What do I know?

I had stopped being a person and become a tool.

Maybe I was being a little dramatic, but the subtext in the conversation with Cicero had been heavy, and the lack of autonomy quite clear. The only path out of this world was to work with them in defeating Rowan — a person whose existence they hadn’t explained to me yet and who I wasn’t supposed to know about.

There were secrets they were keeping, and the minor upper hand they gave me was assuring, but that didn’t help make my situation any better. I had no plan and I had no resources.

The next step was supposed to be: How do I use what I know to get what I want, but already it felt like my knowledge wouldn’t be of much use. At least not when it came to escape.

What it was good for, was getting a lay of the land. The king didn’t like me and even if Cicero acted the part, he cared more about his home than he did my safety and security. These people would try to convince me otherwise, but I had to I remembered they weren’t friends or allies.

They weren’t on my side.

I stood and started to pace, feeling constrained.

The Mourning Tower was bigger than my room back home, but it was smaller than the space I usually had to myself. There were three houses on our property, two of them rondavels and the third a flat — though it was the biggest house on the lot. Outside of the holiday period, when the entire family came back and there wasn’t any room to breathe, I lived in the flat alone while grandma lived in the biggest rondavel. When I’d had it, the space had felt small and shabby, but within the enclosed space of the tower, I felt the lack strongly.

Two meals had been delivered since I’d talked to the king and Cicero, carried by soldiers who hadn’t so much as looked at me beyond leaving a tray. I hadn’t liked the mage or the king, but I was already starting to miss them.

The lack of logic frustrated me the most. I was supposed to be important — a Champion. Yet they’d chosen to forget about me the moment our conversation ended. Or maybe it did make sense, and it all had to do with me. King Orpheus didn’t see me as a Champion, something he’d made clear to his mages; but he was stuck with me – maybe the need to save his kingdom was warring against his prejudices.

If those prejudices won out, I would be in a really bad place, with the best-case scenario being thrown out into a world I didn’t know. A shuddering breath left me as for a moment my mind touched on what the worst-case scenario would be, the walls felt like they started to close in and my body reacted, willing me to move, to do anything that wasn’t lingering on my future.

I paced and it took me to the tub with the magic stones.

Not guided by any rational thought I looked around for anything sharp so I could dislodge the stone. I didn’t know what I would do with them if I did, but it felt important that I be doing something instead of sitting in one place.

Working on the tub seemed futile – the thing was too well made – so I turned to the piss-bucket. It was a pail made of three materials: the rock at the base, bits of wood that made the container and a band of dark metal that kept the wood in place.

The base drained through magic like the tub, but its function was simpler – the moment something touched the bottom, its effect came alive and whatever that was disappeared. I started to run tests: First water, which worked; then feathers from a pillow, that worked too; some folded up sheets, broken pieces of wood, and a book all worked. But when I tried to shove in an entire pillow my successes ended.

It took a minute to figure why that might be the case. There were carvings on the wood of the bucket, stretching out from the rock into four lines that rose and then bounded the bucket in a circle.

“Size limit?” I shoved in the pillow then quickly pulled my hand back as the air started to ripple. Moments later, the pillow disappeared. “Size limit,” I said again, this time with a resigned sigh.

What had I been expecting? I thought as the underlying idea I had been working through fully materialised. Even if there wasn’t a size limit it wasn’t as though I could have used it to get out. All that piss and shit was being sent somewhere, wasn’t it? And if I used the stone to leave, I’d be going to the shit dimension or something.

A chuckle left me, short and sharp, before it turned into a burst of maniacal laughter.

Everything still felt so surreal.

The world had made sense just the day before, where my biggest worries had been the promise of university which lay on the horizon, dealing with family politics every December, and the general worry I had about Grandma since her age started to show more often.

But in an instant, things had changed, forcing me so out of my comfort zone I didn’t have the first idea how to handle everything.

My hands clapped over my mouth to muffle the laughter. I closed my eyes, tears forming at the corners, and did my best to calm down; first getting my breathing to even, before forcing all the flashes of emotion into a ball. It took a while, but when it worked I was left detached and drained, a welcomed false relief that felt very precarious.

The only thing you have is your smarts, I thought, use them.

Standing again, I started to pace, looking around for something, anything that would be an out.

But there was nothing, so I lay back in bed, doing my best to keep everything from drowning me.

***

“Champion Jordan,” said Cicero.

It had been three more meals and a long stretch of sleep — probably night passing – since we’d last talked. In that time I hadn’t talked to anyone; and there hadn’t been a change of clothes, which left me still in my pyjama shorts and a thin vest — not that the tower was cold. I’d soaked, not because I’d wanted to but because there was nothing else to do – sitting in the eternal warm waters so long that I had come out pruned.

I turned over in bed to see the mage, dressed in black robes, the outline of a belly slightly visible. He had a guard with him, a man in leather armour, his colours a dull orange and strange looking leaf at his breast.

In movies soldiers were usually clear by how they stood, straight backed and at attention, and usually the type of soldier who reclined against a wall could get away with it because they were important in some way.

Was the same thing true here?

And what did it matter? It wasn’t as if I could fight him no matter the type of soldier he was.

“You seem to have been busy,” he said, a promise of laughter in his tone. I looked away from the soldier without a sword and towards Cicero and couldn’t stop my expression from twisting into disgust.

The room was in a state. While pacing I had moved things and had no energy to put them back. Maybe a smarter person would have hidden all the evidence, evidently that person wasn’t me.

Cicero sobered. “Grant me your forgiveness, Champion” he said and bowed. “I did not expect my communion with his Majesty would take as long as it did. Had I known, I would have gifted you books so you might pass the time.”

“How long?” I asked, my accent thicker, which always made my voice louder. I cleared my throat, paying attention to how I spoke. “How long has it been?”

Cicero was quiet for a moment, lips pursed before he said, “A day since we last met. Time enough that an audit of the castle was made and the appropriate quarters were found.”

“Somewhere that isn’t this tower?” I asked, my tone changing. He nodded. I swallowed, hesitant as I said, “A place with windows would be nice.”

“Unfortunately those are not the quarters that were found,” he said. “But I will relay your hope to King Orpheus, they might be found. Perhaps they might even have a view of Altheer.”

“Altheer is the city we’re in?” I asked.

“Altheer is the city we look towards,” he said. “And we gaze over Lake Altrine to see it. It should take a few hours before the quarters are adequately prepared.”

“Will…will I be free? In general?” I asked. A part of me hoped for a ‘yes,’ but I knew with a sinking feeling that that wasn’t the answer I was going to get.

You can’t even lie to me about that, can you?

“You will be granted certain privileges, yes,” he said, the words careful. “But it is important for you to understand, Champion, that secrets are very hard to keep, and already we can guess that our enemies know you exist. No doubt he will be sending assassins into the castle to end you before you reach your true potential. Your safety is paramount above all else—”

“Which means guards,” I said, nodding. My shorts had pockets and I shoved my hands in, curling them into fists. “Ja. Sho. I get it. Can we just…get out of here, at least? Maybe show me the castle? I don’t mind having guards.”

Because that was something tangible. It was perhaps a futile hope, but there might be more chance of escape on a tour than there was being locked in a tower.

Cicero smiled but it was strained. “There are procedures first which must be completed. It is important that I get to know you,” he said, “so that we might better aid you in the path the Fates have charted for you. I have come here to learn of your life in the world beyond.”

“What do you want to know?” I said as my mind ran a mile a minute, thinking about what to tell him. The answer was obvious, lie, but keeping track of lies was hard, especially when I hadn’t mentally prepared beforehand.

The ball of tumultuous emotion in my stomach shifted, threatening to unravel.

“What do you feel you should tell me?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “Stranger danger. I don’t know you—”

“Well that is easily alleviated—”

“—and I don’t trust you,” I cut in, uncomfortable for the interruption. “I have no reason to because this entire situation is suspicious verging on fucked up.”

More measured, I thought. I took a deep breath, focusing on making sure that the ball of emotion wasn’t set off.

“Yes,” Cicero said, sighing. “Yes it would be. Pulled from your home, kept seemingly—” seemingly? “—against your will, especially after matters between my Order and the Crown. I was surprised how calm you were when we first spoke, but I see now it was only hidden.”

I kept quiet, doing my best to reign in my emotions and not doing a good job. My arms were crossed and my breaths were deep and loud. I wanted to pace, to move, to have something — anything — that would distract me, but there was none. My eyes flicked down and I started to take in the man’s features, the rolls of wrinkles, the lines under his eyes, how they shook a little never staying still, and his nose which looked a little bulbous at the tip.

“I apologise for the inconvenience we have caused you, Champion,” he said and he sounded like he meant it. “But matters in Althor are grave, and we had little choice but to call a saviour.”

But what about me? I wanted to say.

Again I said nothing, but my gaze – set in a scowl – lingered on his eyes.

“His Majesty will likely be upset with me,” Cicero said conspiratorially. The soldier shifted but stayed silent. “However, in an effort to alleviate the worries you hold, I think it is important you know the journey you are likely to take. King Orpheus has sent a message to the noble lords and ladies of the kingdom, proclaiming your arrival. The coming of a Champion is a momentous occasion, but there are some who may not believe that you are here and require evidence.”

“How are you going to get that?”

“Trusted Healers will arrive and they will measure the amount of celestial waters within you,” he said. “It is not an art whose theory I am well versed in, but the little I know is thus: From the moment we are born and sup from the breast of our mothers, we take in the celestial waters she possesses. As we eat and drink, we further draw in these waters, whether they be in plants, livestock or mundane water. You, someone from a realm without celestial waters, will have none or a negligible amount within you, and this will be sign enough of your status as Champion.”

“Are the celestial waters how you can do magic?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “At least not the craft as we understand it.” He twisted his hand and the air rippled and black marble silently came into existence. “This gem allows for the manipulation of one of the fundamental properties of the universe. Our Order once called it the property of travel, but a Champion long past decreed it be called space instead. From then on, we became the Spatial Order.”

“How does it work?” I asked, my curiosity settling most of my anxieties.

He threw the marble and I fumbled to catch it, almost dropping again it as a pressure bloomed in my head. The Memory Sphere had been a pressure in my head, expanding like gaseous water to fill my head; but the stone felt like something new that had always been there, a complement of sorts to my senses of sight, sound, smell and touching. Except this time it felt outside of my body, instead of being rooted in.

Cicero and the guard were in front of me, standing at various distances going by my eyes, with the stones I felt how far away they were. It wasn’t a number but a strong certain of how far they were from me, much like depth perception.

I took a step back and the impression in my head shifted. My eyes closed but my awareness of them remained. They weren’t points or anything of the sort, but it was easier to conceptualise them that way that the strange feeling of just knowing how far away they were from me.

“That’s…” I let out a chuckle. “Okay. Wow. That’s cool.”

Cicero smiled.

“How about the whole teleporting thing, how do you do that?”

“Ah,” he said. “For that, you would need to study long and hard to be an expert in my mage-craft. As Champion, you will be able to choose which mage-craft you wish to study – if that were to your proclivities. You might work with time or perhaps light, all as it pleases you. But it all begins with charting your path, which in turn requires that I know more of you, Champion.”

“I’ve got a few questions, first,” I said, “what types of magic are there?”

“The Orders as they exist are: Spatial, Temporal, Gravitational, Luminous, Elemental and the Healing Arts,” he said.

“Water, fire, earth and air for the elemental stuff?”

“As well as electricity,” he said. “It has long been postulated by one of the first Champions that there might be two additional elements not yet discovered, wood and metal. Though we now suspect such words might have been the work of logic known only to the people of your realm.”

“I think I’ve heard about that,” I said. “What about potions? Do those exist?”

He nodded. “Potions and elixirs with a great many effects,” he said. “Largely a subset of the Healing Arts.”

“Why?”

“That would require an incredible knowledge of history, and I am no historian,” he finished dismissively.

“Okay,” I said, mentally moving on. “And names? Does your magic use them? Or stuff like deals being important?”

“No,” he said and smiled. “I now wonder, Champion, if your name is indeed Jordan.” I shifted uncomfortably. “However that is not of import. Are you scholar or warrior? It might be too early to say, but from what little I’ve gleaned I would consider you a scholar.”

“I don’t know how to answer that.”

He frowned. “Then perhaps broader. Are you a craftsman?” I only stared at him and his frown deepened “Have you no vocation?” he asked, surprised. “You are a man grown, surely—”

“I’m not a man,” I said, because that was a cultural landmark I hadn’t passed yet. “Not really. I just finished high school and I was about to go to university if things worked out right.”

“University,” said Cicero, more confident. “Then you must be a scholar.”

“I don’t think it’s as simple as you’re making it out to be.”

“Oh? Then perhaps an explanation is in order.”

“I don’t know, just…I still have a lot more studying to do before I have to figure stuff out. I haven’t done enough or lived enough to answer like you want me to. I’m not a scholar, because I don’t study because I enjoy it, I only do it because it’s what I have to do; and I’m not a warrior because I don’t like fighting. At all.” I swallowed. “Like I said before, you brought the wrong person here. I can’t fight. I don’t fight. I don’t know how you expect me to win you a war…or something.”

Cicero nodded, settling back in his chair. He stroking his beard in musing.

“In this high school, what was it you studied?” he asked.

“It was broad and all over the place. Math, business, life stuff, languages—”

“Languages?” he said, sitting forward.

My heart started to beat faster. Had I said something wrong? Had I screwed up?

It took me a second before I realised, I had probably guided them towards thinking about me as someone who could understand them without needing a Memory Sphere.

Please keep looking down on me. At least then you won’t think I’ll be able to speak your language.

I swallowed, nodding. “Yeah,” I said. “Languages. There are a lot of different tribes in my country, and they have their own cultures and languages. It’s important that we be able to speak between each other, or at least be able to understand each other.”

Hopefully that I said tribes makes you think that all of us are black.

“Quite intriguing,” said Cicero. He nodded. “And none of these were something you specialised in?” I shook my head. “Have you had any training in combat?”

“No,” I said.

“None at all?”

There had been a time years ago that stick fighting had gotten popular in the cluster of villages I lived in. On weekends a bunch of boys would come together to fight each other, there hadn’t been any prizes or money won, only pride; but it had ended when too many people had gone back home with bruises, escalating to the point that one kid had had to go to hospital because of a broken arm. I’d only gone once, going home that night with fingers and arms aching, then avoided it like the plague.

“No,” I said.

“If that is so, then how certain can you be certain you are not a fighter? Perhaps you have a warrior’s heart but the opportunity has never presented itself to you; or perhaps you hold a scholar’s mind, but there has not been a subject engrossing enough to hold your attention.”

“If you want to look at it like that, then that’s all you,” I muttered. “I’m just telling you what I’ve experienced.”

“All of us have roles, Champion, all of us have paths set before us. It is the same with you, you need only find it.”

“I don’t—”

“Though I grant,” he interrupted, “if you have yet to lead a long life as I had assumed by your age, you will not have gained the experiences necessary to learn this on your own. Your tuition, then, will have to be broad until we find that role which the Fates have set for you.”

So I don’t have a choice.

Cicero stood with a groan. “This was quite a fruitful conversation,” he said. “I will return to His Majesty with what I have learned so that the appropriate preparations may be completed. Wait on us and we will return to escort you to your new quarters.”

He stretched a little and then turned to make an exit.

My heart started to beat faster, excitement running through me. Cicero had forgotten the marble.

“The stone,” said the guard, and my stomach fell.

“Ah, yes,” said Cicero with a chuckle. “The failings of an old mind.” He turned and reached out. “If you would.”

I tossed the marble — the impression in my mind disappearing — and Cicero caught it without trouble. He made a circular motion over the marble that ended with a little flick. The air rippled and the marble disappeared. My eyes went wide as the impression appeared again, the feel of the smooth marble in a hand I hadn’t noticed had been curled into a fist.

Cicero, his back to the guard, wore a sly smile and winked.

“I will see you when we next meet, Champion Jordan,” he said before he and the man left. Even unseen I could still feel them, points in my head that steadily getting further away as they went lower, until I lost them against the rest of the moving figures in the castle.

I opened my hand and stared at the marble. It wouldn’t help me escape, that much I knew. If Cicero wanted me to escape then it would be as easy as running his fingers in a circle and secreting me away, that he hadn’t done so meant it wasn’t in the plan. But he had at least given me something to do, something the king might not know about, which…why?

Was this him trying to get me to trust him? Was it all some ploy? If it was, what did it mean for me, because everything seemed so fucked up that there wasn’t a lot I could do to get myself out of this situation.

Focus on the good.

I was in a world where magic existed and even if I didn’t know the first thing about using it, I had a stone that, at its best, could make things teleport. In all the shittiness there was the opportunity to become a wizard or a mage and that was cool. It was something to hold on to so I didn’t lose my mind and sink into an unmoving, anxious mess.

“I’ve got a stone that can do magic,” I said. “I’ve got a stone that can fucking do magic. All I’ve gotta do is make it reveal its secrets to me.”