A couple months had passed since my magic-oriented academic life started, and my social life had not improved. By general definition, I had many friends, but truthfully I only had two or three. Elliot Fletcher was a friend from before the Academy, while Elidred Griggs may have been the first friend I made at the Academy. The word “may” was necessary, as I remained uncertain about befriending Griggs. He, in turn, seemed disinterested in me. This very disinterest drew me to him and away from sycophants.
As for Eleanor Wilson, “friend” or “associate” wasn’t the word I’d use. My vocabulary lacked a word for our connection.
I would tell you of my studies, but the junior years at Vandagriff were devoid of senior years’ glamour. No mock battles, magic experiments, or practical tests. Everything about the junior years was rote. We memorised events and dates, learned calculations, and wrote essays to later assist us in explaining human idiosyncrasies to Entities. My best subjects were history, literature, and to my surprise, biology.
My parents did their best to radiate a laissez-faire view of my study choices, but during calls I perceived that they found biology to be—how do I put this?—a source of gratuitous mental expenditure. Entities had never asked questions about biology during a Deal for Fornax-class magic.
Senior years would be more challenging, but you’d be surprised to find that the dropout—pardon, the resignation—rate of students was about a third higher in junior years. A large portion of that statistic occurred after the first year, when students either felt mentally overwhelmed, fiscally drained, or haughtily prepared for the Deal. Though, nobody admitted to the first.
Me? Finances weren’t an issue, and I wasn’t prepared for the Deal, so I wasn’t about to resign.
During the most recent call with my parents, they invited me to a Sunday dinner event. I accepted without question, hoping they might include me in talks about their work.
The family driver picked me up at midday, along with Samara and Dust. They complained about needing to practice for senior-1 practicals, but their words sounded shallow and feigned.
While Samara and Dust chatted in the back, I found a magazine in the door’s compartment and flipped through it. There was an article about the youngest mages at Vandagriff to complete a Deal. The fastest was fifty-four days into the second year of studies. Second fastest was sixty-two days. Next, seventy days.
The author argued against rushing into a Deal, using emotional language to claim youths needed to develop their personal identities before getting locked into the wrong category of magic. The author wasn’t entirely wrong, but some kids knew their identity. Like myself, I felt pretty certain.
An idea exploded through me, thunderous in my head, quick as lightning. I could beat that record. I could a Deal and beat the record by a decent margin. I didn’t know why, or how, but I felt it with an almost cosmic certainty.
I put away the magazine and glanced at the driver. Naturally, he kept his eyes forward. I wanted to apologise for my flippancy on the morning he drove me to the date with Elliot, but every mental script configuration sounded wrong. Plus, Samara and Dust made me self-conscious. So, before I knew it, we’d reached the Fornax mansion and I hadn’t said a word.
Yvonne, our housekeeper, met us at the top of the driveway. She had impeccable posture, hands clasped in front, and an austere, all-black uniform: Tunic, pants, socks, shoes, gloves, even buttons, collar, and hem—black, black, black. In my childhood, her hair matched the uniform, but in recent years grey flecked the roots.
She had looked old my whole life, and an eye-averting scar ran in a crescent from the right side of her jaw to her left temple; it caused the corner of her lip to curl upward, and the cartilage of her nose to be dented. I blamed myself, against her wishes.
We siblings got out of the car. Samara jogged up the front steps, while Dust greeted Yvonne. She held his shoulders and kissed his forehead. Then it was my turn. Yvonne’s sense of decorum declined the further she got from my parents, so she embraced me tightly for a few seconds, and then a few more. ‘I’ve missed you, Vic.’
‘It’s only been a couple months.’
‘In your reality. In mine, years have passed.’
I laughed and we started up the steps. ‘Are you doing anything for your birthday?’
Yvonne’s mouth opened and closed, like she assumed I wouldn’t remember. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘You said you’d have a protégé by now.’
‘Mayhap next year.’
‘I’m starting to think you never want to retire,’ I said, teasing.
‘Would that be such an issue?’ She smiled, scar pulling her lips at an odd angle. ‘When a suitable protégé crosses my path, I shall know.’
We entered the foyer. I borrowed Yvonne’s shoulder for balance, took off my shoes, and put them in a wooden rack. ‘So, Yvonne, who’ll be at dinner?’
‘Your parents, of course. Miss Octavia is preoccupied, I’m afraid, and cannot attend. Then there is yourself, Samara, and—Felix.’ She caught herself and called Dust by his real name. The rest of us called him Dust because, as a child, he couldn’t pronounce Dusk, and rather than admit his mistake, he insisted everyone else said it wrong.
‘Additionally,’ Yvonne continued, ‘we are hosting Juroga Drakon, Darden Shrive, and Inga Rudawski.’
‘Who?’
The first two were close acquaintances of Father. Darden Shrive bridged the legitimate and not-so-legitimate parts of our business. Juroga Drakon was underboss, with blood from Japanese, Irish, Ghanaian, and Serbian ancestors. But, I didn’t know the third guest.
‘Inga Rudawski,’ Yvonne repeated. ‘She is the new hierophant of mathematics, since the unfortunate passing of Dairmuid Callothier.’
‘Well, this’ll be interesting.’ I started up the foyer’s staircase, when Yvonne clapped.
‘How silly of me,’ she said. ‘Just today your parents invited one more guest: The Erudite of Flight, Wira Kusuma.’
I looked over my shoulder. ‘Well, well – this’ll be very interesting.’
#
I selected a long pleated skirt in rich emerald green, paired with a dual-fabric onyx blouse, outer layer being diaphanous with a chiffon texture. My furnace pendant completed the outfit.
Most of the guests had arrived by the time I went downstairs. I hugged Darden and Juroga, and asked about Fregin’s discharge from the hospital. Then my parents introduced me to Inga Rudawski. For a second, I thought to look behind the woman, as if Inga Rudawski stood behind her, for she didn’t fit my preconception of how a hierophant of mathematics looked: She had flitting, distracted eyes, broad shoulders, and toned arms visible from a sleeveless dress. She covered her mouth when laughing, and sounded like a dolphin.
Introductions done, family and guests were seated at the mahogany dining table. Real mahogany, mind you, as Father liked to remark to guests, not that mage-synth stuff.
The room’s furnace blazed.
We’d made it through the entrée dish when Yvonne went to answer the door. Though I hadn’t seen him in person, it was obvious the man who glided into the dining room was none other than Wira Kusuma.
He did not literally glide, but the softness of his footsteps, and scent of pine, suggested he used a modicum of magic to lighten his steps.
‘Apologies for my unpunctuality,’ he said. ‘A railway maintenance crew needed emergency supplies, and the usual Sentinels were unavailable.’
‘You flew out there and back?’ Samara asked, awed.
‘Emergency supplies don’t weigh too much. Two-hundred kilograms, at most.’
Bit of modest boasting, I thought. Though, it was impressive, flying that much past the city limits, and then getting back for dinner. Well, he wasn’t the Erudite of Flight for nothing.
Wira Kusuma quickly made himself the centre of attention. Some of our guests wanted to know how he became the Erudite of Flight, which prompted…
‘I grew up in the north,’ Kusuma said. ‘One of the rougher suburbs, not the type of place from which you’d imagine great mages originated. But I always loved the idea of flying, and I knew I wouldn’t stop until I touched the clouds.’
‘Am I right in saying you didn’t start at Vandagriff?’ asked Darden.
Kusuma’s smile twitched. ‘That’s correct. I studied at Tanstock Mage Academy.’ His tone had confessional-like cadence.
‘Out west?’
‘I started at Tanstock, but I outgrew the proverbial pond.’ The table gave polite laughter. ‘Various mentors suggested I try for Vandagriff’s auxiliary class, so I did, and there I honed my abilities to the highest degree. I was the Erudite of Flight by twenty-six and, humbly, the railway networks and outer farming towns wouldn’t be what they are today without my abilities.’
‘Humbly,’ Dust snorted. Father shot a look his way, and Mother hastened to change the subject.
While we waited for dessert to be served, Kusuma entertained us by infusing cutlery and utensils with mild Aquila-class magic, causing them to float, as if they forgot gravity. I tapped the end of my spoon, causing it to spin. Dust slapped his fork, causing it to blur into a circle like a spinning top.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
I couldn’t fully articulate the reason, but something about Kusuma made me dislike him. He sounded polite and well-spoken, his life’s story wasn’t false, and he didn’t seem too disingenuous. He may have come across as arrogant or condescending, but that wasn’t enough for me to really dislike him. No, if I had to give a reason, I’d cite what I termed a tactical truth bomb. He bombed everyone with tactical truths about his abilities as a mage, which was interesting because magic was interesting, but he himself, not the Erudite mage—everything about him, Wira Kusuma, remained hidden. I had no deeper understanding of my feeling, and that lack convinced me I was being paranoid.
Back to dessert: We dug holes into fluffy lemon soufflés and scooped vanilla ice-cream inside. I’d avoided sugar during the week, and this sudden influx of sweetness filled me with joy. The other guests shared my sentiments with assorted compliments and coos, which Yvonne promised to relay to our chef.
With the meal complete, the table chatted for a while longer, but soon we split in more purposeful ways:
Mother brought Inga Rudawski elsewhere in the house to see a new “Quixote Merrill”, a painting she’d recently won at auction. Samara and Dust went to their rooms. The remainder made for the drawing room. Stuck between the latter two paths, I lingered outside the drawing room and tapped Father’s shoulder. ‘So…the drawing room,’ I said, coy.
‘Nope.’
‘Octavia started around my age.’
‘That’s different. Your time will come, Vic. Besides…’ He leaned down and whispered, ‘This meeting is going to be incredibly boring.’
‘I should get used to boring, then.’
‘Trust me, neither of us want to deal with this.’ He kissed my brow. ‘Invite some friends over. Get Rusk to drive you, if you’d like. Just – have fun.’
I watched Father enter the drawing room. Candles lit the space, filling it with the scent of cinnamon. All the candles in our home smelled that way, an old tradition, idea being that if we used Fornax-class magic, the candles disguised the smell, thereby giving us an advantage over intruders.
Darden Shrive, Juroga Drakon, and Wira Kusuma were already seated on the plush grey couches. The doors closed, and my evening’s ambition with them.
Despite Father’s wishes, I didn’t want to have fun. I wanted to participate. Giving up, I walked away, only to be startled alert as Yvonne appeared from nowhere. ‘Vic, have I ever told you of the servant passages?’ she whispered.
‘No…?’
‘They were constructed quite some time ago, and they run through the whole mansion, and in some places the walls are particularly thin. Often, when I move through them, I can hear full conversations. Of course, I don’t eavesdrop, but…’ Only her eyes moved, indicating a space under the staircase.
Cautious, confused, I slowly inspected the underside of the staircase, but it was too dark to see any features. Yvonne’s arm snaked around me and pushed part of the wall, revealing a handhold. I glanced at Yvonne, and then at the handhold. Placing my fingertips into it, I pulled sideways, causing the entire panel to slide away. Stone steps descended into darkness.
Yvonne offered me a flashlight from her pocket. ‘It can get quite dark, so I keep this handy.’
I accepted the flashlight with thanks, and descended into the passage, sliding the panel shut behind me.
#
Keeping my head low, I crept through the servant passages until I found the drawing room. Sure enough, I heard voices through the wall. Crouching, ear to the surface, I listened…
The discussion focused on the Unification Movement & Dusk Eradication (UMDE) group. The name told you everything. Well, almost. The group originated in Sydney, the closest surviving city, and wanted to increase the “unity” between Melbourne, Sydney, Adelaide, and Brisbane, in the process “eradicating” the Dusk.
It sounded nice, heroic and utopian, but it wasn’t so easy as shaking hands, agreeing to share resources and knowledge, and then, you know, doing that.
Why?
War.
The cities had been at war since the Vagabond all those years ago entered the Dusk and came back alive, thus confirming the Dusk could be traversed. The knowledge that other cities survived meant there was a certain degree of apprehension, in case one city wanted to encroach upon others.
The word “war” had a newer connotation. Not knives and bats and guns like the Chaotic Era, or bombs and forgotten tech like pre-Dusk. It’d take immense resources to transport soldiers by train and convoy to an opposing city, and once there you’d be outnumbered and in unfamiliar territory. You couldn’t establish a forward base close to the city because, obviously, that’d be in the Dusk, so Entities would tear you apart.
War was conducted quietly, coldly, a slow and insidious conflict hidden beneath regular life, subtle efforts to overtake other cities in every way, from industry to arts to the quality of mages.
Thus, the UMDE’s seemingly benevolent intentions were met with a healthy level of suspicion.
Sergio Nicodemo had been an ambassador of sorts for Melbourne, and he’d negotiated with the UMDE’s Melbourne branch concerning how they’d go about “unifying” cities.
My family represented a significant portion of industry in Melbourne, so naturally Sergio had closely involved us in the negotiation process. Fletcher Railways, Aquarius Solutions, the Melbourne government, and a couple smaller parties were also involved.
Except, with Sergio dead, negotiations halted.
I pressed my ear closer to the wall of the drawing room and listened close.
Darden Shrive’s voice had a clipped, academic lilt.
Darden: ‘What’re you proposing, Mr Kusuma?’
Kusuma: ‘Exactly what I stated: Refuse the UMDE until they give you better terms.’
Juroga Drakon had a light lisp and heavy Irish accent, so I had to focus.
Juroga: ‘A-Am I’m missing something? Ya the UMDE’s new rep in Melbourne, or ain’t ya?’
Kusuma: ‘I volunteered for the role, yes.’
Juroga: ‘But ya telling us to refuse?’
Kusuma: ‘Only until you get better terms. Allow me to elucidate. The UMDE wishes to unite the four presently recognised cities. Adelaide, Melbourne, Sydney, and Brisbane. However, if three cities accepted the initial terms, while the fourth negotiated for much better conditions, that fourth city would be placed in an advantageous position. That, in of itself, works against unity.’
Darden: ‘How do we know the other cities are getting the same advice?’
Kusuma: ‘You don’t, but do understand, the UMDE won’t stop at cities. They want to unite countries, starting with New Zealand. If we begin that process with inequality among the cities, it’ll lead to greater issues in the future; a splinter isn’t a big deal until it poisons the bloodstream, so to speak. Currently, Adelaide and Sydney have agreed to moderate conditions. Brisbane is asking for too much, and Melbourne is asking for too little. We are working to even that out, hence my suggestion for you to wait.’
Silence.
At last, Father spoke:
‘We do not speak for the whole city.’
Kusuma laughed. ‘And I wouldn’t burden you with that. Seven parties are involved, including yourselves. The Fornax family, Fletcher Railways, Aquarius Solutions, Melbourne’s administrative government, the Faceless Carriers, people of the Rainy Lands, and the Qronyurch Foundation. In the coming days, these seven will vote on a proposition drafted by the UMDE, and hopefully all seven will vote against it.’
Father: ‘Because, for the sake of unity, we need to ask for more?’
Kusuma: ‘Exactly.’
Father sighed, and his chair groaned under his massive form. ‘We will think about it.’
The group talked about a few other things, but the core discussion had reached an end. It wasn’t long until Darden led Kusuma out. Father and Juroga stayed back to talk about what they’d learned.
Father: ‘He’s hiding something.’
Juroga: ‘Aye, which makes his advice all the stranger. He wants us to benefit more, but why?’
Father: ‘It’s possible he’ll convince the other six groups to vote for the proposition, putting us in an uncooperative light. Hmm. Contact Jeremiah Fletcher and—who’s the new head of Aquarius?’
Juroga: ‘Goro Kamiya, but we can’t get a direct line to him. His second son’s fiancée has become our primary contact.’
Father: ‘Who?’
Juroga: ‘Marigold Loch.’
Father: ‘Fletcher and Loch, contact them both. Figure out their stance in regards to the UMDE. I’ll have to ask Mayor Nash personally.’
That marked the end of the meeting. I crept back through the servant passage, waited at the exit panel to ensure nobody was around, and then pushed it open and stepped out. Brushing dust from my clothes, I rounded the staircase and ascended, as if I’d merely visited the kitchen. I owe you, Yvonne, I thought. It’d been so easy to get away with eavesdropping, I’d probably use the same method in the future.
My feet reached the second last step when someone in the foyer cleared their throat. I glanced back. Mother stood under the chandelier. ‘Hi – Mum.’ My heart hammered, and I kept the flashlight hidden at my side.
‘Victoria.’ Mother started up the steps. ‘There’s a cat outside.’
‘Aw, cute. Where is it?’ I craned my head and squinted, trying to see out the foyer’s windows.
‘In the garden, eight meters away, crouched under a bush.’ Mother’s eyes stayed locked onto me. ‘It’s moving, now, toward the oak tree.’
I swallowed. I’d forgotten, and therein lay my failure.
Mother knew the cat’s movements without looking because she sensed its body heat. She detected heat better than anyone in the family, perhaps the whole city. If she detected a cat from eight meters away, detecting a person in the walls…
‘Did you like dinner?’ Mother asked, climbing another few steps. ‘I hope Vandagriff isn’t outshining a meal at home.’
‘It was good, yeah. Mum, I—are you mad?’
‘Why would I be mad?’
‘Because…’
She looked at the drawing room. ‘I’m not mad, but…I, and your father, wish you’d relax more. Have some fun. We don’t want a surname to overshadow a given; it might not seem so, but doing so is the easy, lazy way, and it’ll make life harder further down the track.’
Eyes narrowed, I crossed my arms. ‘Since when is being a Fornax easy?’
‘That’s not what I’m saying.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I mean, be more than a Fornax.’
‘What do you think I’ve been trying to do?’ I retorted. ‘The gala at Foster hall, Vandagriff, those dossiers you guys sent me, I’m doing way more.’ Yet, they still wouldn’t let me get officially involved. ‘Is this about Nix?’
Mother twitched. My words had ignited a fuse, in both of us, either we put it out or let it explode. ‘Nix took the easy path,’ I said, ‘but I won’t do the same.’
‘Nix didn’t take the easy path.’
‘Then what’s the problem?’ My arms fell but shoulders stayed tense. ‘Forget it. I shouldn’t have mentioned Nix.’ Fuse extinguished, albeit messily. I needed to escape, before I said something harder to smother. ‘Whatever. I’ll wait for Octavia to retire if I must.’ I spun, hurried up the last steps, and marched to my room. Mother called my name, but I ignored her.
Yvonne appeared from the bathroom. ‘I’ve drawn a bath, Vic.’
Thank God, I thought. ‘Not right now.’
I shouldered open my door and began to pace. My body felt heavy, sluggish. Socialising at dinner drained me, and everything after pushed me closer to my limits. I needed to process what I’d heard.
The UMDE wanted to unite the cities, but they wanted them united in a particular way. Wira Kusuma was the new ambassador for Melbourne’s major factions. That must’ve been why Sergio got killed. Somebody, or some people, mustn’t have liked what Sergio helped to facilitate. Did that put Kusuma in danger? Additionally, Eleanor’s note informed me Sergio had gone to Alderrow, in the Rainy Lands, so for starters I needed to check with our Fornax agents as to why he’d visited the remote town. Octavia would know.
Then, the matter of getting caught. I paced and chewed my nails. It would’ve been easier if Mother got mad, for her equanimity frustrated me. What did she mean about “easy” path? Our family had wealth and opportunities, but our work wasn’t easy. Did she think I presumed otherwise? I wasn’t Samara. Sometimes, she really made me want to just—
Knock at the door.
I kept pacing. ‘What?’ The door cracked open slightly open and Dust peeked through. ‘What do you want?’ I snapped.
‘You alright?’
‘Either come in or go away.’
Dust slid inside. ‘I was listening from the hall. What’s up?’
‘None of your business.’
‘You don’t have to tell me, ’cause it’s pretty obvious. You’re doing the Mum-and-Dad-won’t-let-me-do-whatever-I-want thing.’
‘Shut up.’
‘You’re overthinking things.’
‘You wanna help? Get outta here, shoo.’
‘It’s in your nature.’
I whirled to him. ‘Is it in your nature to be an annoying prick?’
‘Yes, but that aside, you get mad about the past and worry about the future.’ He strolled to my dresser and toyed with various pendants. ‘Imagine you’re four-dimensional. You’re a speck in time, everything that you were, are, and will be compressed into a single point. Forget about wasted potential or future disasters or which path is easy or hard. Focus only on being the best you can be in the moment, the dot, the singleness of being.’
Arms crossed, eyebrow cocked, I stared at him. ‘…You done, Socrates?’
‘Yeah, I’m done.’ Dust threw up his hands. ‘Last time I try helping.’
‘I didn’t ask.’
‘Blah, blah.’ He gave the middle finger over his shoulder as he left.
The walls closed in. Our house felt concave. At any second, it’d crush me. Fornax-this. Fornax-that. I shouldn’t have come to dinner. What had I expected to happen?
The night wasn’t late. Our driver had a cottage beyond the back lawn, and the windows were illuminated. I used the house’s direct line and called him over. I’d feel better back at Vandagriff.