms.
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Ten tomes, each of which had to be filled with hundreds of thin pages and tiny script, guessing by their weight and contents alone, held together in one dark case.
They were expected to hold the box sets out as if presenting them to the crowd as the man joked about the last edition of these books and all the work that had gone into this new and improved edition over the last ten years.
Micah hoped the crowd, or his classmates, didn’t see how much he was struggling as he held his set out with a strained smile.
His only saving grace was what the books were, the gift their teachers had spoken so highly of: the Registry’s decade publication.
It was a compendium of all the most pertinent knowledge on Classes, Paths, leveling, and Skills the Registry updated every ten years, for private use, with some statistics, essays, and new information they had collected.
It was expensive, from what Micah understood, not as useful as textbooks on distinct subjects, but a staple to cite in most essays, and to have in every household who wanted to show off their collections.
Look at my awesome library and all these books I never touch!
Well, Micah could probably make more use of them than most, and it would be one of the most valuable things he owned for a while. He just wished it weren’t so heavy.
“Oof,” Anne said when she got hers, and those in the crowd who heard chuckled.
He felt a flash of envy and pride, and chuckled alongside them.
The man seemed to take that as his cue to cut his speech short. He excused them to drop their gifts off backstage. They would be waiting for them in the dressing rooms later.
They filed out, quietly snuck to their tables at the edges of the crowd, where a few other guests whispered over jokes and words of encouragement, and listened.
Eventually, far better dancers than them walked onto the dance floor. They didn’t have the best view from their seats, but rather than watch the performance, Micah closed his eyes and enjoyed the music.
He’d heard great music at festivals before, by skilled musicians, but this seemed to consume everything.
He enjoyed it until the orchestra paused, the tune changed, and the dam broke: the guests flooded out of their seats to join the dancers or raid the buffet.
Then he had to get up, too.
A different kind of showtime, I guess.
“—so in a way,” Micah told a trio of adults and his classmates, “the Dead Prince is actually a patron of alchemy.”
The woman, Mrs. Starscraper, chuckled. She held a Honey Ant leg dipped in a red sauce in front of her face as she covered her mouth with the back of her hand. More laid on a small plate in her other hand.
They looked different from the legs of the ants he and his peers hunted, its essences denser and of better quality, its patterns more complex, the material more textured. Less like candy and more like chitin.
Micah resisted the urge to glance past her at the buffet because when he did, he wanted nothing more than to stuff his pockets with its spread.
A few of those legs cost more than what he spent on food in a day. Maybe he could take some ‘for home’? His parents did that at parties with lasagna, potato salad, slices of cake—those sorts of things. Was it still allowed here?
The men and his two classmates who were there with him gave him odd looks and wry smiles.
“I doubt the Good Prince would see it that way,” Mr. Starscraper said. “He would likely have preferred to fund research into alchemy while he was still alive, had he known it would save his life, and the lives of those who suffered in his absence.”
He didn’t sound mad but vaguely reproachful, and Micah held his smile as he shot an awkward glance at his classmate.
Help me.
“Very true,” Yasin said, “and besides, there are so many projects the Good Prince did fund, such as his royal [Geomancers]. Micah, did you not mention you were learning earth magic at our school?”
The way he asked it, he sounded like he was dying to know. It made him look like a different person.
“I am, actually. Thank you for the shout out, Yasin.”
Help me, Micah repeated the thought, though he didn’t know who he was asking. This exchange had the feeling of speaking to extended relatives at a family gathering—the big kind they did on his mother’s side every five years or so—except, so much worse.
He couldn’t even put his finger on why. It wasn’t like anything he was saying was a lie per se but …
He felt as though he was holding a sign over his head that read, ‘I am full of shit,’ and expected his smile to distract people from reading it, but they read it anyway and ignored it either out of ignorance, humor, cruelty, or … a fourth category. One he couldn’t quite place his finger on.
Either way, people were far more interested in them than they had expected. Ms. Denner had warned them they would have to answer questions, but collectively, they hadn’t taken her seriously, expecting a few old people to ask them a question or two as a courtesy, then for everyone to ignore them.
Micah had been talking to people for the last half hour and he hadn’t made it to the buffet yet.
He had been cut off from his friends. He was hungry, but every time he looked at the appetizers, he felt it was a shame to eat them.
“Earth magic? Now that is a difficult field of study,” Mr. Starscraper said. “I was given to understand that Ms. Denner is a dynakinetic. Is geomancy part of her curriculum?”
“Only tangentially,” Micah said. “It is through a related field of research our school has helped me understand the subject better: druidic forces, and the drawing on natural forms of magic to supplement my own. You see, this is a field of research which has seen a boom of growth in recent year in that every person can draw on these sources of magic to supplement—”
“Yes, yes, [Druids] and [Component Casting] share a similar source,” the man said. “I am well aware, young man.”
Spirits, Micah had actually been about to say, though he supposed that was a whole other can of worms.
“I do believe that is one of Denner’s Skills,” Mrs. Starscraper said, “is she forcing you to obtain it as she has?”
That was the look of the fourth category: they ignored the sign to squeeze them for information on her as well as her school. Or to them, the two were intrinsically linked.
Micah knew their principal had been kind of a big deal before—just not as a teacher. He didn’t get the politics of … this. They almost acted threatened, because she had quit climbing to teach kids?
“Not at all, not at all,” Yasin assured them and launched back into the one topic they had all prepared: the same brochure/talent scout bullshit speak Ms. Denner had sold to them a year and a half ago.
“You see, our school offers a modular course system by which students can pick and choose which topics they want to learn …”
Mr. and Mrs. Starscraper watched his mouth move with polite smiles. The moment he finished, they dismissed them and excused themselves to find other students they could bleed for information. Ones who were less obtuse, perhaps.
Not that he was trying to be; if he knew what they wanted to know, Micah would tell them.
The crowd shifted in waves this close to the tables where the traffic slowed, and he took a breath of relief when they disappeared with one surge … only to turn and find three new people who wanted to shake their hands and introduce themselves with the next.
They were trapped between the crowd, two tables, and a pillar, and he was beginning to accept that he would die here.
Halfway through their introduction and the first polite question, the crowd moved and Micah spotted a familiar face halfway across the ballroom. They weren’t the only teenagers in attendance. There were some from other schools who he didn’t know.
He definitely knew this guy.
“No way!” he interrupted whatever Whatshisface McGee had been saying.
“Excuse me?” the man turned to follow his line of sight, and his classmates leaned in to peer through the gap.
“Is that Kyle?!”
He must have heard him, or gotten a danger sense Skill recently, because he turned to stare with wide eyes—and a fresh haircut, and a red suit, and it was definitely him!—the wave collapsed, and then he was gone.
“Glove Guy?” his other classmate mumbled next to him.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Micah said as he pushed forward, “I have to— Just a second— There is, uhm— I think I saw— Sorry—”
He made it out without finishing any of his sentences, and the gap closed just in time to crash his two classmates behind him back against the rocks.
Every man for themselves! Micah thought as he dove into the sea of people.
----------------------------------------
The Riverbank Club was part of the corner building of a block near the docks, one street off from the large roads where things were a little more cramped.
Ryan assumed they’d tried to squeeze as many buildings as they could close to the docks while keeping the infrastructure open. It reminded him of Hadica, and that helped him overcome some of his doubts.
Part of him worried he would see somebody his parents knew, and then have rumors about himself floating around here instead of the sprawling city-state over a hundred miles away.
He could walk two districts out in Hadica and nobody would recognize him. It would be safer to do this there, but his parents wouldn’t expect him back soon, he was alone, and this was a place where people didn’t call the guards, where they knew to keep their mouths shut.
If Ryan wanted to meet a guy like himself in secret, he’d come here … so here he was.
The place was definitely more ‘bar-leaning’ than ‘club,’ if only guessing by the crowds that were already here—or rather still here—at eight-thirty.
Of course, like most places, it was technically a tavern. A bit of variety could help you level, so most establishments fit for [Hosts] served meals.
There was a long bar of polished dark wood with barstools that went around the side. They had blue cushions and metal rods to rest your boots on. Tiny tables had enough chairs to make it clear they were only meant for beer.
A railing and two steps separated all that from the larger area with proper tables and booths on the far left and the right, beneath colored windows.
In the far right corner stood a small stage and what could have charitably been named a dance floor—it looked like it could double as a fighting pit, and it stood out because of how drab it was compared to the rest in the crystal light.
The upper half of the walls were covered in decorations: nautical ropes and items, framed pictures of people and paintings, a few magical items he suspected had been worn out and were only kept as mementos, a shattered pool stick that had been framed.
There were dartboards and pool tables to the right, and another single dartboard and a pool table squeezed in the center of the room off to the left, beneath a railing.
Ryan’s eyes lit up when he saw those, before he remembered he was alone.
Besides, they were occupied. The ball cracked and ricocheted with muffled noise as it rolled over the felt.
There was a piano but nobody played. There was music. Subtle, fading into the background. He had no idea where it came from. The stage was empty. He couldn’t see any record players, magical, or electronic items that could be likely sources.
Skill or spell, then?
It didn’t seem like the type of bar people would want to avoid, but what did he know? This was the first time he was in one without his parents.
Ryan had worried he would be the youngest person in the room, but he saw a few groups who looked like they might have been a year or two older than him.
The majority of the patrons looked to be in their mid-twenties and up, and they ate or drank, lounging like they were here for comfort rather than a ‘night out’.
He stood in the entrance area, next to a mostly-empty coat rack and an employee-only door, and had no idea what to do.
Some people glanced at him. He wondered if this was what Micah felt like when he had to hold a presentation. He spared a bit of concern, or pity, for the guy because he would have to dance in front of a crowd tonight, but Ryan didn’t really want to think about him.
He pictured Lisa in a dress, Micah in a suit.
He headed for the bar.
He had to follow the bartender along the length of the bar to get her attention, as she kept serving other patrons before him. Finally, he leaned on the counter behind the back of a man who faced away to have a conversation with a woman.
The bartender smiled as if she’d just noticed him. She had dark skin and wore a loose shirt over a sleeveless undershirt. “Hey, what can I get you?”
“Uh,” Ryan glanced up, to the side, and up again—to the menu above, the one on the counter, and the one above. He almost picked his dad’s favorite beer. He liked it. There were a few other names he recognized.
I came here for a reason though, he reminded himself in the same tone he would use to remind himself of an objective in the Tower.
He avoided the bartender’s eyes and picked a fruity beer. He almost asked about the cocktails.
“Got it.” She left and got someone else’s order along the way.
The man stood up. The woman he’d been speaking to gathered her things and the couple left, still talking.
Their chairs were empty. Ryan glanced around, but nobody was rushing to grab one …
He sat.
The bartender served his beer in a tall glass instead of a proper mug. The liquid had a red tint to it. He pulled it close on its coaster as if he could somehow hide behind it, and the cool glass wet his palms.
He could have joined any of the younger groups playing pool or darts. Sometimes, they only had three players and he could hear them having to convince one of their friends to join.
Maybe he could have offered to pay a round? If he’d been here with a friend, Lang or Lisa, he could have challenged them to a match.
There were other people sitting alone at the bar. Maybe he could try to … talk to someone? Talk someone up? How in the hell was he supposed to do that?
People danced, but only a few and it was bar dancing. He’d never done that before and he wasn’t drunk enough to try.
The other type, that Micah and his parents had taught him, seemed too intimate for a night like this.
Across the pool table, a group of seven lounged in a booth, two sitting on chairs. The half of the group facing him even looked up.
Two were a clear couple—they kissed and he had his arm around her shoulders. The two facing away from him leaned into one another. He only saw the back of their heads.
That left two guys and a woman, all a couple of years older than him, who sat on the last free spots of the booth and a chair. When they saw him, they smiled.
Ryan turned away, shoulders hunched.
He wasn’t normally shy. He just didn’t know what to do. If he tried something and he embarrassed himself, would he have to leave? The bar wasn’t crowded or large enough to hide from someone all evening. What if they said something to him, or about him?
So instead, he sat there like an idiot and sipped his beer as the time went by.
The bartender gave him looks. He assumed she wanted him to free up a spot at the bar.
More and more people who’d been eating left to be replaced by people drinking, and the crowds pressed in on him in waves as sometimes everyone suddenly decided to get a drink at once.
He acted as though he didn’t see her and when his glass was suddenly empty, he ordered one he’d like.
Should have done that from the start.
If he’d come here for no good reason, he might as well get a nice drink out of it, even if it was overpriced. Then he could meander home and—
“You can put that one our tab,” a guy behind him said, and Ryan turned. He gestured at Ryan and then to himself and the woman standing with him.
They were from the booth group, but not one of the couples. She had curly black hair thrown over a shoulder of a shoulderless dress, and he had short brown hair. He wore an open vest over a faded white shirt, which made Ryan feel better about his shirt.
The bartender nodded, and before Ryan could thank him or strike up a conversation, they ordered for themselves … and the rest of their table.
He glanced back. Half the booth group was watching. One guy had twisted his head around to an uncomfortable degree to peek past his arm and girlfriend at the bar.
When they saw him looking back, they looked away. One of them said something to his friend and shook his head with a look of doubt. None of them were smiling anymore.
“Thanks,” Ryan said and scooted up to the edge of his seat. It felt wrong to speak to someone standing up while he sat. It made him feel lazy, or rude.
“Not a problem,” his … friend? … answered, “it’s a good excuse to cut ahead.” She smiled, and some of the other people who had been waiting to order before them glared at her.
“I mean, I’d help out for free,” Ryan said sincerely, “I can still pay—”
“Leave it,” the guy told him. “Too much hassle for a drink.”
“Rachel, and this is—”
“Daniel.” He held out a hand.
One of them must have been sitting on the chair, so they couldn’t have cuddled, but they were here together. Maybe they were ‘together-together’?
Why the group smile—now missing—and the free drink, though? Why wait? Larger orders were brought to the tables.
Ryan’s heart picked up a little as they gave each other a firm shake. “Connor,” he lied on a whim. He had a nice grip and jawline. Brown eyes.
Rachel patted the back of the empty chair. “So Connor, are you waiting for someone? Friends? Girlfriend?”
“Uh, no—”
“Looking instead?” She gave him a knowing smile, the type everyone used as they assumed he must have a girlfriend already.
“Also, no—”
Daniel frowned. “You’re here alone?”
Ryan shrugged and put on a confident smile. “I’m passing through and heard about the place, so I thought I’d check it out.”
“Passing through? So’re we! Well, we“—Rachel gestured at David. “We work on a boat, y’know? We go all over, but we have friends here and like to drop by and … have fun.”
“Like, ferry or—?” Ryan wondered if they might have been their boat guides on the way up and he’d forgotten their faces.
David answered, “Shipping. Laborers by trade, [Sailors] by Class.”
“Oh. Cool.”
The idea of sailors was similar to that of climbers: explorers who traveled all over, who could sail ships into the Tower in Lighthouse, or into storms at sea.
The reality was a lot less glamorous, he assumed, but they’d bought him a drink and he wanted to be friendly so he tried to seem enthusiastic and nodded along with a smile.
They gave him a prompting look, and Ryan said, “I’m a climber, a bit of a vanguard or scout by trade, I guess, [Fighter] by Class?”
“That tracks,” Rachel said, looking at his arms even though he wore a full shirt for once.
Ryan never knew how to react to interest from girls. Sometimes, Thea or another one of Myra’s friends would flirt with him. Sometimes, some of the guys would notice and elbow him, waggling their eyebrows or telling him to take his shot when Ryan would much rather be flirting with those guys instead.
He gave her the same awkward smile he always gave.
“Where’s your rock?” David asked.
“Hadica. I’d love to visit the other cities sometime. You’ve been all over, you said?”
“All but Ostfeld, and the minor cities I guess. You’re not headed to uh, Anevos or Trest? You said you’re passing through?”
“Mostly enjoying a bit of freedom right now. A short break, then it’s back to exploring. Schools have a lockdown during the year—”
“Right,” Rachel interrupted as if she’d just remembered. “That has to suck. So you’re looking for a night out?”
Ryan would’ve kept talking about the other cities, but she’d brought the conversation back. He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess?”
“I mean, if you’re lacking company, you can come sit with us?” David offered. “I saw you eying the pool tables earlier. We’re going to play a few rounds later.”
“Pool … sounds nice. But uh, no?” He resisted the urge to rub his arm. “I’m fine. But thanks for the offer?”
“You sure?”
He nodded.
Rachel leaned in but had to speak at a normal volume to be heard over the crowds and background music anyway. “We don’t bite.”
“No, I just uh, wouldn’t want to impose and ...” Ryan glanced back at their friends and scrambled to find an excuse.
She followed his eyes and shook her head. “They won’t mind. The more the merrier and all that, y’know?”
“No, it’s just … I’m not sure what I’m looking for yet?”
“That’s fine,” Daniel said casually and turned to leave, “if you change your mind, or if you want to join us when we play later, you can come over, okay?”
Rachel glanced at him with a reluctant smile and turned back, crossing her arms underneath her chest as she leaned against the back of the chair. “Or, if you don’t want to sit with all of us, how about I sit with you?”
Daniel hesitated, watching Ryan for his response.
“Uh … no.“ He pulled back and frowned because she had to be at least three years older than him. “No, but thank you?”
But if anything, his discomfort seemed to make them more interested, and suddenly he wished he were standing instead of being boxed in between them, the bar, and a crowd.
Coming here had been a mistake. He wanted to leave.
“Really?” She leaned in. “So you’re here alone, not waiting for anyone, and you’re not looking? I assume you’re not looking for drugs—?”
Ryan shook his head in reflex. Somebody was selling drugs?
Rachel smiled. “So what if … Daniel wanted to sit with you?”
“Rach,” Daniel said in a cautioning tone.
Ryan thought she might have been leading the conversation this way. Checking off the boxes. What was it called? Wingman?
Or was it ‘hoped’? Because this; wasn’t this why he had come here?
But if not, she was being creepy. And what if she had asked the question as a joke? Because she was confused about why he’d want to sit alone, or because he’d rejected her?
What if he told the truth, that upset her, and she made a comment? One was all it took to ruin his night, and countless nights after as he remembered it.
He wouldn’t know how to react. Punch her? Run?
He looked at Daniel, who saw the hesitation on his face … and who looked surprised by it.
The bartender saved him, delivering his beer. “Someone will bring your order to your table in a moment,” she told the other two.
“You can drop our beers off here if that’s alright?” Daniel said.
“Sure.”
When he got his, Daniel gave him a nod and held his sweating glass up. He said in a tentative tone, “To freedom?”
… Sure.
Ryan toasted and drank. The bitter taste reminded him of summer evenings where the low light, sinking heat, and smell in the air had made him long for something like this.
Daniel lowered his glass, awkwardly looked up with his eyes and around, and tapped a finger on the side of it as he spoke like he was trying to salvage the conversation, “So uh, you’re doing three years if you only have this moment of freedom? Or uh, the full five?”
Ryan wiped his lips and shook his head. “Not sure, but I still have time to decide.”
He let himself sound defensive. They’d made him uncomfortable enough. Part of him had expected them to leave.
“Makes sense,” Rachel said. “‘One more year’ is easy enough, and five depends on your school, if it has something to offer—”
“Not sure if I’ll do three years either,” he interrupted as if daring her to say something about only doing two.
“I wouldn’t quit,” Daniel told him. “If you already have two under your belt—”
Ryan frowned. “I just finished first.”
Rachel gave him a curious look. “First? You hung back?”
“No?”
“So you’re …?” Daniel asked, trailing off.
Ryan guessed, “Sixteen?”
Was that what they were asking about?
Rachel choked on her drink and immediately took a step back. She shook her head with a pained expression and groaned, “You do not look like, uh—”
“Oh. You thought …?”
She nodded with a grimace and dropped that vaguely flirty veneer she’d had before.
Her posture was suddenly more casual and she wasn’t crowding him anymore. Ryan imagined she looked more like this around her friends. It let him relax.
Daniel looked concerned. “And you really came here alone?”
“Yeah?” Ryan scratched the condensation on his mug. “I mean, isn’t this the place to come for uh …”
He trailed off. He still hadn’t answered her question. Their reactions answered his.
She looked flustered. “Uhm, I mean, I guess …”
Daniel gave him an almost pitying look, which … stung. If he understood them right, and wasn’t being an idiot, as usual, weren’t they in the same boat? Screw him.
“Sixteen is kind of young to be in a place like this,” Rachel said. “You sure you want to be here?”
Ryan scowled. Now they were both being condescending. “And how old are you?”
She gave him a lopsided grin. “Never ask a lady.”
“I turned nineteen recently,” Daniel offered. “It’s part of the reason why I’m here. Sort of a birthday resolution, I guess.”
“Oh.” Ryan deflated. That sounded nice, actually. And he was here with his friends …
“You know, you can still come sit with us?”
Ryan glanced at their table, half of which was peeking over. The guy on the far side of the booth gave him a tight, forced smile. The others didn’t.
“Your friends are sort of glaring.”
Rachel leaned aside, saw them, and immediately scowled back as she flipped them off.
They turned away.
Daniel winced. “Yeah. They’ve uh, known about … me for a while now, I guess, but this is the first time they’ve ever seen me do anything like this around them. They might need time to get used to it.”
Ryan imagined his own friends glaring at him from across the bar as he tried to flirt with someone, instead of smiling or jeering to support him or give him a hard time.
Maybe not so nice after all.
“I wouldn’t be doing anything though? You could sit with us, play some pool or darts? Drink.”
“They’re probably glaring at us,” Rachel said, “because they realized sooner than we did how creepy we looked. You’d actually help us out, coming over to clear things up.”
Ryan shook his head. If he’d wanted to get drunk with a bunch of people he barely knew, he wouldn’t have lied to his parents about where he was going tonight.
“You sure?”
“Sorry. Really though, thank you for the offer.”
Rachel shrugged.
Daniel lingered. “Or,” he drew the word out, “I could sit with you? And we could just … talk? If you want to.”
Talking …
“That sounds nice,” Ryan admitted with a smile. “But only if you actually want to?” He wouldn’t want to ruin his night.
Rachel pointed at a waiter carrying a tray filled to the brim with clinking drinks down to their booth. She gave them a pat on the arm as she slipped away.
“It was nice meeting you, Connor. Booth’s open if you change your mind or if you need anything.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
Daniel slipped onto the empty seat next to him.
----------------------------------------
He couldn’t find Kyle, no matter how hard he looked. And it was frustrating because Micah had the sneaking suspicion the [Rogue] hid in his blindspot every time he turned his back.
He did reach the buffet and committed a sin by snacking on ridiculously expensive food.
The portions were tiny, some of the food looked better than it tasted, but Micah tried a bit of everything until he found what he liked. Mostly, it was Tower food:
Honey ant legs, with a spicy dip.
Cheese and fruit skewers, where the cheese was moldy but the mold tasted like the freshest salad and the fruit like juicy, spiced meat so the end-result tasted like a sandwich or wrap without the sandwich or wrap.
Actual tiny wraps with all sorts of goodies in them like crystalized onions from the upper floors and rare herbs worked into creme cheeses.
Grapes that tasted slightly alcoholic, which made him wonder if he was allowed to eat them.
Cooked horns about the size of his thumb that looked like rough and mossy mineral formations. Their shells were sweat but their insides tasted like spiced seafood.
Purple bread slices made from fissle, which wasn’t a Tower grain per se, but it was exotic, and maybe the other ingredients were from the Tower?
He wondered what Garden Sheep’s milk tasted like.
He knew Lisa had told him to focus on a single affinity at a time, and he barely had a ‘spirit stomach’, but the essences were too good to pass up—by sheer density and quality alone.
He gobbled them up, running them through the spiritual equivalent of his digestive system when he could spare the focus to ‘wax’ them inside of him, empowering essences with the force of his perception and will alone so they could affect the world—him, in this case. Though they were plenty potent on their own.
Might help my spirit grow?
As he ate, he checked on his classmates, wandering from conversation to conversation like a nomad instead of letting any one trap him.
Not all of the conversations went the same as his first few had, but many of them had that same anxious sentiment on the adults’ part, and his classmates were as confused as he was.
He wished he could ask Lisa, but he couldn’t find her either. He’d seen her loading up a plate near the buffet and then she vanished, probably stuffing her face in some corner to avoid the crowds.
He wondered if she knew anyone here, like Garen, and was hiding out with them like the adults they had walked by earlier.
When he asked Anne, she said, “They’re overreacting,” but she couldn’t stick around long enough to explain what they were overreacting to, as people demanded their attention and Micah spotted two other guests who might have been members of her family closing in.
They weren’t the only dark-skinned people at the party—and not all Heswarens had dark skin; their family was ‘new,’ but the Five Cities were still a hundred-year-old cooking pot that didn’t like to let new ingredients in—but they kept glancing at her and were headed in her direction.
He hadn’t made his mind up about what to say to them yet, what to say to her yet, and he didn’t feel like a million gold coins anymore, except for the contents of his stomach.
Micah ducked out.
Mingle, he relied on the command. That was steady.
The band played. The music was somewhat subdued by the noise of the crowd, but it suffused the atmosphere and underlined every interaction.
People danced, some wandered the quiet halls and admired the paintings, others got fresh air near one side of the balcony, while a few smoked cigars on the other end.
From the essences, Micah could see a bit of the smell crawled over, though the wind blew away.
He searched but found no hookah set-ups. Too pollutive? He bet there were Skills and spells to manage that … Too casual?
He hadn’t even been to the balcony yet, and couldn’t see how big it was or what the outside was like from afar. Maybe Kyle or Lisa were hiding out in the descending sun?
Doubtful.
He still headed for the far end of the ballroom when Ms. Denner stepped out of a wave like a landshark from the surf.
“Mr. Stranya. Just the young man I was looking for.”
Micah had seen her approaching groups and tables, but oddly enough, she seemed to be in less demand than her students. If people were so eager to ask them questions they couldn’t answer, why not ask the expert?
“Ah, uhm—” He placed his plate on the nearest table and wiped his hands. “Is there something you need, Principal Denner? I am happy to oblige.”
“Of course. Mr. Cestra-Insir is eager to meet you and your classmate.”
“Already?”
From their conversations, she’d made it sound as though they would have to introduce themselves to the man sometime throughout the evening when he found the time for them.
It was around seven. This seemed early.
“No time like the present,” Ameryth smiled at him, and they wove through the crowd to scoop up Brian and Hugh from another conversation, then went back toward the balcony.
They nodded at each other in greeting, or some sign of cooperation, and said nothing as they adjusted their suits on the way over.
What was a little reassuring: some people stepped aside or looked at Hugh as they went by—more people could perceive him than Micah had thought.
At a standing table near one of the large open windows, a man in a shiny grey suit, whose fabric looked almost metallic, stood alone with an amber drink and looked … bored.
Maybe awkward was the right word. He had lighter hair and a beard, both cut short, and was a large man, but it was his posture and expression that reminded Micah a little of Ryan, had Ryan continued to be awkward around people for a decade until he wore it like a mantle.
Confident or self-assured, but in the way that said he was sure he would rather be someplace else and was wondering why he had to stay.
Maybe he had been about to leave, and that was why Ms. Denner had scooped them up?
She led them in front of her, one hand on either back, Hugh a little off to the side, and when the man spotted them, his expression changed.
He righted himself, an image flickered in the glass, and a woman appeared hovering in the air next to him, leaning into his shoulder like she’d overextended herself on a high chair and was about to tip over.
She was younger, in her mid-twenties instead of thirties, and had unkempt brown hair that fell halfway over her face when she appeared. She wore a bright sundress with floral patterns and many little pockets.
Her body seemed to take on a physical weight as well when she appeared, because she shoved the man off-balance and the corners of his lips quirked up into a small smile as he stumbled.
She dragged his arm down as she let her feet touch the ground, put one up against the wall behind the table, and left him alone, crossing her arms to lean on the table as she looked over it at them.
Lady Shanty Cestra-Insir, Micah remembered, Spirit of the Vim. And her companion, Mr. Bastion Cestra-Insir Gardener.
He didn’t quite understand the importance of him taking her name, but Gardener was his adoptive name in the city and was common, so to avoid confusion with the real Gardener family, people preferred his first name or his fan name, Spring Knight.
Before Ms. Denner could offer more than a greeting, Brian took the initiative by taking a step forward and extending his hand, “Good afternoon, sir.”
He introduced himself and Hugh, exchanged a few words about the party, and a moment passed before Micah could say anything—he already felt like a fifth wheel.
No way that wasn’t intentional, asshole.
“Micah Stranya, sir.” Eye contact. Firm handshake. Confident voice. “It’s an honor to meet you. A friend of mine is a fan of yours.”
“Ah? Uh, cool,” he said like he didn’t quite know what to do with the comment. “I’m Bastion.”
“Shanty,” the spirit said with a faint accent as she lifted one of her arms to shake his hand across the table.
Micah hesitated … and touched skin. She squeezed his hand firmly once and looked impressed.
He smiled in relief.
“I have business to attend to—“ Ms. Denner began.
“At a party?” Bastion asked her, and his eyes glared as if they could anchor her to the spot.
She gave him a pained expression. “Always. I’ll leave you to it.” She abandoned the five of them, and they stared at each other for a moment.
“So,” the spirit said, “tell us about yourselves?”