Mitaen: Chpt. 2

A Story by Paul McKnight

Chapter 2

As I work, my mind drifts. This stuff, spelling and enchanting, has always come naturally. When Sarin gave me my first lesson on reaching for your magic inside of yourself, she said she couldn't believe how brightly my fire burned, or how deep the color was. Both are good signs, she had said. She was on to something, because a month later, when I start formal classes with each of my instructors, time and time again I surprised them, and continued to surprise them until they had ratcheted up the curriculum enough to halt my furious progress. Even now, only a year later, I'm operating at a level that would leave most Indigenous quite annoyed.

See, I'm what they call an “Import”. It means I was brought to this world from another, and typically they only do this when they want to add an exotic edge to the slave trade. For whatever reason, I flagged their radar. They tell me my heart had cried out for them, but I highly doubt that. Was I a fantasy geek? Yes. Was I contemplating what life would have been like if I could leave my old one behind? Maybe. Did I want to be whisked away to a whole other universe and taught to make deadly weapons for a war crazy nation? Hell to the no. The thing is, when they ask whether or not you want to come with them, there's really no choice involved. You're going with them no matter what. I'm lucky, because I said yes. Something told me it would be far, far worse for me if I said no. Those who refuse what Mitites call “The Highest Honor” tend to end up locked in a back room somewhere, being tested for defects and used to fuel propaganda campaigns.

Imports are kind of a gamble , also. First off, only certain people can traverse the corridors between worlds, and even they do it at their own risk. If they make a blunder, even once, they could be sucked away to who knows where. Those who are overeager or under prepared are never heard of again.

Second, when they bring in new people, slave or mage, they run the risk of us not acclimating correctly. Be it disease, social customs or, in the case of slaves, fragility, some of us don't make it, and the Walker, as those special Mages are called, has used up an enormous amount of energy for nothing.

Finally, in the case of a Mage like me, I may have no talent what so ever. More often than not, those brought in from other worlds are mediocre Mages at best, with no idea how to master the primal forces. I guess I should be glad that I've always been more of an exception, rather than a rule, because I really do have a knack for this stuff.

After some cursory tests, the High Guild, made up of all the Guildheads, decided that I was to be put in the Armory program. Armorers are the branch of the Magekin that put spells, or bewitchments, on objects. We aren't limited to making weapons, really. It's just that, at least within the military, that is our primary function. I love it. There are many ways to master magic, but the method that the Armorers employ is runemarks. These are a series of marks that, when used correctly, spell out a spell or magical process, from making someone invisible to keeping them warm. The skills of a an Armorer are highly prized, because we are the rarest form of Mage, and our magic is forever. Once spelled, an object could very well hold that spell until it has been completely dissembled. Other Guilds try, but have never gotten their magic to stay in one place for more than an instance. Even Babblers, who are seen as the most power type of Mage, can only weave semi-permanant spells, which are exhausting and tend to kill the caster. No, we are set apart, and this can make us outcasts at times, but I have yet to see why being set apart from this society is bad.

By the time the bells rings for me to leave, my eyes are closed. My body is relaxed, and my hands are turning the gun over and over in my hands. I have written the addition to the spell in a thin gray paint and spoken the activating words. I have said the prayer I always say, and now I am bringing life to the runes. I mutter to myself as I call on the fire inside of me. It starts in my stomach and travels up, up to my shoulder and then down, down my arms. It pools in my hands, allowing me to squeeze it out little by little, like toothpaste. It races along the lines I have drawn, causing the paint to evaporate and the spell to come alive. As I finish my incantation, I sit for a moment to admire my handy work. The gun hums in my hands, causing them to tingle. I tap it, and it sings a note, pure and clear, only for me. I laugh at it's enthusiasm, waking up Kike in the process. He had fallen asleep a bit ago, all the toys I had let him play with spread out around his head. When I had gone trance he had fallen asleep. He brought his head up now, though. He has the hover coin stuck to his right cheek, and his eye lid is trying to stay shut.

“Dork.” I say to him, shaking my head. I turn the gun over in my hands, looking for any signs of weakness or stress. Nothing so far, so that's good. Sometimes when you add parts to existing spells, the vessel gets a little fragile. The gumgun seems fine though, so I stand to stretch. Spelling always takes a lot out of you, between the intense concentration required to control the magic and the way it weakens the muscles it travels through them. My knees feel pleasantly wobbly, and my arms shake a bit. I smile, loving the way it makes me feel, light and disconnected. I'm basking in the feeling as I hear it. A small tinkling, like a copper cog coughing. I listen, and memory hits me. The Council. The glow fades instantly as I scram ble to grab a hold on the small bell. As I pick it up, the imaginary “mute” button clicks off. A raucous pealing fills the room, echoing again and again, resonating in my head, making my nose buzz and my arm shake. I drop the bell, and the noise goes back to a soft tinkle. Kike gives me a smirk.

“First time with a summon-bell?” He says, all innocence, and his smirk grows.

“Shut up.” Is all I say. I start to pack up, hoping my hair isn't too frazzled, and that I haven't started sweating too much, or my eyes are bloodshot. These things tend to happen right after a working. I wish I had time to test the modifications I've made to the spell, but I don't. I'm just gonna have to hope that I'm as good as Sarin says I am.

When I'm set to go, I gingerly reach for the bell once again, expecting the same bone shattering percussion as before. Instead, what traveled up my arms was a soft chime, like a comb being drug over a metal pole. Much easier to bear.

Kike leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. “It levels out after awhile. That way, it can get louder as you get to wherever you're going.” He smiles at me in a cocky matter.

I just roll my eyes at his condescension. Stopping for a moment to think about what I need to bring with me and, finding nothing, I start to head out the door.

“Let yourself out. Debina and Sarin are in the slave wing, eating. Or they were earlier. Either way, I gotta go.” I say, half over my shoulder. I take three steps out of the door the remember his bell. I stick my head in the door. “Almost forgot. The summon-bell for the Hatching is in your bag. See you later.” And I left.

I kneel in the middle of the the Council chamber with my head bowed and my eyes closed, about thirty feet from the High Table, where the three of the most important Guildsfolk sit. Today, they will decide my fate. Will I be inducted into the Guild as an Intern, on my way to becoming an adult member of the Armory? Or will I be Rejected, cast out into an Alien society with no one and no place to go to? I'll know soon. I take a deep breath, centering my suba, the magical fire that sits in my stomach, waiting for me to call on it. I grip the gumgun through where it sits, thrust into the left side of my belt, the ammunition hangin just outside it's hiding place. I look up, and up, to the table in front of me. It is lifted about ten feet off the ground, sitting on a platform, a plain wooden table with very little adorning it. I can see that it is intensely magical though. Marks wiggle underneath the surface, like fish in the shallows, shimmering and disappearing. I felt it's aura as soon as I stepped into the room.

Behind the table sit the three Guildheads. On the left, my Rune's teacher, Senora Balquet. She adores me, which is proven by the way she winks at me as I meet her eyes. A plump woman in her late 50's, she is profoundly brown. I mean it. Eye's, hair, clothing, skin, even her teeth. She spelled them a dark tshade when she was a teen, which was the fad at that time, and took to it so much that she never reversed the spell. It was shocking at first, but I got over it pretty quick.

On the far end from her sits the one roadblock in the way of my otherwise inevitable admittance to the Guild, Senor Breakitse. He is a rather cantankerous old man, tall and thin like a scarecrow, who I've only met once or twice, at social events and group projects, and yet he has developed a rather intense hatred of me. See, despite the fact that I excel where most fail and have been nothing but cooperative with my acclimation to this somewhat insane culture, he only see's me as one thing. An Import. Dirty, rotten, disgusting. I am an infection that needs to be snuffed out. He is under the impression that me and my “ilk” do nothing but rot the morality and integrity of this fine, slave holding, war-mongering nation. Talk about delusional. I try not to worry about him.

Between these two people sits one of the most powerful men in the King's Army, a man who has single-handedly won Mitaen a small Empire on his own, albeit from safe at home here in Military Academy. His weapons were the deciding factors in three or four skirmishes over the past decade or so, and as such he hold the highest position one can hold in the Guild. He is Alfonso Bina, High Guildsmaster. He presides over all of the War Guilds here at the Academy, and all military operations thereout. The fact that he is here shows how much they are willing to devote to my education and career here. I should be flattered, honored, and about a hundred different synonyms. It's still scary as hell.

I lift my gaze fully, meeting first Sra. Balquet's eyes, then Sr. Breakitse's, and finally Sr. Bina. I hold his eyes the longest, and then say in a loud voice, “Thank you for having me today. I, Paul Marseito, present myself for your scrutiny and evaluation. I ask to be admitted into the Guild proper, so that I may advance my career, mi chiva and, most importantly, the Nation of Mitaen.” I keep my voice loud and cleat, enunciating each of my words carefully, and await their judgement. All three are still, with Sra. Balquet's face a soft smile, Sr. Breakitse's face a hard frown, and Sr. Bina's face unreadable. I wait, breathless. Did I remember the words wrong, or forget something crucial in the middle? Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Sr. Bina speaks.

“Welcome, my son. Enter this hall with gladness, and I pray you leave it with a light heart. Let us judge you and test you, knowing it is only for the good of the State, and let us leave here knowing that all things are for a reason. Stand and step forward, my son. We shall begin.” His voice is deep, and strong. It flows clear, and cold, like a mountain stream. I stand, and finally get a good look at the man I've heard so much about.

He is dark. Most people around here have a light olive tone to their skin, but he is far past that. He is brown as a walnut, leathery and wrinkled. His eyes are so dark they are almost black. His hair is black, the deepest shade I have ever seen. He wears a gotee, and the hair on his head is cut short, right against his skull. I can't tell much about his body type from where I am standing, but I get the sense that he is large, tall and broad. Power flows out of him and floats in the air. I can practically see it. It terrifies me.

He speaks again. “So, you are the young man I have heard so much about. How are you today?”

I go to speak, but my breath catches in my throat. I am paralysed, totally afraid of this whole ordeal. It's silly, I shouldn't be. I can't change the outcome now, can I? And, just like that, they greyness sweeps in, stilling my fear and prompting action. “I am quite good. Looking forward to the future.” I smile slightly, trying not to push too hard.

He smiles back, as does Sra. Balquet. Sr. Breakitse just frowns deeper. Sr. Bina lifts a clipboard closer to his face, and I see a brief flare of magic around his eyes. Is he using a runespell to correct his eyesight? Wow, that kind of control and confidence is amazing.

“You have quite an impressive resume, my boy. Fluent in our language after only one year, surpassing expectation in every aspect of your studies, even managing to teach your instructors a thing or two. And as an Import no less.” Sra. Balquet laughs a little at this, even while Sr. Breakitse scoffs. Sr. Bina silences both of them with a look. “You can drive a car as well. Hmm...” He fall silent for a moment, then his eyes widen a bit. “It says here that you are empathic? In what way?”

I take a deep breath, instantly trying to think of a way to deflect, and then I remember what Sarin had told me. Never lie. They have spells that tell them, and that looks horrible. Don't even bend the truth. Just be honest.

“I can sense the emotions of those around me, using any one of my senses. Usually I feel it, on my skin. A little stronger than that, I smell it. Then, as it gets stronger, I taste, hear and see the emotion. I really don't have much control over it, and it usually only happens when I'm with people I know fairly well. All in all, not very useful.” It's a little more vague than that, but I smile a little, trying to act apologetic about how passive it is. Here, everything that might be a weapon, no matter how insignificant, should be honed into a salad fork at least. Like, a really pointy one.

Anyhow, Sr. Bina gives no indication on what his thoughts on the matter are. He simply continues on. “You're also marked down as a 'Possible Precog”. I haven't heard of that before. Care to explain what that is?” His face is kind, but I'm always looking for the trap. I don't find one, so I answer.

“I've been having dreams lately, Sir. Sometimes they relate to what I do that day. What food is served in the Mess Hall, what the subject in class might be. One time I predicted my pants ripping during drill, and brought an extra pair. Turned out to be a good thing I had.” Once again, I smile. This time, I am encouraging, showing it to each of the three Council Members in turn. Sr. Breakitse gives me the stank eye.

Sra. Balquet speaks for the first time. “Really? Have you been tested officially?”

“No. They haven't progressed beyond hazy idea yet, and I have no control.” I start to go into a detailed explanation of what my projected progress might be when it hits me. I see something shiny spinning in Sra. Bina's hands, and I'm not there anymore. I'm somewhere else.

A taught young body is before me. It is pail, very thin, and somehow familiar. Not in it's entirety though, because I don't remember the spiderweb of whipmarks that cover it. The body moves, making a pained sound. He is male, and tied to a post, arms above his head. Rain is beating down on us, and I am holding the whip. I reach out to touch one of the lashes, and his body jerks under my hands. Did I do this?

Suddenly I am back in my own body, feeling woozy and nauseous. The room spins a bit, and I am on my knees. My head has sunk down between my knee's, and the room is silent. Then I remember where I am.

I jerk my head up, horrified at what just happened. I blanked out in front of the Council. I was dead for sure, or might as well have been. I try to blink away the blurryness in my eyes, to see the Council members once again. When the world is clear again, I am surprised by what I see. Sra. Balquet and Sr. Breakitse have somewhat shocked looks on their faces, and Sr. Bina looks... Impressed.

He picks up the clipboard and writes something down. “I'll put you down for 'needs further study'. The fact that you can be induced is a good sign, as it means that your abilities might grow in the future.” I feel a look of surprise cross my face, before I school my features back to a calm(ish) mask, to better represent myself. Sr. Bina catches the look though. “Yes, I did that. It's a trick I learned in the service. My friend was a precog, and that was the only way it would work for him. I figured it was worth a shot, and I was not disappointed.” I attempt to get to my feet, and he holds up a hand. “Stay down until you feel well enough to stand. It may take a few minutes. Besides, we still have some questions to ask you.” He lifts the top paper of the clip board and looks over the one underneath.

“So, what are your plans if you enter the Guild. Stay here in the Armory, or will you go out and find work elsewhere?” He asks. I can't tell him the truth, that I someday I want to get the hell out of here, back to whatever family I have left. No, that would not go over well. So, I break Sarin's rules and bend the truth, just a bit.

“Someday, I hope to be on one of the Venturing groups, scouting new territory. It includes all of my interests, with the Keeping and the possible combat. I also like the idea of doing something tangible, where I can see my work doing something, and reap the rewards personally” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. Mitaen values the good of the State over personal conflicts, and I should've answered as such. Dang it. My head was still swimming from my vision. A part of me was surprised that I wasn't surprised, but the greyness told it to shut up, and it did.

Sr. Bina ignored my small slip up. “You know, it is very rare to put an Armorer in a Venturing group. It's a much more fast paced lifestyle than our magic is suited for.” He looks down at the papers again. “But, it does seem that you show some rather... Nontraditional talents in magic. Am I wrong?”

I shake my head. “I can give some runes special characteristics, and use them in somewhat new ways.” I bounce on my knees a bit, gauging how steady they are. My head is almost clear, and I'm feeling almost good enough to stand. A minute or two more.

“New ways? Will you explain these to me?” Sr. Bina is quite excited. I can taste it from my spot ten feet away. Sra. Balquet is smug, since she's been there since I first started using runes. Sr. Breakitse's face has almost folded in on itself he's frowning so hard. It's like someone popped the baloon inside of a paper mache head before the paper dried. I fight to keep from laughing. To cover my snickers, I stand up, a bit shakily.

“It might be better if I show you. Could you bring out a target, por favor?” I ask. As they say, a picture says a thousand words.

Sr. Bina nods and snaps his fingers. Out of the corner of the room, three slaves appear. Literaly, appear. To me, it looked like they had walked through the wall. Either they did that, or their's an invisibility spell on the walls. In any case, they are all male, very good looking, dressed in the short blue cotton shorts that all male slaves wear. It shows off their strong bodies well. They carry between them a large round target, like you might use for archery. They set it down on the floor about fifteen feet away from me and kneel. They wait there until Sr. Bina snaps his fingers, and they exit.

I don't dwell on the slaves very long. “I figured out awhile ago that if you draw runes in the air, sometimes you can use them like you would any other object. I can only do this with marks I've used a lot, or marks that mean something to me. I'll demonstrate.”

I turn to face the target, centering myself. My suba is all over the place after my recent episode, but I manage to draw one tendril up my arm and into my hand. I make a claw out of my first two fingers and my thumb, and twist my wrist. If I had been looking, I would have seen a golden circle appear in the air. I wasn't though. I was focusing on the mark in my mind. My fingers twitch, seemingly randomly, drawing crooked lines in towards the center. When the three lines meet in the middle, I bring up my hand, palm up, and bend my arm towards my body. Then, I snap my rm out straight and fling the mark towards the target. When it hits, a shock goes through the floor. The fabric that covers the front of the target bursts, spewing straw and dust everywhere. I'm a little shocked that I caused such a violent reaction with one of my lower level marks. I guess I'm more shaken up than I had realized.

I turn to the Council, feeling pretty proud of myself. All three of the Council members are looking at me with shock. Sra. Balquet is the first to recover.

“What mark was that?” Her voice betrays how much I shocked her. She's seen me work like this before, albeit on a smaller scale. In her class I mostly just set lit candles, or moved things across the room. I had never been destructive.

I smile confidently, knowing that looking like I was in charge was the best thing at the moment. “A level 1 quake mark.”

Sr. Bina whistles, low. “You can work with elemental marks already?” I nod. “Why didn't they bring you to me before this? My my...” He looks down as the clip board and makes some marks. I see him make check after check after check I hope he's approving me. He flips the page again. “All that's left is your Tribute. Do you have it with you?”

I nod, pulling it from my belt. I hold the gun up to the light, turning it slowly. Three sets of eyes watch it closely. “This is what I like to call a 'gumgun'. It shoots a form of gumball that swells up to monumental size, gumming up everything it touches. This is just a prototype, so it needs work. But I felt I had to show it to you, rough as it may be.” Sr. Breakitse had been silent this whole time, content to glare and scoff. Now, he breaks his peace.

“A goon? A goon?!? What is a goon?!? What are you trying to give us, some silly, idiotic toy brought from whatever pond they scraped you from the bottom of? I refuse to be insulted like this!” His voice, scratchy and old, filled the chamber like a thousand snakes hissing. It gave me the chills. I instinctivly wanted to cringe away from it, but forced myself to stand still. I would not show fear to this old man.

Sr. Bina came to my defense. “You haven't even seen what this goon is able to do, Almuerto. Give hi...”
“But I have seen him and that Fabricator girl playing with those around the Academy, shooting those infernal wads of gum at each other and whatever strokes their fancy at the moment. I mean, I s...”

“Almuerto, be quiet.” Sr. Bina says. Instantly, Sr. Breakitse falls silent. I feel a cool wind blow across my skin as I taste mint on my tongue. Sr. Bina is not pleased.

“While I both value your opinion and respect your position, I do not like being interrupted, especially during a conversation between myself and an esteemed coleeg. Do you understand?” Sr. Bina's voice is like a cloud of ice, making me feel cold, inside and out. I know this anger isn't directed at me, but I feel it just as keenly as if it had been. I'm thawed out a bit when I realise that Sr. Bina has just referred to me as his “esteemed coleeg”. Does that mean what I think it does.

Sr. Bina cuts off my happy dance, though. “If you might demonstrate, Joven Marseito, how your tribute works.”

I nod my head and turn to the target once more. I pop the clip out and dig in the bag at my waist for a moment, pulling out a hand full of bullets. I fit them into the slots on the clip and replace it into the gun. Then, take my stance.

This time, as I pull the trigger, instead of a soft hiss, the sharp sound of air escaping extreme pressure fills the chamber. No light flares, and all is silent but for the “whumph” of the bullet as it slams into the hay of the ruined target. As it makes contact, just like before, it becomes sticky and messy. Unlike before, it starts to grow. It grow larger and larger, a huge blob of chewing gum, gray and shiny in the light. As it reaches a size that doesn't seem possible for the size of the bullet, the bubble pops, leaving string of ooey, gooey mess dripping down and down and down.

I turn back to the table, meeting confusion this time, instead of the approval I was hoping for. I wait a moment, hoping for one of them to say something. When the room remains quiet, I say, “And so, that's how that works.” And wait.

After a moment, Sra. Balquet asks, “How does that help us, here, in the Armory?”

I think about that a moment. “I guess it doesn't, not really. But think about using it in battle. You're enemy is coming at you, full speed, flaying towards you on horse back, or one of those horseless jobs that the Sibaru's are using now a days. Fire one of these babies into their wheels, or legs, and their toast.” I smile and unhook the bag from my hip, hoisting it in the air. Then, I drop my arm and bow my head, waiting.

“Well, I guess all that's left is a vote.” Sr. Bina says, setting my heart on a racetrack to cardiac arrest. This is it. The moment of truth. Suddenly, I begin to run through everything I had done so far, highlighting a thousand errors and kicking myself for everyone. I clench my teeth and force my expression back to 'sane' and await the verdict.

Sr. Bina leans into Sra. Balquet, whispering to her. They completely ignore Sr. Breakitse. He just sits and glares at me, and I meet his eyes and stare back. The way I figure it, I have nothing to lose. He hates me, so I might as well stare back. Won't change his vote none.

Finally, Sr. Bina and Sra. Balquet stop their whispering, and Sr. Breakitse and I stop our staring. It is time.

Sr. Bina inclines his head to Sra. Balquet, and she says her piece first. “Paul, you are an excellent student, a committed Mage and you will make a very good citizen someday. You've had my vote all along.” She smiles at me, chocolate teeth making my heart explode. I beam at her, then turn to look at Sr. Breakitse.

He takes a deep breath and says, simply, “You are not of this world, and thus cannot possibly know what is best for it. You are trash, and will never be anything more. I vote no.” Wow. Big shocker there. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Finally, it's Sr. Bina's turn. Once again, the montage of all my slip-ups and failures plays through my head. Did I stumble on my way in here? I coughed during my initial speech, didn't I? Then, I remember my speech about wanting to be in the Venturing groups. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I cringe a bit as he takes a breath to speak.

“Paul, in just this short time, you have managed to impress me more than any of the other hundreds of young men and woman I have seen enter this room over the past three decades. I look forward to seeing what you have in store for us. There is much you have to learn, such as this control, or lack of it, and that will need to be dealt with. But, you have my vote.” He smiles at me, and stands.

My heart soars. I feel like dancing right there, like singing and screaming and clapping. Strangely enough, the only thought in my mind is “Where's the confetti? I need some confetti!”

I don't have much time to spin, though. Sr. Bina comes down from behind the table, walking up to me. I was half right about his being tall and broad. Broad, yes. His shoulders are wide, and his body is strong. Tall, not so much. His head barely comes to the top button of my shirt. That doesn't stop him from gripping my shoulders with both hands and saying, “We are proud to have you in our ranks, son. Welcome aboard.”