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17. The Ball
🕑 Added 2023-12-17 18:17:22 +0000 UTCOz lifted the window flap, watching the town from the anonymity of the carriage as they rolled along. Small shops mingled with enormous institutions. They rode by a huge college with stone buttresses, only to come across a broad yard encased in wood walls, a distant complex of buildings at the center of the yard. Towers, estates, and palaces in all colors and designs cluttered together, resulting in a mishmash that almost defied the eye or explanation. A beam-and-plaster Victorian-style house slumped, old and defeated, timbers sagging and plaster walls leaning, next to brand, sparkling new marble tower, which climbed to the sky next to a garden, complete with a neat stone pavilion, that looked as though it had existed since the beginning of time.
“Do you like it? The Mage’s Quarter,” Sachairi asked, tilting his head slightly to see out his window.
“It’s… always so exciting,” Oz said, quickly swapping out his words for ones that fit Ossian better. Ossian would have seen this every day, after all. I shouldn’t act too much like a tourist.
“I agree. I can never quite get enough,” Sachairi mused, putting a hand on his chin.
Reluctantly pulling his eyes off the view, Oz nodded at Sachairi. “It’s been so long since I’ve been outside that I ended up staring. Please forgive me.”
Wistfully, Sachairi gazed the sky. “No, no. You know, I’ve heard that in the Ascended realm, they have buildings you wouldn’t believe. Gardens that float on the water. Towers that hover in the sky. Palaces carved from raw gem. I think I’ll regret being unable to see that the most.”
“Ah… yes,” Oz said, suddenly awkward.
“Master, you say that about everything,” Aisling rebuked him.
Sachairi cracked a smile, turning his eyes back to Aisling without turning his head. “There’s much to regret about a short life, Aisling.”
“And much to celebrate, as well,” she retorted, in a tone that suggested she’d heard this a great many times. She shook her head. “Don’t take what he says to heart, Oz. He’s playing with you.”
Oz rubbed the back of his neck and managed half a chuckle. I still don’t know how to react to it, though!
With some effort, Sachairi sat up. “We’re here.”
The carriage rolled to a halt in front of a stone castle, the walls rising high over them. As it slowed, Oz leaned forward. “Do you know who was trying to kill me? Those assassins with the darts?”
“I do, but it isn’t useful to you.” Chuckling, Sachairi climbed to his feet.
Oz narrowed his eyes. What’s that supposed to mean?
Aisling stood as well, offering her Master a hand out of the carriage. In her other hand, she reached out and plucked a dart out of the carriage’s canvas covering, showing him a dagger insignia carved into its shaft. “The Black Blades. They’re hired killers. Anyone could have set them after you.”
“Unless you’re planning to take down an entire assassin sect, you’re better off figuring out who sent them,” Sachairi offered. He climbed slowly out of the carriage, his every motion pained. At the foot of the steps, he broke out into a coughing fit.
“Master!” Aisling hurried to hold him up. As Oz climbed down beside them, Sachairi turned his head and spat a clump of red-hot ash into the grass.
With a deep breath, he stood upright again and nodded at Oz. “Let’s get you dressed. The ball should be starting any moment now.”
“Master, it’s getting worse,” Aisling murmured, worried.
The ash singed into the grass, gently smoking where it landed. Sachairi rubbed it into oblivion beneath his boot. “It’s fine.”
Oz glanced at Sachairi. Can he really protect me? I’m starting to feel like I ought to protect him.
Sachairi grinned, straightening to his full height and pushing off of Aisling. “Shall we?”
As they approached the castle, a pair of huge wood doors swung open. Warm light spilled out from dozens of brass-caged lanterns bobbing gently on the air around the castle walls. Colorful tents filled the broad front lawns, stretched beneath old, sprawling oaks and noble pines. In the distance, the castle itself loomed, waiting, a cold and defensive building with slit windows and heavy stone walls. Paying the castle no mind, mages of all colors and creeds wandered the lawns, holding glasses and chatting. Disciples in orange hurried here and there, refilling glasses and offering finger food, while higher-level martial mages in the Fiery Fist Sect’s orange and yellow lounged, chatting with the guests. In the corner, a woman in pale green strummed a lute and sang a quiet song, her voice mingling with the bustle of the guests.
I suppose it’s a castle, and not a palace. Castles are meant to defend. Palaces are meant to display. He looked at Sachairi and Aisling. This is a place for martial mages. Fighters. A stone castle suits them better than a glittering palace.
With a chirp, Sid swirled around his shoulders, brushing her tail against his ear.
“Where’d you come from?” Oz muttered.
She chirped again, not bothering to answer, then leaped off and slunk into the grass, vanishing.
Oz looked after her. Have fun, I guess. I wonder why Fenrir told me to take her?
Sachairi approached the door, then turned a hard left, walking toward the wall instead. “Let’s get dressed first. Aisling?”
Aisling looked at Oz. “Do you know a light-body technique?”
“A…” Oz paused, quickly consulting his mental index. Light body, light body… if Aisling expects me to know it, it’s probably a low-level technique. Have I read about one?
Words floated to the top of his mind. The light body technique allows you to leap incredible heights and run incredibly fast. Circulate your qi through your legs and core according to this pattern…
The image of a person’s body appeared in his mind, along with a diagram. The image and words resonated in his mind. He paused, putting his hands behind him, and focused. Like that… if I try it like this… here we go!
Oz stepped forward. His body bobbled, its weight suddenly strange and uneven. Startled, he swayed, balance gone. His foot hooked behind his ankle. With his balance off, he couldn’t recover. He fell flat on his face.
Sachairi snorted. “Aisling,” he repeated himself, and though there was still a laugh in his voice, it was an order, not a question.
Aisling knelt and picked Oz up in a fireman’s carry. “My apologies, Oz. I’ll teach you a few tricks later.”
“Ah… thanks,” Oz muttered, cheeks burning. Next time I’m alone in the library, I’m practicing it until I figure it out.
Leaping off the ground, Sachairi touched down on the top of the castle wall, light as a sparrow, then darted off again. Aisling followed him. Oz held on for dear life, terrified, as Aisling leaped from wall to wall segment after Sachairi.
Sachairi turned and soared over the yard. On Aisling’s shoulders, Oz tightened his grip. “We aren’t going to—”
Aisling leaped. The ground swooped away from Oz, a chasm separating him and Aisling from the floor below. He gulped. His hands dug into Aisling’s robes. “Aisling…”
She soared across the gap and landed lightly on the castle’s ramparts. “Yes?”
Oz took a deep breath. “Nothing. It’s fine.”
“This way. We’re almost there,” Sachairi said gently. He jumped down into the castle’s center courtyard.
“Whoa, whoa, give me a moment—” Oz tensed.
Aisling dropped down into the courtyard after Sachairi. They plunged out of the sky and dropped down one, two, three stories. The castle accelerated. The stone blurred, the windows smudges of black. Oz yelped involuntarily as the ground rushed up at them. Holy shit holy shit—
Aisling landed lightly. In the same motion, she dipped and put Oz back on his feet.
Oz barely realized he was being stood up in time to get his legs under him. He staggered drunkenly to the side and braced his shoulder against the wall. “Holy shit.” Sure, that was no rollercoaster, but rollercoasters have rails. I can see that I’m not going to die. That was—if the magic didn’t work, I’d be dead!
“Don’t throw up,” Sachairi said, patting him on the back with a grin.
Oz pushed himself up. He narrowed his eyes at Sachairi. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?
Lacklan’s eyes glowed with amusement. He turned away. “Come, let’s get dressed for the ball. Aisling, go ahead of us.”
“Yes.” With a short bow, Aisling vanished.
“Eh? Shouldn’t she get dolled up? I mean, she’s the girl…” Oz looked after her, confused.
“She’s a disciple of our sect, not an honored guest. It wouldn’t do if she alone showed up in a fine gown while all the other disciples wore their usual robes, would it?” Sachairi spread his hands, reasonable.
“Yes… then, shouldn’t I be fine, as well?”
Sachairi swung an arm over Oz’s shoulders. The heat of his arm burned painfully against Oz’s back, even through several layers of clothing. Shaking his head, he clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Do you want your debut to be in shoddy old robes, the same as any disciple? You’re the new Librarian of the Grand Magus’ Library. You need to be taken seriously. Build alliances. Forge important friendships. Right now, you look like any old nobody. You aren’t going to impress anyone that way.”
“Well… no,” Oz agreed. It’s like politicians. They don’t show up to work in a t-shirt and jeans, they show up to work in a fine suit. I need to arrive in whatever this world’s equivalent of that is if I’m going to demand respect from mages much, much stronger than me.
I have a bargaining chip in the library, but it’s only that: a single bargaining chip. Now isn’t the time to act cocky.
Even as he thought, Sachairi guided him into the castle. A few maidservants stepped forward, gesturing for Oz to come to them. “That’s right. Ladies?”
“Come along,” an older maidservant said, giving Oz an imperious come-on gesture.
“Hello,” Oz said, nodding. As he moved toward the maidservants, a strange lack tickled at the back of his head. Something’s missing… but what?
He squinted at the maids. A second later, his eyes widened. “You don’t have pressure!” I got used to everyone around me having pressure, but these women don’t. They’re mortals.
“Yes? They are servants,” Sachairi said, as if it were obvious.
“Right,” Oz said. He scratched the back of his head and nodded at the maids. “I’m sorry.”
The maids laughed. The older maidservant shook her head at him, cracking a smile. “Of course we aren’t mages. None of us have any talent. It’s enough to merely be allowed near mages.”
“O…oh,” Oz rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. Is that a sore point? I didn’t mean to step on a landmine.
The maidservant grabbed his arm and dragged him forcefully toward the castle. “And good thing, too! Gods know you mages have horrific fashion sense. Orange and yellow? And this dreadful boring black, goodness. When was this styled? My grandfather’s era? Even a baron wouldn’t be caught dead in this.”
“Oh. There’s mortal nobility?” Oz asked, confused.
The maidservant gave him a look. “You ought to know, of all people. What, did you think we mortals were governed by you mages?”
“Er…” Should I say yes? It seemed natural!
She shook her head. “And what would we do when one of you hared off into the wilderness to ‘break through the next realm’ and vanished for the next five hundred years? Found a treasured scroll and studied it for a hundred? Entered a secret realm and went missing for a mere thousand? I know that’s a blink of an eye to a mage, but that’s eternity to a mortal.”
“You know, now that you mention it, you’re making a lot of good points,” Oz agreed. Are mages’ lives that much longer than mortals, that even a thousand years can be considered nothing? Goodness gracious, but that’s a long time.
“We have nobility, and monarchs, and everything. You mages run your own society, and we run ours, and that’s the way it’s always been,” she said firmly. “Besides, what mage wants to waste their precious eternity on the administrivia of running a mortal kingdom?”
Oz nodded. “No, you’re making some really, really good points now.”
The door loomed.
“Have fun, ladies!” Sachairi said, waving.
Looking over her shoulder, the maidservant jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t think you’re home free, sir! You’ll be back here just as soon as we finish with this fool.” Shaking her head, she dragged Oz through a door and out of sight.
A bustle of fabric and motion later, Oz stepped back into the courtyard with a deep breath, grateful to see the moon once more. His ordinary black robes were gone. In their place, he wore lush black velvet. Ornate brass clasps ran down the center of the robe, and a capelet swirled around his shoulders. Loose false sleeves hung to either side of his arms, caught back up at the wrist, meant to expose the fine cotton sleeves beneath. A brass button fastened the narrow cuff. At the hip, the clasps stopped, and the remaining robe swirled around a pair of simple but finely-worked black trousers, tight to the leg as per the fashion of the day, according to the maids, themselves finished with a brass-buckled belt. A pair of black leather spats, likewise lined with brass buttons, completed the look.
He ran a hand over his hair, unable to push away the awkward feeling of borrowing his father’s clothes. They fit perfectly, but they don’t feel like mine. It doesn’t feel right.
“Well hello, handsome. I see the maids let you go at last.”
Oz turned.
Sachairi lounged against the live oak in the center of the courtyard, resting his weight on one of its large, low-slung branches. At the sight of Oz, he walked over, dressed from head to toe in layers of swishy orange and yellow silk. Layers of gold necklaces looped around his neck, and bracelets around his wrists, each of them set with large orange and yellow gems.
“You look, er, nice,” Oz managed. It isn’t hideous, but if the idea is to get taken seriously… he looks more like a wanton playboy who wandered out of a brothel than a serious mage.
Sachairi snorted. “The ladies seemed to enjoy it.” Pushing his ashen-tipped hair out of his eyes, he nodded. “Shall we go introduce the world to Oz, Librarian?”
Oz turned to the door. In his mind’s eye, he felt the eyes of everyone at the ball fall on him, and the immense pressure that came with it. Weight built in his chest. His limbs tensed. All of them, looking for the new librarian. And instead of someone worthy of their respect, they’ll find me. Someone still stumbling their way through the first motions of magehood. Someone who trips over their own ankles and struggles against a sufficient quantity of cockroaches.
Oz took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. No. I am worthy of their respect. Regardless of how much power I have, I won’t let them trample on me. Opening his eyes, he let out his breath and nodded, once, firmly. “I think we shall.”
Smiling, Sachairi pushed the door wide.
