PART THREE: RENEGADE

PROLOGUE 3: CONVERGENCE

“Such misled men and women have my pity, but I cannot ascribe anything more than my pity to their misbegotten doctrines. The world is wider and more plentiful than their imagining. They are victims of systems of control that have aligned their eyes to woe, systems that have constrained the flow of bliss. When all the moisture you have is sucked from a sponge you will not want to share. Yet these systems are in their hands and none shall play the game. It would require a minimum of effort from each concerned citizen to change the world. And this is, of course, asking too much.”

– taken verbatim from ‘The Maiden’s Way’ recordings, Ismethara 945 NE

It was nine days till Yearsend – just fourteen days till the year 999 would begin. Most winters, this would’ve been a time of slowly-building excitement. As the city’s activity ramped up towards the festive period, her small, one-bed flat would begin to fill with presents and gifts until they started spilling out of their hiding places – a box wouldn’t quite fit under her bed, or she wouldn’t be able to close her wardrobe door all the way to. There was a magic in Mund at Yearsend, something beyond the magic of spells – something she hadn’t witnessed anywhere else. The soft voices of the choirs singing at the Time Trees in the squares at dusk, the illusionists and entertainers plying their trades on every corner, the snow-monsters that were marched day after day down the Hill Road to the river for the crowds to gawp at… drinks at the Mare, going over the latest intricacies of divination with the few people who could understand the arcane vocabulary in use… No, she had never cursed her choice to stay here, until today.

She received the letter from Mummy and Daddy when she got in from work, the courier dutifully appearing in the predawn darkness not five minutes after she returned from her shift in the Lounge of Seercraft. Mummy and Daddy never wrote letters together, yet they’d both signed the missive, and she could tell which paragraphs had been dictated by whom. The flowing script of Havvers, Daddy’s manservant, never deviated, the old butler’s penmanship perfect as ever. Her governess had taught her to read yet it’d been Havvers who taught her to write – she’d know his cursive strokes anywhere. But the content of the letter – it had shaken her. No vision had shown her this.

It wasn’t so much the tone – not in Daddy’s paragraphs, at least. Mummy was a bit harsher, but Tialya could tell they both still loved her, just wanted her to come home and assume her duties, use her spells to help grow the vineyard-business, help manage the estate… Mummy couldn’t comprehend why Tialya wanted to stay in ‘such a vile place’ as Mund; Daddy could, it appeared from the next few sentences, though he referred to Mund as though it were a trap designed to snare the unwary – and it seemed that despite his ambivalence he’d been swayed by Mummy into lending this letter his authority, this request that she give up her ‘childish dream’ and get herself on the way back to the manor.

It was Daddy’s closing remark, the warmth and straightforwardness with which it had been dictated and the harsh news delivered, that made her feel sick. She reached for the sheaf of papers on her cluttered desk, found it under a pile of last year’s tomes and trinkets, and read the final passage again by the candlelight:

‘We understand the appeal of the big city, the continuing bloom of youth’s innocent friendships and loves, shared experiences which only Mund’s savage conditions might foster in its victims. We understand that your inability to secure for yourself a further appointment within the Maginox must smart, and your intention to reapply next summer is admirable, displaying the same commitment we have come to expect of our celebrated daughter. Yet if it is in your heart to become a woman and to be treated as such, we must, without disappointment but with regret, withdraw your stipend. Should this measure prove sufficient to bring you back to the loving arms of your parents, we hope you will join us in not seeing it as an evil; and should this measure fail, it will prove to both you and your parents the courage of your convictions. We wish you a joyous Yearsend, and…’

They were so wrong, and so right. Friendship and love – what did Tialya have of that? All her colleagues who’d graduated with high marks had gone on to pursue their careers, and it’d taken just a few weeks – in some cases, days – for her former friends and classmates to start ignoring her. Those acquaintances who’d obtained marks like hers had almost all opted to abandon the city and return to their homelands – certainly none of the people she’d been close to for the past few years had decided to hang around Mund like she had, a leech feeding off the dead dog’s corpse… Friendship, she’d found, was a flighty thing, a loose bond born of convenience, destined to die the same way. Not since she arrived in the city had she met a single person wiling to just talk to her, not without there being something in it for them to gain. Of her childhood companions back home, Tialya’s family alone had the wherewithal to send their offspring to Mund for mage-schooling – and of those she’d left behind, letters had informed her three were already married; Geselle was already expecting her second child…

Too much had changed. Too much, to return home, to that place, those people. It couldn’t be done.

But she wouldn’t be able to afford even this crummy apartment, not without Mummy and Daddy’s funds supplementing her income. Those three, agonising words that Havvers had underlined, presumably at Mummy or Daddy’s instruction: ‘withdraw your stipend’. She’d have to move, probably right out of Oldtown… There were areas in the Lowtowns that weren’t too rough, weren’t there? If she could pick up some reagents at the end of their shelf-life on the cheap, she could use her divination to help – she would find somewhere… It would just mean a longer trip into Hightown to get to work each evening…

She looked around her room, nibbling on a biscuit she’d brought from the Maginox.

No presents poking out from under the bed this year. No nicely-boxed gifts, no piles of books or clothes, no toys or jewellery. There was no one to buy anything for. Not anymore. And it wasn’t like there was the money to do so, now. She’d have to sell half the things she owned, in all likelihood, just to get a deposit together for a new place… Everything but the books… She’d have to find something else to do, a second job to supplement her paltry Maginox salary…

Tears fell down the young woman’s face, tears of frustration and despair, but she kept gnawing at the biscuit regardless, only really noticing she was crying when her mouth informed her that the biscuit was soggy.

She sat down on the bed, threw the remnants of the food onto the floor, and watched the crumbs skitter across the boards.

At least she was still alive – at least she hadn’t taken the waywatcher position and died in the heretic attack, like poor Hinnefer. Rellie, one of the few remaining contacts from last year’s class willing to give Tialya the time of day, had informed her that Najraine, Rellie’s mother, had only just survived the onslaught when the library was surrounded. Hinnefer – Nefie – hadn’t been in the job long, and she’d charged a group of heretics under the effects of a haste-spell, against Najraine’s orders.

There’d been no corpse left to bury, apparently – the girl was consumed by lightning right in front of Najraine.

That could have been me.

But it hadn’t been. By some twist of fate, she’d reneged on the opportunity – she wrote-off the money she’d spent preparing for the challenges of the new role, and went straight back to work in the Lounges under Zakimel’s oversight. She supposed she had only her own fear of failure to blame, but that fear had protected her, taken her out of harm’s way.

Leaving her here. Alone, days before Yearseve, with no one to keep her company, no one to share the holiday with. No one to buy presents for, or to receive them from.

Perhaps it would’ve been better if I stayed. If I were dead, at least I wouldn’t be sitting here with all this… nothing.

The thought was comforting, even as it was disturbing.

She fell back onto the bed, grabbed the nearest book – a heavy tome bound in black leather – and curled up on top of the covers, hugging the thousand-page text like a pillow.

She stayed that way, even after the candlelight died, replaced by the grey gloom of morning sliding through the curtains – she stayed that way, until she cried herself to sleep.

* * *

“Tia!” a voice called out softly.

She looked across the waiting room in surprise, then found the familiar face staring at her. There was sweat on his forehead despite the lack of warming-spells in the small chamber, and the usual broad smile on his lips.

She moved towards him – he had an empty seat beside him.

Tialya didn’t like talking in places like this – everyone else seated in the cramped cube was silent, but social etiquette forced her to respond. She murmured: “M-Movaine, isn’t it?”

“Call me Moav, everyone does.” His smile only broadened, and he squished up towards the guy on the other side of him, pulling his robe tight against his leg and side so she could sit down next to him without feeling intimidated by his considerable mass.

She pondered staying stood-up – she would’ve vastly preferred to, quite honestly – but there was that damnable social etiquette again, along with the natural paranoia that would accost her if she were the only one on her feet in the place…

“What’re you doing here, Moav?” she whispered once she squeezed in beside him.

“Same thing you are, I expect.” His eyes twinkled as he studied her. “Hey, you haven’t quit too, have you?”

“Quit? Oh – so that’s why I haven’t seen you in a while?”

“That business with the heretics… You were there?” He read the answer in her face and shuddered, the rolls of his belly jiggling. “It was rough. When my parents found out just how rough, they insisted I find a new source of employment. Not that you’ll hear me complaining.” Movaine sighed theatrically, gesturing at the other applicants sitting all around them. “Hence me being here.”

Tialya voiced her own fears, only brought into sharp relief by her abortive attempt at waywatching: “But is it really going to be any safer, on gate-duty?”

“Peasants who barely speak fifty words of the lingo, trying to sneak into the city without the proper paperwork.” Movaine raised one hand. “Insane darkmage heretics.” He raised the other, then wobbled both hands up and down as if they were on the scales. “I think I know which I’d choose.”

Tialya noticed the smartly-dressed woman opposite them staring at Movaine, but she stopped and looked away the moment Tialya spotted her.

“They tried reassuring me it was safe when I tried out for the waywatcher position,” she whispered. “Look how that turned out.”

Movaine snorted, and at least five heads swivelled in their direction – Tialya lowered her eyes in embarrassment but Movaine didn’t seem to mind.

“Well, they are gonna tell you that, aren’t they?” He was smiling again. “This is different, I’m sure. I damn-well hope…”

The doorway to the antechamber banged open, and a hooded woman stuck her head around the corner.

“Movaine Idelmas!” she cried in a far-too-loud voice.

“Guess that’s me,” he said, waving at the hooded woman whose head swiftly disappeared back through the doorway.

Tialya drew to one side of her seat, keeping out of the way of his arms as the big lad took his time finding his feet.

“Good luck,” she said, attempting a reassuring smile.

“Hey, thanks,” he said in a surprised tone of voice. “You too.”

His smile always looked genuine, honest – now it looked almost dreamy on top of that. He stood in front of her, gazing down at her creepily.

“Er – don’t you have somewhere to be…?”

“To be…? Oh!” He turned on his heel, waving at her over his shoulder as he practically skipped into the interview room. He didn’t seem to care about the fact everyone else in the room was glaring at him as he crossed the floor.

By the time the hooded woman stuck her head around and cried, “Tialya Grover!” most of the room’s occupants had been cycled through – there seemed to be no shortage of graduates in her position, desperate for work around the holiday period.

She quietly stood, then picked her way between the out-thrust legs and nervously-tapping feet of her rivals.

“Tialya… Grover…” The second woman, already sitting behind the pine-wood desk with papers scattered everywhere in front of her, didn’t even look up as Tialya entered. No handshake. “Come, sit down, Miss Grover. I’ve got your records here – exemplary, actually, which is a little surprising considering your grades…”

The other, hooded woman closed the door behind her. She was trapped.

Tialya slid into the indicated chair like a snake. The door opposite, in the wall behind the desk – that was her exit, her escape route. She just had to get through this conversation, this torture-episode, and she’d be able to walk out through that door, leave behind all this stress and strain… Why exactly had the vision told her to go for this job again?

“My g-grades… A-about that…”

“Oh, we aren’t worried about your scores. Quite the opposite. The progress dossier is impressive.”

Tialya focussed her eyes on the woman for the first time. Her interviewer was short with shoulder-length greying hair, and wore a dark green suit, somewhere between a mage’s robe and business dress, with the Magisterium wheel on the left side of her chest. Her fingers moved ceaselessly over the paperwork – she didn’t meet Tialya’s gaze.

“Im-impressive?” She didn’t even know she had a progress dossier – she’d heard of them before, but she’d never realised she warranted something like that. She looked down, but she wasn’t able to read the writing, certainly not upside down –

The woman’s sudden smile was disarming.

“Yes, Miss Grover, impressive. I think we can dispense with the assessment.” She very noticeably slid half the paperwork to one side. “Tell me about yourself, Miss Grover. What do you like to do with your free time?”

She picked up her pen, tapped it in the inkwell, and prepared a fresh sheet to write upon.

Tialya got the impression this was supposed to be an easy question, but she almost would’ve preferred the ‘assessment’, whatever that involved.

She opened her mouth but the deceptions just refused to start flowing.

What do I say? I like reading? Well of course I like reading, there’s not going to be a single candidate who doesn’t – what can I say to set me apart from the others? I like socialising? Ha! I like, what, swimming, running…?

“Miss Grover…“

The interviewer suddenly sounded tired, bored, lowering the pen back to the inkwell – Tialya loosed an involuntary croak, realising she’d taken too long –

“Miss Grover, you are capable of producing a solid future-line reading, are you not? Long-term danger evaluation?”

Tialya leaned forwards, blurting, “Of course! I –“

“Then we look forward to seeing you the day after tomorrow.” The woman started scribbling. “Your induction will begin at seven – in the morning – please don’t be late.”

The girl turned, looking between the two women, confused. “I – it’s over?”

“You’ve got the job,” the hooded one said brusquely, “now could you please move along? I have to call in the next applicant, and if we can hurry things up…?”

She left the question hanging, and Tialya vacated her chair like it was on fire, grabbing her things and moving around the desk – in her excitement to be free of the interview, she pulled open the exit-door so hard it swung too far, banging against the wall.

“Sorry!” she yelped, freezing in the doorway, unsure whether she should just leave, or stay and ensure that she hadn’t damaged –

“Seven in the morning, Miss Grover!” the interviewer repeated without looking up.

“I’ll – I’ll be there.”

She closed the door behind herself with excruciating care, then leaned back against it and loosed an explosive breath.

* * *

Her stupid body-clock woke her around five and there was no sense in going back to sleep when she had such a protracted wagon-ride in front of her. In the end she arrived so early she could’ve walked from Firenight Square – this section of Treetown was apparently so ‘rife with degenerates’ from beyond the gate that it was heavily policed, and even in the early-morning darkness she would’ve felt safe with so many watchmen about. When they neared the gate Tialya spent a mystified moment looking up over the huge fortifications, luxuriating in her mystification. A new sight was rarely to be found after so long in magic-laden Mund.

Of course, the dozens of ominous cuboid shapes which moved darkly over the walls against the brightening sky – they were nothing more than crates filled with product, wrapped in wind-spells…

She spoke to the warden, and was pointed to the induction hall. She found a desk in the globe-lit room, and as she placed her bag securely between her feet, she almost felt as though she were back in a seminar at the Maginox, ready to absorb some ancient lore, master arcane subtleties, mind-states and concepts the likes of which the common man in the street could never even imagine.

But her hopes were swiftly dashed as she studied the chalk-covered blackboard at the front of the room – presumably the things written on the board pertained to the previous induction-class. It was nothing but code-numbers for laws and regulations, lists of documentation-types and their different durations… She could feel her eyes closing already. She kept her fingers crossed that once she was ‘inducted’ she’d be able to discuss her shift pattern – she wouldn’t be able to keep it together for long, working the Lounge of Seercraft then the gate-duty back-to-back like this…

No teacher or instructor showed their face, even though it had to be almost seven by now. She sat there alone, and gradually the room began to fill up, others entering in small groups, already chatting with their acquaintances. No one sat next to Tialya. She did her best not to listen-in on their conversations, staring down at the wooden desk in front of her, but it was difficult. The Yearsend fever was infectious – it spread between them all, and soon almost everyone was in on the discussion, going over their plans, the gifts they’d bought and the gifts they hoped to receive.

It wasn’t infectious with regard to Tialya, or at least not in the same way. It was infectious like a rash, making her skin crawl, her scalp itch. She was sitting here in the midst of almost two dozen people, men and women who should’ve been her peers, yet she’d never felt so alone. Father Time would have nothing for her this year. Even to Arreath Ril, she just didn’t exist.

“Hey, Tia! This spot taken?”

In her reverie she hadn’t noticed Moav entering the room, even when his significant shadow fell across her table.

“Moav! You got the job…”

“Sure did – all thanks to a good luck charm from a stranger.” He grinned, looking down at her. “Sooo…?”

“Oh!” She hastily moved her chair aside, so he’d be able to fit in the other seat that shared her desk.

“Thanks Tia!” He loudly dragged out his chair, plonked himself down, then shuffled forward again noisily until his legs were under the table. “So, how’s the Yearsend shopping going?”

“Oh, you know…” She looked away, considering her evasions. “I’ve got everything, already.”

(Which was technically true, wasn’t it? If she needed zero, and she had zero, she was done, wasn’t she?)

“Diviner training,” Moav replied in a tone of admiration. “We’re always ahead of the pack. Nice one.”

He looked down at his hands folded on the table, and Tialya could immediately tell that silence was about to fall between them – he would hear another nearby conversation, find them more interesting – she couldn’t let that awkward silence in, had to –

“A-and you?” she stammered.

He looked across, meeting her eyes. “Almost done. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t foresee it, but there’s this one girl in my induction class who definitely deserves a present, and I still need to get it but I don’t know what she’s into…”

She stared at him –

Does he mean me?

He stared back, unsmiling, looking a little scared or sick all of a sudden, the way his brow had started to glisten…

“Oh yeah,” she said, “I need to get one for this boy in my induction class, too…”

Then his smile came back.

“Maybe after we’re… inducted… we could head into Oldtown?” Moav suggested. “I’m sure I could use your help picking out something for the… completely random person that’s totally not you…”

“Sure!” she replied excitedly. “And I could use your help…”

He chuckled. “If he’s anything like me, just buy him something edible.” Moav patted his belly, and though he was still smiling there was something self-conscious lingering in his eyes.

She laughed a little, as though making light of his words. He wasn’t that fat.

“If she’s anything like me, a good book wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Ah, but that’s much trickier… You can eat your favourite food at least once a week without ever getting bored.”

“You can read your favourite book once a day without getting bored.”

“But a dog-eared old friend like that… You don’t want a new copy every time, do you?”

She flashed him a grin. “The way I treat my books…”

No, no, that just makes me sound incredibly careless, and –

But Moav was nodding appreciatively. “Me too! You should see my copy of the Chronom Codex –”

“I just finished that!”

Their conversation continued, and it was like an arch-diviner’s trick: all too soon, just as Tialya started to enjoy herself, the woman who conducted the interviews showed up to take them through the first day of their training. They had to stop fraternising, start listening, taking notes – but Tialya met it with a smile on her face. The morning soon passed into afternoon, and by four o’ clock she and Moav were in Firenight Square, wrapped up against the cold, eating and drinking, talking shop while they shopped.

Tialya wouldn’t have known it, but her future-lines were beginning to actualise.