You’re still here and you’ve got to keep on moving. Who knows, maybe you’ll meet again down that road.

Pre-Fall movie

The first thing Johanna did when coming back to Timothy’s was to grab her notebook and head to the better-lighted common room. She stupidly hadn’t brought it, not having expected so many parchments and an entirely new set.

She decided to use the end of the book to record the parchment’s variability. So, far, they’d seen, what… four parts?

No, five, she thought, remembering the crossed-out Frostbite. It had been along a different Talent, so that was separate.

Levels. Something about raising people’s ability limits? “Unconfirmed”, she added.

The quality names, six so far. Writing them, she realized she had three that were physical, and three… not. “More?” she added. The Ancient had only made six individual versions, so maybe that was all.

Talents. “Lots,” she wrote, half-laughing. And Talent removal. “Only one example.”

And… description? Specialization? Category?

She had not brought down the parchments, but she remembered them from a few minutes ago when she’d stashed them. She drew the general look for the single, dual, and triple. She was not a good artist. She still penciled what she remembered of the four-way from Petra. Maybe there was going to be a five-way. If someone needed more “fixing” of their set of Talents.

She sharpened her pencil, and quickly added Petra’s Jagged Stone spell on the Earth Shaper page, along with the Strength associated quality. She then started a page for the Ranger list from Mark, noting down that Gauge Stamina was somehow shared with Guardian.

Then, she pulled out a new blank page, hesitating, and then added Fire Shaper. With her name just below. She did not have names, not the true names for the spells that came with it, save that Mana Sight was available to her. To all Shapers?

She quickly wrote all the names of their four specializations on a page each. Then she flipped between all of them.

“Thanks for letting us know who we are,” she whispered.

Then she realized the Skeleton might not hear that whisper over the din of the inn that was slightly more crowded than usual. So, she wrote “thank you for the gift of knowledge” at the bottom of the page. She looked at it, then slowly, carefully, erased the mention with the eraser.

She flipped the notebook closed. Five o’clock was coming, and it was time to head to her rendezvous after she fetched Tom from their room.

That little line could have brought tears to Moore’s eyes if he had either eyes or tear ducts. Even without mushy brain matter, there was something profound about this little piece of communication, this second-hand dialogue.

You deserve to know who you are now. Who I made you into.

Sorry for not asking permission, but I had no way to do otherwise.

The next day turned into a whirlwind. Petra’s clothing got properly fixed after the tailor wondered how she sliced her sleeves that way.

“It almost looks like it was done from the inside out.”

Dry food was not hard to stock, they’d already looked for a source of supplies for their previous salvage run.

“Fifteen days, as much as a serious salvage expedition, even if we don’t stop on the way. We’ll resupply later.”

Petra was renting a small apartment, and she had little difficulty packing what she did not need and leaving it to some friends.

“They’re all nosy. Why you’re leaving? Edvin is dead, you don’t have to. Et cetera.”

Johanna settled all the accounts with Timothy’s that evening. The three months of wintering did dig a bit into their money, but overall, the early march departure meant she’d kept quite a lot more of their money than anticipated, in addition to the loot sold. Petra was absent, of course.

“I’d rather avoid meeting at Timothy’s. He might still hope I’ll pick up my old job back once spring is there and traders and other travelers start coming. He doesn’t know I’m leaving Zahl. But if he spots me with you plotting stuff, or even hears about this expedition, he’s also going to be pissed at you for stealing one good bartender.”

“So where?”

“Ronald’s Supper?” Mark had offered.

The “supper” was a basic restaurant, with some good food, but it also had large family tables where you could discuss things. The only problem was that it had a dedicated play area for the kids, so it was awfully noisy. Which, Johanna had to admit, made it better for plotting stuff unnoticed.

She pulled out the maps. Petra had an old, detailed map of western Dakotas, and Johanna had found a fairly recent continental map, printed in 2165. It showed the major cities and main travel roads.

She’d smiled when she spotted Valetta. At least it was big enough to warrant being named. Places like the Rocastle Demesnes were simple dots on a small road linking northeast Montana and northwest Dakota, a minor road compared to the larger ones she could see in the center of North America.

“We aim for the Missouri and follow it. About two-thirds of its course is mana zones and ruins, but there are small towns all over later, which means easier travel. We can go all the way down through Cheyenne, True Missouri, and then to Independence State, which is the target.”

“Looks long.”

“Two months, a bit less. There is one of those small ‘train’ freight transport we may use. Not much faster than walking, but easier.”

“We’ll need better maps.”

“Once we’re halfway there, yes. The Missouri means we don’t need many, we just let it be our guide.”

They filled their bellies with what promised to be the last good supper for quite a long time. Finding themselves back at Timothy’s for what she knew was their last night felt a bit strange. She realized she knew the inn better than she’d known their house in Valetta. And now, the four – five, now – of them were leaving, probably never to come back again.

There had been a cold snap overnight, but no surprise snowfall. And this time, Petra wasn’t late. Mark was there too, both in his official status as a city guard, and to see them out.

“So, going to seek The Power the World needs?” he said. “You’ll have to explain to me one day what it means.”

“One day, probably. But you should know part of it. We gave it to you, making you a Hero bowman… a Ranger.”

“I’ll try to put it to good use. Patrols start on Friday, and if we find some roaming Changed, it will be much easier. There’s something about not being worried you’ll miss while switching targets almost automatically. Although I’ll have to be careful because I’m sure Captain Mills will start asking questions before long.”

“You can tell him some of the truth. Like, you got it while on Fallen Hill,” she replied.

“Adapted to Gauge Stamina, by the way?” Tom asked.

“It takes some time.”

“That’s what Valentin back west said,” Peter noted.

“All the kids, like the ones at Birdy, feel the same, and then it’s all kind of different… power. Seems age plays a lot. And that’s only for people, or back at the Fallen Hill for the Canids.”

“Makes sense, you know,” Tom said.

“How so?”

“Talents. People and Changed beasts can have Talents.”

“You think he’s sensing how much Talents people can have?” Petra said.

“Maybe?” Tom shrugged.

“I’m trying to have a sense of scale. But yes, you’re all just a bit over Petra, for instance.”

“And she has four Talents, while we have five. Or probably five,” Johanna noted.

“That alpha Canid was just under Petra though. And he had only one Talent if that’s what I could see.”

“Then it’s the potential, not the actual,” Petra said.

“If that’s so, then Grand-aunt Charlene is much, much better than all of you.”

“What?” Johanna exclaimed.

“She’s ancient as hell, like 85. And she’s much, well, stronger than any of you. That’s what it comes across to me.”

“She’s not a sorceress or hero, is she?” Laura asked.

“Not that anyone knows.”

“Weird.”

“I don’t know why I got this,” Mark admitted.

“It’s probably got some uses. Just like Mana Sight is good at finding magical stuff, you’re probably good at spotting who is the most dangerous Changed. It’s called Gauge Stamina, after all.”

“I don’t know about the Stamina part, though.”

“Someday you will. Or we will.”

They set out into the mostly clear plains, with only patches of snow here and there, but the road itself, with packed earth and gravel, was firm and not slippery from the icy weather.

“Next stop, the southern frontier. Dim Hope,” Johanna announced.

“Worst town name ever,” Peter noted.

Ernesto Gomez dropped the satchel on his desk, sighing. When he was younger, he enjoyed teaching. The bright-eyed students, eager to learn Modern Mechanics, the convoluted ways – and pretty horrible equations – that governed engineering and the ways of the world, listening, asking questions, watching him, and hoping to spot the error he’d warned them in advance he would make at one point.

Not so much these days. The quality, motivation, and appetite for learning had declined. These days, the students at the Academy of Post-Fall Physics of Nashville yearned for degrees, not learning.

Or maybe he was getting crotchety already. In any case, he was tired after an afternoon of fluid mechanics for undergrads. He pulled up his chair – his personal chair, not the university one – and dumped his bulk into it, making the leather sigh.

Then, he started opening letters, or at least the ones addressed to the “Talent Studies Department”. Such a department did not exist at the Academy, it was its own joke, and the secretarial staff humored him. Not enough subject matter – who would be interested in rare anomalies that could not be reliably experimented upon? Besides eccentrics – a title he proudly wore – like himself.

Nothing from Worchester, he noted. After getting his appetite whetted by her early letters and the Society’s Secretary sending him copies of her reports, she had stonewalled him since late fall. “Later” “I can’t discuss”.

Which made the letter he was reading all the more interesting.

The Warden of the Montana himself, Victor Maistry, wanted to retain his services as the “foremost expert in principles of magic”. A generous indemnity – several times his University stipend – in exchange for insights on topics linked to Talents. At least someone noted and appreciated his regular papers.

Unfortunately…

This will entail traveling to the western Marches of the Montana, where the matter will be better explained…

Nope, Maistry, he thought. I’m not getting into those cold regions without a good idea of what you want me for. You’ll have to tell me more than vague platitudes.

Scientia non habet arcana, Science has no secrets.

END OF ACT 1