Wyll

The room was comfortable and warm, but very dark. The only lighting was a stained glass lamp on the far side of the room that shone dappled rainbows on to the ceiling beams. It cast strange shadows that seemed to shift and morph around the room, and although there were no windows there was the distinct sound of a storm outside.

Wyll’s head was pounding.

The bed he lay in was queen sized and covered in blankets of various sizes and materials. He had to dig out of six different layers just to sit up, and found he was still fully dressed under the sheets. On a bedside table was a small folded note and a glass of water. With a hand that faintly shook, he picked up the glass and took a deep chug of water and then opened the letter and read the neat cursive text inside.

You’re safe here. Take time to rest up, I’ll check in on you soon. - Ron

Wyll sighed, tossing the note back on to the table, and tried to figure out where he was. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten out of that spinning vortex, what happened to the others in the alleyway, but it seems that Fyron had gotten involved somehow. There was a longer side table on the other side of the bed with various mana crystals that faintly hummed with different colours, adding to the slightly disorienting iridescence of the room. There was a wooden door on the opposite end of the room, and Wyll could hear a feminine voice humming out of tune. He kicked off the mass of blankets and started to creep towards the door, not picking up his boots from the floor.

Outside, there was a long, dark hallway with the warm glow of firelight coming from another door at the end of it where the humming was coming from. The floorboards under the long rug that stretched the length of the hallway creaked softly, and Wyll had to move slowly to avoid detection. Half was through the excruciatingly slow journey, Wyll stopped in his tracks. There was a mirror on the wall next to where he stood, and the face in the mirror was alien to him.

He still looked the same, in every perceivable way. His short black hair was still in the uniform military cut his father demanded. His almond brown skin still had the three freckles on his right cheek. The burns on his neck still looked an angry red, though they no longer hurt. But there was something about his reflection that didn’t connect - something beyond the physical that felt… uncanny.

Wyll didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, staring, until a voice cut through his trance.

“You gonna stand there all day or are you gonna get something to eat?”

Reluctantly, Wyll tore his eyes away from his reflection and looked at the source of the voice. It was a woman, slightly older than him, with long green hair the colour of pine needles that ran in waves down her back where it wasn’t covered by a lighter green headscarf. She wore a loose-fitting white top and form-fitting khaki trousers, on which several knives of various sizes were strapped down the length of her legs. Wyll could see no less than eight bladed instruments on her person. Ten if he counted the long, knife-like silver earrings that dangled by her face.

Despite the menacing nature of the small armoury she wore, she was looking at him with an expression that was a mix of concern and disapproval with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Uh… I’m sorry, I…” Wyll started.

“Save it until you’ve had something to eat first. You’ll need a minute to get your bearings.” she said curtly, then walked off towards the room with the firelight.

Not entirely sure what was happening, Wyll did as he was told and followed her to a cozy kitchen. There were various dried herbs hanging from the ceiling next to pots and pans hanging from hooks. The woman was wiping down a granite countertop with a cloth, while a kettle rumbled out some steam. Wyll’s attention was more taken by a large table, big enough to seat eight, where there was a bowl of some kind of savoury porridge. He didn’t feel hungry, but his stomach growled loudly at the sight as if to protest that thought. Wordlessly, he sat down to eat. The food looked good, but he couldn’t really taste anything.

When he had nearly finished, the woman sat down across from him and set two mugs of some kind of floral smelling tea on the table.

“I imagine you have questions.” she said, blowing on her tea.

Wyll swallowed. “Am I dead?”

The woman looked shocked for a second, and burst out into laughter. “Hahah! I didn’t expect that. No you’re not dead, though I wouldn’t blame you for thinking so. You made a real mess of things.”

A pit formed in my stomach.”I remember… everything, I think. We were being attacked, I was about to be bitten by this conjured snake, and I tried to use Wild Magic-”

The woman tutted. “Wild Magic? What has Ron been teaching you? It’s Raw Magic or Free Magic, not Wild. That’s some DAA propaganda you’re spouting.”

“...Right. Sorry. I’m not sure what happened next. There was this whirlwind, or maybe it was the world that was spinning. I remember I was just trying to stop the snake from hurting me, then I wanted the whirlwind to not hurt me either. I don’t really know how I did that, if it was me, but I really didn’t feel in control of it.”

The woman looked thoughtful for a while. “Hmm. That tracks. Not the worst crack I’ve ever seen, but a pretty dramatic one. I’m just glad you didn’t blow the place up when you woke up.”

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

“Where is this place, anyway? Also, who even are you?”

She smiled. “Ah, there we go. You’re pretty slow on the uptake, huh? I’m Sasha, and this is Fyron’s place in Gottlan. He sent you here after the events of last night as a just-in-case king of measure. I was against the idea, for the record, since this is my favourite little hideout and I’d be really mad if you disintegrated it.”

Wyll digested that for a moment. He wasn’t surprised anymore that Fyron had teleported him across three countries without him really noticing it.

“So, uh, can I go home?”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “I can take you back if you really need me to, but I’d advise against it. You really kicked the hornet’s nest last night, and a lot of people with a lot of skill in tracking are looking for someone with your specific mana signature. They won’t find you here, but I can’t promise Ron and I can hide you if you go back before you learn to control your magic.”

That made sense, he supposed. He was lucky that Ron had whisked him away before the Peacekeepers had just found him lying at the scene of the crime. A thought suddenly occurred to him.

“Wait, the other two who were with me - do you know what happened to them?”

Sasha reached across the table and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. He didn’t know when he’d balled his hands into fists. “Arryn and Medea are fine. Medea got patched up pretty good, and Arryn protected them from the blast. Medea has been looking around for you all day, so I hear.”

Some tension left his body, but not all. “So if Arryn hadn’t…”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” She said, leaning forward and resting her head on her hands. “You would never have killed them. Fyron was watching the whole time, and wouldn’t let his prized students meet their end that way.”

“He was there? Why didn’t he..?” Wyll remembered his joints popping as the snake constricted, the fangs pressing against his neck. He remembered seeing Medea shot through the leg, pinned to the ground with a spike through the shoulder. Fyron had let that happen?

“Easy, kid. It’s a step everyone goes through at some point. Sometimes you need the kick of adrenaline to get past those mental blocks for Free Magic. At least you came out unscathed, yeah?” Sasha pulled down the collar of her shirt, and revealed a long jagged scar that ran from her shoulder down past her collarbone. The wound had a sort of metallic sheen to it, and twisted the skin around it. “You should ask Fyron about his training, now there’s a horror story.”

Wyll was conflicted. He wished he’d known about that part, but he understood that if he’d known then it probably wouldn’t have worked. He was upset, but logically he knew it made sense.

“Alright, fine. I’ll stay.” he said, after a moment. “But what about my family? They’ll be looking for me too.”

“Yeah, that’s a bit of a pickle. I thought about disguising myself as you and going to say hi, but there are some things that even Raw Magic can’t disguise. I didn’t want to give the game up by your mother asking me some obscure question about your childhood. For now they think you just didn’t get home last night, and I think your old man has been asking around for your ‘tutor’”.

Crap. That was going to be hard to explain. He needed to get a message to them somehow. “Are there any Horizon branches around here?”

Sasha smiled, and pulled out a small crystal bead that glowed faintly blue. “I thought you might ask that. Yes, technically, but Horizon always listens to your messages-”

“Wait, really?”

“-and also the closest one is about twelve miles away. Yes, really.” she tapped the bead with a finger, then rolled it across the table towards him. “I made this for you, will let you call whoever you like whenever you like. It’s a bit… forceful. The other side won’t really be able to decline your call, so don’t abuse it. Just pop it in your ear when you want to use it.”

I marveled at the pea-sized ball in front of me. I’d never heard of anything like this. Sending messages across long distances was a real hassle since you’d have to know ahead of time if someone was available before you went to Horizon to establish a telepathic connection with them.

“You missed about eight calls while you were asleep, by the way. Just so you know.” said Sasha.

Wyll didn’t ask how she knew that. The notification should have only been in his head.

“Thank you for this… I’m still a bit confused about what’s going on but it seems you’ve been looking out for me. I appreciate that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not done yet. Ron asked me to watch you for any… abnormalities. Random mana surges, split personalities, delusions of ruling the world, that kinda thing.” Sasha listed the options on her fingers. “You feel anything strange?”

Wyll thought about the face in the mirror. “Yeah. I don’t feel… right. It’s hard to say.”

Sasha pulled out a long, thin dagger and began picking her nail with it. “Sounds like a subtle one. Definitely a good idea to keep you here a bit. Notice anything weird about your magic?”

Wyll thought for a moment, then summoned a small fireball over the palm of his hand. He let the flames dance around his fingers, twisting and twirling close enough to the skin to feel the heat but not to burn. He recalled the accident that scarred his body, but the fear from that felt distant, like it had happened to someone else. Experimentally, he let the fire get close enough to start to sting a fingertip, and still felt nothing. Just yesterday, that would have filled him with absolute terror. Now, he just felt numb to it.

“I… I don’t think I’m scared of my magic anymore. That doesn’t make any sense. Last night was way worse than that fireball going off in my hand. I almost killed people. Why do I feel better than I did before? No, not better, just not bad?” Wyll’s mind was racing trying to make sense of it.

Sasha stopped picking her nail and slid the dagger back into the sheath on her thigh with practiced fluidity. She seemed to hesitate with her words for a second, but eventually stumbled out a sentence.

“Wyll, listen… I don’t want you to take this too hard, but you did kill the four men who were attacking you in that alleyway. I’m just going to give it to you straight - you disintegrated them completely. Ron and I had never seen anything like it. It was in self defence, so I don’t want you to…”

Sasha kept talking, but Wyll couldn’t hear her anymore. The fact he was now a murderer should have ruined him. He should panic, right? Wasn’t he supposed to feel some kind of guilt? Remorse? Regret?

Instead there was nothing, just the sound of raging winds coming from outside.