Chapter 39: Who Woulda Thunk It (Patreon)

“I keep saying we find a way beyond the third line and make a run for it.”

Samantha’s words slipped through the air in a quiet whisper. She was a girl of average size compared to Shanine’s small frame and she often spoke with a loud voice, except for times like this when her skill at controlling her tone shined brightest. It was night and the girls were huddled in one of the buildings Madam Shaggy had commandeered for their housing.

“And go where?” Shanine whispered with feigned disinterest. “And even if you wanted to run, you can’t outrun the mages.”

“The mages don’t care about us,” Samantha scoffed.

“But they care about what Madam Shaggy says,” Shanine told her. “They may not be as powerful as the ones that visit but we’re still like ants to them. If Madam Shaggy pays them to get us back, we’ll be done for.”

Samantha grew quiet for a while. She nibbled on one of her fingernails, a bad habit Madam Shaggy had tried to force out of her to no avail.

“I just don’t want to awaken in a place like this,” she said finally, her voice small. “I don’t want it to be in a place like this.”

Samantha was going to be eighteen by the turn of the year, a few months younger than Shanine, but Shanine let the girl think she was the older of them, as she let the rest of the world think.

“You can always seduce one of the visiting mages,” Shanine joked, trying to lighten the mood. “I hear some of them seek out travel companions when they stop by.”

Shanine had heard no such things but she found herself wanting to give the girl in front of her some level of hope, even if false.

Samantha wasn’t buying it.

“And you’re still here?” she laughed quietly. “Trust me, Shanine, if you haven’t gotten a mage to steal you away from this place, none of us will.”

Shanine gave a defeated sigh and turned her head up. It was night, and with no electricity anywhere in town, and their candle since burned out, they were plunged in darkness. Even now she could barely see the outline of Samantha’s face or her deformed left arm.

“Why are you even still here?” Samantha went on after a while. “With how much Abed keeps requesting for you, you could’ve seduced your way into his good graces.”

“Who says I’m not already in his good graces?”

“Good enough to have him buy you from Madam Shaggy?”

“I’m not property, Sam,” Shanine frowned. “I don’t need someone buying me.”

Samantha laughed softly, her voice a gentle tinkle in the quiet night while the other girls slept restlessly.

“Oh, Shanine,” she said with bitter amusement. “We’re all property here. All we can hope for is a better owner than the one we’ve got.”

“Or a better mage.”

“Or a better mage,” Samantha agreed. “I have my eye on the dark skin that keeps coming to town with Jason’s team.”

Shanine waved the idea aside. “You plan on seducing him?”

“Maybe. He seems nice enough. A bit shy, always smiling when he’s with the others. He’s one of the few half decent mages that pass by this place.”

“Trev’s team’s decent enough, too,” a voice said in the darkness.

It startled Shanine and Samantha but they had enough control of their bodies not to show it, even in the dark. In their line of work going far was impossible if one couldn’t control their reactions.

“I think Trev has a girlfriend,” Samantha told the girl who’d spoken. They’d spent enough time in their mutual destruction that they knew each other’s voice.

The one who’d spoken was called Bella. She was skinny and tall, like a model in the old world with blonde hair she always kept in a ponytail so tight it dragged at her scalp.

“Not Trev himself,” Bella said. “His team. You can always go after Drake. He’s always visiting this place after all, always spending money. I think he’s a better shot than Jason’s team. He has the money and likes being frivolous. It’ll be easier to convince him to buy one of us.”

“So why haven’t you asked him?” Samantha asked.

“Because he’s never picked me. I think he’s not very confident around tall girls.”

“You sure?”

“Yea. Each time I look at him he’s always looking away.”

“Maybe he’s just shy.”

“A mage, shy?” Bella chuckled. “I doubt it.”

“You know they’re humans too, right?”

“Of course,” Bella answered, sarcastic. “Because human beings know how to call down fire from the sky and crush someone’s head with one blow. They’re not humans, Sam. They’re monsters.”

There was a brief pause, punctuated by daunting memories of the things they’d seen mages do during the occasional scuffles they got into.

“And I can’t wait to be one,” Bella muttered.

The sound of movement outside their building coerced them to silence. Samantha took it as a sign to bring the day to an end and laid on her side like a baby in the womb. Shanine took a page from her book and did the same. The night grew older and the hold of sleep crawled around her, wrapping itself and pulling her softly into the world of dreams like a blanket soaked in despair.

Me, too, Bella, Shanine thought as she drifted off to sleep. Me, too.

……………………………………………………

Festus’ study was as dark and murky as the rest of his house, so much so that Zed wondered if something was off with the rune he used to channel more ambient mana into the house.

As usual, Zed sat on the floor bent over a piece of paper. He was studying one of many variations of a shield rune. Since Festus claimed it was the most useful rune for any mage, the old man was more than determined to have him perfect it even if he already knew a force rune.

“A force rune is an attack rune,” Festus would say. “Human beings are already aggressive enough, and most mages find their spellforms on the attacking side of things. What you need is something for defense, and that’s a shield rune.”

So Zed continued to learn how to cast a shield rune accurately and without fail.

The variation of shield rune he studied inculcated force mana in its activation. Festus believed that specific variation might be easier for him to learn since he picked up the force rune when he struggled so much with the mana shield rune that worked by pulling in ambient mana and solidifying it.

Zed was finding his way around the rune, his finger drawing empty lines on the floor beside him when Festus spoke.

“You good, kid?”

Zed raised his head, his finger losing track of the curve it had been drawing. “Huh?”

“Are you good?” Festus repeated slowly, like one would with a child new to languages or an inebriated man.

“Yea, I’m fine,” Zed answered. “Why?”

“Well, you’ve been here slaving over that rune for over three hours and you haven’t said a word.”

Zed quirked a brow at him. “I don’t talk that much.”

“You actually do, kid.”

Zed abandoned his attention on the rune and sat up straight.

“Why do I keep getting that these days,” he said. “I talk a normal amount. There’s nothing wrong with how much I talk.”

Festus scoffed at that, his expression softening.

“Take a free advice from a man old enough to give it,” he said. “Do you know the problem with your generation?”

“Booze, women, and religion,” Zed said. “But not necessarily in that order.”

Festus looked at him, confused. “What?”

“Sorry,” Zed said. “Wrong generation. I think my generation’s problem is magic.”

“No. It’s your self-delusions of individualistic idealism.”

“So, we think too highly of ourselves?”

“Yes.”

“And is there a reason you couldn’t have just said that?”

“Do you want my advice or not, kid?”

“Lay it on me, Miyagi.”

Festus chuckled lightly and folded his arms across his chest. He was seated on a large table of simple wood and mundane design.

“Your generation,” he said, “has gotten too obsessed with being unique and standing out that they don’t realize their just being problematic. For instance, take yourself as an example. If everyone’s telling you that you talk too much, then you talk too much. The whole world can’t be wrong about you if they’re all saying the same thing, even if there might be a minority that agrees with you.”

“Sounds like oppressive thinking,” Zed said.

“It’s not. It’s realistic thinking. Did you ever see that picture where there’s a crowd of people going left and there’s that one guy going right?”

Zed nodded. He had no idea what picture Festus was talking about.

“Once upon a time that concept meant being able to stand out and take a risk,” Festus said. “But your generation has lied to themselves so blatantly that they’ve re-interpreted it to mean being unique and right. Ask anyone aged fifteen to thirty-five and they’ll tell you that picture means that the fact that everyone’s doing it doesn’t mean it’s right.”

“That’s true, too, though.”

“It is, but that’s not what the picture means.” Festus sighed. “The picture was designed to motivate people to stand out. To be willing to do something different despite the risk. Human’s aren’t sheep. If everyone’s going left there’s a better chance that that’s the right way to go, not right, where the idiot who thinks he’s infallible is going. Or at least that’s how my generation sees it.”

“I really hope I’m not the idiot in this analogy,” Zed muttered.

“Do you think everyone is wrong about you talking too much?”

Zed didn’t have to think about it to answer. “No.”

“Then you’re not the idiot. But I’ll be lying if I say I don’t think you aren’t capable of being one.”

“I’m beginning to think this is less of a piece of advice and more of an old man picking on a young man with a charming personality,” Zed said. “But I know how wise you are,” he added hurriedly, seeing the look on Festus’ face, “so maybe I’m wrong and I’m just unable to see where you’re heading.”

“What I’m trying to say,” Festus said, “is that you’ve been quiet since you walked in today. You just took the rune I gave you and have dedicated yourself to it.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Zed said. “Isn’t everyone all about being determined and devoted being a good thing?”

“It is. But you have that look on your face that tells me it’s not determination and devotion on your mind.”

“What look?”

“The one men your age get when they’re beginning to doubt the path they’ve chosen to take.”

Zed deflated at Festus’ words and his mind pulled him to the Olympian he and the others had faced a few nights ago. The others had moved on from it quite easily from what he could tell, but the signs of their discomfort showed. Oliver and Ash ran a little faster in the mornings and pushed him a little harder.

Still, they had somehow moved on from it, accepted their defeat as if it was a natural part of life to be toyed around with as easily as they had been. Zed didn’t understand how they did it. He’d almost died from a simple shove. If not for his regeneration attribute he’d have been nothing but a corpse, simply because someone chose to shove him in the chest. Perhaps time had healed the others, but it had done nothing for him.

He’d been unconscious for two days after falling unconscious, so while it had been four days for everyone else, it was only two for him. His failure was still fresher in his mind.

He had felt glaringly helpless gasping in the grass that night, worse than he’d felt when he’d woken up and discovered he’d had no idea of who he was. He didn’t even know which was worse; the fact that a pushed had almost killed him or that the runes he’d been spending most of his days and nights practicing had done nothing more than cool whatever sweat the others had made the Olympian work up.

Even now, he wondered if he was better off struggling to learn spellforms. He already had one and it did the impossible. If he put half the level of dedication he put into learning runes into it, he could probably learn a few more spellforms. It had done far more for Ash and the others than his runes had done for him, after all.

“Do you know the thing about self-delusions of individual ide…” Festus’ voice trailed off and he tried again. “Do you know the thing about thinking too highly of yourself?”

“What?” Zed asked, not really paying much attention.

“It’s that when reality finally hits you, it looks impossible to get back up because you’ve had your head so high up in the clouds that the ground looks like a totally unrealistic place. But you’ve been there all along. Someone who accepts reality comes back from doubt better than most.”

“I don’t have doubts.”

“Of course not. And the look on your face isn’t telling me that you’re considering giving up on learning runes just so you can try your hand at spellforms again.”

Zed shrugged. “It doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Neither does giving up,” Festus said, voice impatient yet face calm. “But no one likes it in the end. Yes, rune magic isn’t easy. It’s difficult and requires more work than spellforms but the more you practice the easier it gets, and before you know it, you’d find yourself looking at a rune once and being able to draw it. I assure you it’s worth it. If it wasn’t, a force mage like myself wouldn’t be dedicating so much time to it.”

“Ever thought you’re still learning it because you think it makes you unique?”

Festus chuckled. “We’re all unique, kid,” he said. “But if you walk into a room of unique people and really pay attention, you’ll realize that they’re all the same. Every human is unique in their own way, but in the end that’s exactly what makes us the same.”

“You’re losing me there,” Zed said.

“Alright, then.” Festus adjusted his position on the table. “If you learn nothing from me at all, then at least learn these two things. One. No matter how unique we all like to think we are, none of us are truly special. A lightning mage, a fire mage, a force mage. Take away our specializations and what are we, basic mages. Take away a rune mage’s runes and he’s even worse. Those who are truly unique are those willing to struggle and strive and wake up every day to do the difficult things because someone has to do it; because there has to be someone who won’t give up.”

“The right things are often the most difficult things,” Zed mumbled under his breath. “And what’s the second thing?”

“You have no talent for spellforms, and if you give up runes to practice them you’ll be a waste to this town and I’ll be leading the mob that convinces Heimdall to have you thrown out. Also, starting tomorrow you’ll be training with an old friend of Heimdall’s. Your friends will show you to him.” Festus turned, scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Zed. “You practice this while you train, and don’t come back until he gives you the go ahead. Now get the hell out of my house before you infect me with your doubtful mood.”

A moment later, Zed stood outside Festus’ door with a piece of paper with a shield rune variation scribbled on it, entirely confused.

“And they say old people can’t be fun,” he said with a smile then started on his way back home.

He whistled a tune as he strolled into the sandy paths that led back into town. Or at least he tried to. Sadly, losing at the hands of an Olympian wasn’t the only failure he had to deal with. At least he learned something new about himself as he walked home.

He couldn’t whistle to save his life.

Zed chuckled at the realization.

Who woulda thunk it?