Chapter 9 – The Blue Mage Rises

Septum looked down at the fading dregs of a man that lay on the cold operating table.

Storm had lost both of his legs and was being kept alive with tubes, wires, and machines. He did not stir from his coma.

The room around him was cast in near-complete darkness apart from the line of magelights in the ceiling leading away from the operating table. The last one in the line created an illuminated circle around Storm.

“Why are we spending precious resources keeping this trifle alive?” Drakemyth asked.

“He may still prove useful,” Septum said.

He glanced over at the old scientist to his right. He was short, with a wrinkled, weathered face and white hair, but a stick-straight posture that defied his advanced age. His right eye had been replaced by a biomech equivalent. A large, black sphere set into a steel plate that held a red, glowing point in the center, moving independently of his other eye.

Drakemyth wore a long, white coat with an iron brooch pinned to the chest—three snakes entwined in a complex braid, swallowing each other’s tails.

Drakemyth clicked his tongue. “He reminds me of Tamos, this one. A loyal dog. Is that why you like him?”

“I like treasonous old men better,” Septum said with a wink.

Drakemyth chuckled. “Happy to hear it.” He went quiet, and his face drew into a frown. His biomech eye fixed firmly on Septum, red dot quivering madly. “You messed up today, Couldess. The Council won’t like it.”

“Let me worry about the Council.” He tapped the metal slab with his fingernails. “But you’re right. It appears Granhorn is more of a credible threat than I thought.”

“What will you do about it?”

“Oh, I’ll think of something. I’ve dealt with pretenders before. For now…” He nodded at Storm’s bisected body. “Can you fix him?”

Drakemyth peered down at the motionless executor for several long moments. “His body? No. His soul may yet be bound, if that is what you want.”

“It is.”

“I will see to the preparations, then.”

“Splendid.”

Septum took his leave and walked down the trail of lights.

There was much to be done.

***

Linton stared into the crackling flames trapped within a sturdy brick fireplace. He reclined in his favorite chair, idly dabbing at his bruised lip with a blood-spotted napkin.

Cat lay down on one of the tables behind him. She strummed her guitar rhythmically, but not to any particular tune.

It was almost dark outside, though the sun still cast a few stubborn rays through the drawn curtains.

“Things are going smoothly so far,” Cat observed. “I’m willing to say we might actually have a chance if we keep it up.”

“This was the easy part,” Linton said. “The real challenge lies ahead.”

Cat strummed a soft chord. “Is Frost ready for tonight?”

“He’s left things for last minute, as always. Don’t worry, though—he’ll finish the materializers in time.”

“Are you bringing our furry new friend along?”

Linton hissed as his lip flared up with sharp pain.

“I’m going to let her rest,” he said. “She needs sleep, and time to mourn. We’ll catch her up on everything tomorrow.”

“Man, I’m bored!” Cat whined, running her nails up and down the guitar strings, producing an ear-straining cacophony of sound. “I wanna fight someone already! When are we going for the archons?”

“All in good time.”

Cat sighed. “Whatever.” She set her guitar aside and rolled off the table, onto her feet. “I’m gonna get ready for our little propaganda mission.”

Cat left, and Linton switched on the scryer in the corner of the room with a command word. The black concave projected the flickering image of a skyship, fat and sleek like a whale. It threw explosive shells at little people below—barely specks compared to its bulk.

“A large-scale Gaerish attack was repelled today past the Berian border,” a brisk announcer crackled over the scryer. “The brave defenders of the First Infantry Division’s Idis Company fought on long enough for reinforcements to arrive. As pictured here, the Flagship Aurora easily dispatched the attackers—a decisive victory for our nation!”

Linton tuned out and returned his attention to the fire, trying to work a sour taste from his tongue.

As long as the Ministry of Glory keeps its gaze focused on the wildkin across the border, there won’t be a problem.

***

Aeva got up at the crack of dawn, having had a long sleep on the floor of her room. She padded around the building but found no one in the kitchen, common room, or adjoining seating area.

After hearing a snore from one of the rooms upstairs, she concluded that they were likely still asleep. Humans were heavy sleepers, it turned out.

She decided to take the opportunity to explore a little.

Having had some time to think, she decided that staying mad at Linton would be useless. Storm had been her kill by right, a necessary vengeance to make up for the shame of her loss. His death did not change things, however. The Crown had to be hers.

The bar was large, despite the fact that there seemed to be no customers. The kitchen was outfitted with a stone oven and a line of stoves. There was a shelf behind the bar which held liquor from halfway around the world. The common room held a dozen round tables, and the seating area had another ten, with a stone fireplace in each room.

Feeling hungry, she entered the walk-in freezer and got some hunks of meat. She figured the Bluebirds wouldn’t mind, since she was supposed to be working alongside them.

Aeva touched up the meat on the stove, thawing the beef on a low heat, then frying until it was perfect—still red and juicy—along with some vegetables. She made enough for everyone, figuring that showing some kindness might get her somewhere with the humans, then went into the common room to eat.

The Bluebirds got up one by one—first Hunter, then Cat, then Doc, then Frost, and lastly Linton—who came down the stairs rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his hair a mess.

“Oh, breakfast, sweet,” Frost said, leaning over Aeva’s shoulder and rubbing his hands together. “Made any more of that?”

“Yes,” Aeva said. She nodded towards the kitchen.

“I see you’re settling in,” Linton said, taking a seat opposite her. “I have a job for you today. Do you think you’re up to it?”

“What is the job?” Aeva asked.

Linton leaned forward. “We’ll be seeking out a group known as the Church of Rags. Their assistance will be vital for the rebellion to succeed.”

“I see. Are you expecting trouble?”

“Nothing too bad. The Rags are fussy, but not hostile. It’d just be you, me, and Cat.”

Aeva pursed her lips. “I will accompany you. Perhaps it will give me a chance to see if you Bluebirds truly live up to your ideals.”

Linton slapped the table with an open palm. “Excellent! We’ll leave as soon as everyone is prepared.”

A bloodcurdling scream came from the kitchen, followed by quick footsteps. Frost came through the door, scraping his tongue against the back of his hand, face twisted in disgust.

“That meat is raw!” he whined. “Did you forget to turn on the stove, Antlers?”

“It is cooked exactly as intended,” Aeva said. “I believe you humans call it ‘rare’.”

“Mm, nah, that’s just raw.” Frost picked a strain of meat out of his needle-sharp teeth. “You’re officially a Cat-tier chef. Leave the cooking to Hunter, yeah?”

“I heard that!” Cat called from another room. “Do you wanna keep that slippery head on your shoulders?”

Frost’s eyes widened a tad, and he slipped back inside the kitchen.

Aeva hid a smile behind her hand.

She finished her breakfast while Linton and Cat got themselves ready, donning baggy hoodies that covered their colorful hair and shadowed their faces.

They were about to leave when Linton stopped Aeva at the door.

“I’m sorry to say, but even in the best of times a wildkin roaming the city will attract too much attention,” he said. “That’s how Storm found out about your group in the first place. As it stands, I’d say almost everyone in the city knows your face. I’m going to have to glamor you.”

Aeva sighed. “Very well.” She held out her arms. “Do it.”

Linton cast the spell on her, then gave her a small mirror to look at herself. She appeared as a tall, male human with short hair and a stubble, wearing a drab jacket and beige pants.

They left the bar, stepping into a filthy alleyway. Several overfull dumpsters stood against one wall, garbage bags piled up around them. Rats scurried away as they stepped onto the cracked asphalt.

Aeva looked back. From the outside of the bland brick building, you’d never be able to tell there was a bar inside apart from the wooden sign on the door which read: ‘The Randy Bardoch Bar’, and beneath it: ‘CLOSED FOR BUSINESS.’

While Cat got an iron gate open at the mouth of the alley, Linton went around the back of the building and drove out a bulky, grey rumbler with extra storage space in the back. Cat and Aeva got in, and Linton took off onto the main road.

Aeva sat in the passenger seat while Cat sprawled herself out in the back, lighting up a cigarette that quickly filled the inside of the rumbler with an acrid odor.

“Right now, we’re in Willow’s Fork, and the people we’re meeting operate out of Wicker Lane,” Linton explained. “Or rather, that’s where they keep the entrance.”

“The Rags are big-time weirdos,” Cat said. She blew a plume of smoke out of the side of her mouth. “Shot Lin in the gut the first time he sought them out.”

“Still got the scar,” Linton said with a smirk. He nodded at his shirt. “Have a look.”

Aeva reluctantly pulled up his hoodie and the T-shirt underneath, revealing a puckered scar on the right side of his lean stomach.

“That’s how I met Doc, actually,” he continued. “He patched me up real nice. Didn’t want to pass up on talent like that, so I added him to the Bluebirds. He was only the third member, after me and Cat.”

Aeva grunted in response. “And do you expect to take down this Ministry of Welfare with only five people?”

“Nope,” Linton said. “We’re seven, counting you. You still haven’t met our last member yet.”

“My point stands.”

“That’s where the Church of Rags comes in. They have the raw manpower we lack.”

“What is this Church of Rags?”

“That’s a long story. I’ll give you the abbreviated version. The government has been clamping down on religious freedom for decades. Eventually, the believers rose up. Thousands willing to spill blood for what they believed in. But they were disorganized, and they ended up losing, badly. After that, the Imwean faith in the Concord splintered into various factions. Most of them have faded away, but a few underground chapters coalesced into a rebel group who call themselves the Church of Rags. If there’s anyone who wants the MOW destroyed as much as us, it’s them.”

Aeva nodded slowly. “I see. They seem like a valuable ally.”

She looked out of the window, watching the streets go by. Graffiti littered the walls, full of expletives and caricatures intended for the government and public figures. Most of it had been scrubbed again and again, but many of the faded murals were still visible.

This was contrasted against the people moving up and down the sidewalks in an orderly fashion, heads downturned, humans and kin alike. She saw a creature so tall he dwarfed some of the buildings he passed, a caricature of rough-hewn human features. A troll, perhaps, or a creature with giant’s blood. He wore a suit, holding a small briefcase in one hand, coarse hair and long beard neatly combed. He trod carefully over the smaller pedestrians.

The rumblers started and stopped in vertical lines, in beat with a perfect, invisible rhythm. Everyone in their place, no one venturing beyond that system.

Aeva caught sight of a human child tagging the wall of an alley with a can of paint. It was taking shape as a rough replica of the Bluebird symbol, a bird with its wings spread, when a black-coat appeared down the side of the alley and started chasing the youth.

He took off down the street, and might have gotten away if not for a second agent who was already there waiting, tackling him to the ground and putting him in cuffs.

“What was that?” Aeva asked. “Why would he paint your mark?”

“While you were sleeping yesterday, we did a little advertising,” Linton said. “Six hardlight materializers with pre-recorded messages broadcast in key parts of the city. I announced that as of yesterday, my revolution has begun. I also formally took responsibility for the deaths of those officers, confirmed by the brands I left on each of them.”

Aeva kept her gaze on the youth, who was being roughly carried away. “Will we not save him?”

Linton glanced over, frowning in confusion. “Who? Oh, that idiot back there? Of course not. A martyr is a far better symbol than a sycophant.”

“You are as heartless as you appear.”

“Thank you,” Linton said with a brief grin, returning his attention to the road. “Empathy is a weakness. In order to effectively help these people, I cannot hold any material attachment to them.”

Aeva struggled to comprehend the frigid soul of this human. “Do you feel anything at all? Anger? Hate? Love?”

“I have plenty of hate in me.”

Aeva dropped the subject, realizing that she wasn’t going to get anything fruitful out of him. She was silent for a while as she pondered what he had told her.

“From what I gather, then, you killed those officers in an attempt to rile up the malcontents of your land,” she said.

Linton bobbed his head this way, then that. “Partly. The officers’ deaths were highly publicized, so having that connected with the Bluebirds will certainly increase our reach with those who hate the MOW—especially after that rather spectacular breakout from the Arcanex. The second pivotal reason is that it will cause instability within the MOW, as I mentioned to you last night.

“These officers we took out were inquisitors, executors, and taskmages loyal to Couldess, all of whom had committed heinous acts in the name of the MOW. When we kill the three archons just below the minister and keep thinning out the herd of available replacements, eventually the truthers simply won’t be able to fill their higher ranks with qualified agents. Once that happens, we strike at Couldess. The whole thing crumbles.”

He made a dramatic sweeping gesture with his hands while steering the rumbler with his knees.

Cat stuck her head between the front seats. “What my boring brother is trying to say is that we’ll eventually get to do some actual fighting.”

“I take it you are a warrior, then?” Aeva asked, eyeing the skinny thing up and down. She didn’t look like much.

Cat smiled. She beamed with sheer, simple energy. “Suppose you could call it that, yeah.”

They passed from the Willow’s Fork district into the one known as Wicker Lane. The streets narrowed, darkened by large banners hung between the buildings. They made their way through densely packed market streets with stalls decorated with colorful cloth. The scent of freshly baked pastries and spiced meats drifted into the rumbler.

They were slowed to a crawl by the seemingly endless mass of humans. Eventually, they were forced to park and they all got out, continuing on foot.

Cat bought a fried skewer of something called ‘bugshark’, slathered in spice, from a lubbard with blue-green speckled skin.

They walked until they reached a condemned stone building squeezed between a pair of tenements. The building might have been tall and proud, once, but the ceiling had collapsed and the walls were overgrown with vines. There was a symbol above the door made from rusted iron, resembling a profile of a raven with an empty socket for an eye where there had likely once been a precious stone.

“This is it,” Cat said, chewing happily on her skewer. “Right, Lin?”

“Mmhmm,” Linton said. “The entrance to the Undercity.”

Aeva cocked an eyebrow, gazing up at the overgrown ruin. She followed Cat and Linton through the broken door, incredulous that this might be anything but a waste of time.

The inside was taken up by a large hall, choked with rubble and rotten benches, smelling of mold.

“This used to be a temple dedicated to the goddess Imwe,” Linton said, voice echoing off the stone walls. “One of the few that weren’t demolished when the practice was banned.”

There was an altar at the back of the room, just a simple stone slab with a circular groove dug into the top.

Linton knelt before the altar while Cat remained by the doorway, making sure they didn’t suffer any intruders. Linton placed several mono-glints into the altar’s groove, which clattered against each other like blue dice before coming to a rest. Putting his hands on either end of the altar, he spoke:

“Imwe, reveal your secrets to me, your servant. Imwe, allow me to partake of your wisdom and guidance. Imwe, reveal yourself to me.”

The altar rumbled in response and began to slide backward, the glints disappearing from the shallow groove. The altar retracted to reveal a stone staircase that led down into complete darkness.

Linton stood with a grin.

“That never gets old,” he said, looking back at Aeva. With a snap of his fingers, her glamor disappeared. “Come on. The Undercity awaits.”