The holding cell below the main deck was cloistered among pipes, machinery, and cargo. It was five paces wide and five deep, with only a few centimeters of space above Lucian’s head. If he stood on his tiptoes, he could press his head into the ceiling quite firmly. There was a toilet, a sink with soap, and in the opposite corner, a metal bunk with no mattress or blanket.
Once Emerson and the other crewman had left him alone, Lucian lay on the bunk and closed his eyes. There was nothing else to do. They had even taken his slate, so the only break from the monotony would be mealtimes, whenever those happened to be.
As the hours ticked by, all Lucian could do was think. He went over everything that had happened with Dirk, but he wasn’t sure how he could have done anything differently. Images of that violet light coming out of his hands, coupled with Dirk’s wounded eyes, replayed over and over.
He tried to make his mind blank. If he could manage that, he might lose track of time, and these ten days would pass faster.
He kept thinking of Emma. He imagined entire conversations with her for so long that they almost felt real.
Almost.
At some point, Lucian ran out of things to think about. He sat up and gave a sudden shout of frustration, punching the wall. The pain throbbed in his knuckles, but at least it was a feeling.
The monotony was broken by a sudden click coming from the door. The door swung open, revealing the sorrowful, long-faced crewman whose name he didn’t know. He left a tray of food on the deck before closing the door quickly behind him, without so much as a glance in Lucian’s direction.
Lucian scrambled up and put his face against the window. “Hey! Can I at least get my slate?"
The crewman either couldn’t hear him or was ignoring him. A moment later, he was out of sight completely.
Lucian cursed, then took the tray to his bunk.
Lucian peeled off the aluminum seal. Scentless steam curled from a meal of dried turkey, overcooked rice, and soggy broccoli. It was all the nutrition he needed in the most flavorless package possible, not much worse than the second-class meals he was used to.
He wondered if his mother had been informed of the news. He hadn’t even thought to ask Captain Miller about that. The longer he went without speaking to her, the more worried she would get. She’d have passed into Alpha Centauri before he got out of here.
Lucian closed his eyes, willing the day to be over.
Lucian woke on what might have been day two, though, of course, it was impossible to tell. The lights remained at the same brightness level, a maddening effect.
He sat up and began what would no doubt become his daily ritual: staring at the wall.
That was when a voice entered his mind.
You’re awake.
That voice wasn’t his. He couldn’t say why, but it brought to mind the old woman he’d spoken to two nights ago.
“I’m going crazy,” he said.
Then again, even if that voice was him making things up, it was a conversation. At this point, he didn’t care whether it was real or not.
Is this real? You’re the woman I talked to the other night, aren’t you? And you were in my head during the fight.
Yes.
How are you talking to me? Is this some sort of magic?
This is what’s called a Psionic link. A bit of elementary Psionic Magic that’s possible between two mages.
Psionic Magic?
Psionics is one of the Seven Aspects of Magic.
At the word “Aspects,” Lucian felt a tightening in his stomach. The Voice from his dream had mentioned Aspects, too. Could she be talking about the same thing?
What do you mean by Aspects?
You can think of an Aspect as a type of magic, of which there are seven. But there are other things I wish to discuss at the moment.
Lucian decided to set the subject aside, at least for now. I don’t even know your name. But you seem to know mine.
I must admit something, she said. I scanned your thoughts two nights ago. Again, it is something quite easy to do with Psionic Magic to an untrained mind.
What? You had no right! I don’t even know your name.
You may call me Vera.
Vera. And you’re a mage too?
Do you have to ask?
Lucian supposed it was a stupid question.
Yes, I’m a mage if you need me to spell it out.
How is that even possible? Forgive me for saying, but at your age, shouldn’t you have frayed by now?
When there was silence on the other end of the link, Lucian knew he had blundered. Suggesting someone should have frayed, or might be frayed, was probably some sort of mage faux pas.
At last, she answered. When we first met, I said you were not ready to learn more. I’ve since changed my mind.
Why?
I detected your use of magic, a modest amount of kinetic force. I’ve since learned that you injured a young man by the name of Dirk Beker, who happens to be my neighbor on this ship.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
News travels fast up there. And what do you mean by "detected"?
You will learn all that and more. You have emerged, and your path as a mage—the path of mastering abilities you never dreamed possible—has now begun. There is so much you have to learn, and so little time to learn it in.
Hold on a second. That’s why I’m going to the Volsung Academy. To learn.
You would do well to listen. I’m presenting you with an opportunity I do not give just anyone. You have great potential, but that potential is wasted without proper instruction. The stream you manifested two nights ago was highly pure, something uncommon in an emerging mage.
Lucian had no idea what she was talking about, but he was intrigued.
You mention the Volsung Academy, but your talents would be wasted there. Streaming magic is not the main object of the mage. Your magic must come from a place of soul truth. That is the base upon which a mage must begin constructing his power. Nothing more, nothing less. The Manifold rewards those willing to embrace their inner truth.
As he absorbed this information, all he could think was whether he could trust this Vera. From their one short conversation by the viewports, she had given him the creeps. But if she knew about magic, what was the harm in learning? It might help with his admission to the Academy.
I don’t even know what the Manifold is. I’ve heard it described as the source of all magic. Is that true?
Then you heard correctly, but it is so much more than that. The Manifold itself is not magic—it is a higher reality that supersedes our own. The perfect version of our world, whereas our reality, what we experience every day, is the imperfect shadow. The Manifold has also been described by the Old Masters as the Light Realm, and our reality as the Shadow Realm. If the Manifold is the truth, then our world is the shadow it casts. These are imperfect analogies, of course, but they must suffice for this conversation.
Lucian’s mind was still not grasping it, but he decided to hear her out.
When a mage uses his or her powers, they are moving the Manifold itself. Adjust a parameter there, and the corresponding parameter will adjust in the universe before us.
So reality—what we see and sense—is a lie?
No, Vera said. It is no more a lie than your own shadow is a lie. The shadow you cast isn’t false, but rather an unclear version of who you truly are. Likewise, we see but a drop of a vast, dark ocean. Beyond the bounds of perception lie wonders and horrors beyond conception. The Manifold is that ocean, and we mages are islands, able to inhabit both worlds, sea and land. Our fate is to exist on both planes; we stream our thoughts and intents from one into the other. Mages are the heirs of this deeper reality, a reality most others are blind to.
Lucian wondered why she was telling him all this. I don’t think I understand.
In a word, Vera continued, the physical world is not immutable. We can shift it with our beliefs. The Shadow Realm, our reality, can be manipulated by the Manifold, the Light Realm. Our magic is a gift, and it is our responsibility to use that gift with great care. We might use it to transcend human weakness. The human mind and body will become destroyed by repeated exposure to magic, but with the right foundation, you can learn to stream more purely. Learning to do so is a lifelong journey. One day, when you are ready, you will see things as they truly are.
Already, Lucian’s mind was objecting. This was not what he had learned. All mages were doomed to fray, and not even training was a guarantee. Only the lucky ones lived to old age, while the rest died horrible deaths. Not even their minds were safe from the rot of magic.
But Vera seemed to think the opposite. That with proper training and the right foundation, one could be kept safe from the fraying, or at least greatly mitigate the risk.
It’s a lot to take in.
I can teach you. If you are willing.
Something told him not to trust her. What did she want with him, anyway? Then again, a mage of her experience would certainly be useful, and he could only discover what she wanted by learning more.
Learning is hard to do in a cell, he said. Is there anything you can do to break me out?
If I helped you escape, you would learn nothing. And that would benefit neither of us. And pray tell, what would you do if I did get you out? What comes after that?
Lucian knew she had a point there.
You are still blind, Vera said. And yes, unready. But I fear that your training must begin all the same. Before I can teach you anything further, you must learn to accept your physical reality. Your mind, not your circumstances, is the key to freedom. Meditate on the Manifold, Lucian. Recognize that it is the only reality that matters . . . not the Shadow Realm we inhabit. You are a mage, and there is nothing in the Worlds that can change that fate. Accept yourself, make that which people hate your shield. Never forget what you are, and stand proud. People can spit, they can heckle, they can believe themselves superior. But so long as your truth stands and does not buckle, you remain victorious.
I . . . still don’t understand, Vera.
If I gave you all the answers, then you would never learn. A lesson given is a tenth of a lesson earned.
But it’s easier to learn when someone teaches you.
Wrong, Vera said. Meditate on what I’ve said.
Lucian felt her departing from his mind, though he couldn’t have said how he knew that. He felt a sense of numbness as her words bounced around in his head, the only thing he had to latch onto in this cold cell.
Acceptance of physical reality. Reality was only a shadow of the Manifold. Mages were islands, and the Manifold the ocean . . .
All mysteries, or more likely to Lucian’s reckoning, all madness. But the Psionic link connecting them had been real enough, assuming it wasn’t his mind being addled by the fraying already. Vera knew something of magic and the Manifold; that much was clear.
Who was Lucian to question anything she said? He knew nothing.
So, he meditated. He thought about her ideas, as foreign as they were to him.
Perhaps Vera was right. If he were to begin his path as a mage, he would have to start with acceptance of self.
Lucian remained immobile, almost catatonic, for untold hours. When not sleeping, he sat with his eyes closed, trying to master his thoughts and find silence. He tried to detect the Manifold, that awesome source of power that Vera had confirmed was the source of all magic. But Lucian sensed nothing except his increasing frustration. If he could not detect the Manifold, streaming would be impossible. The magic he had used against Dirk was a fluke, an accident, streamed under duress. To reproduce that, he would have to put himself in a similar stressful situation.
Still, there were no distractions in the cell, so he meditated. His meals went uneaten and were taken away by the crewman without a word spoken between them.
The idea that he might delay the fraying with the right foundation was tantalizing. It was enough incentive to keep his focus on the task at hand, to break his concentration for nothing except sleep and bathroom breaks.
So it was that hours bled into days. His anger at being thrown in here unjustly became distant as his trance deepened. There were times when Lucian might have felt something like a fire lurking beneath, focused on his sternum. But that flame would never kindle. He was still missing something. Something he couldn’t quite reach.
Vera was right. He needed further instruction.
Vera had lived for decades as a mage. She could have the secret, the key, which had eluded humanity for over a century since the first mages emerged. Were her words too good to be true? What were her motives for sharing such a secret with him?
It was impossible to know. All Lucian could do was hope to learn more.
Every time the long-faced crewman came, he left a meal that went untouched. And every time he returned, he took the unopened tray and replaced it with a fresh one. That was the only outside interruption to Lucian’s succession of days.
But one day, Captain Miller interrupted that succession. Lucian wondered what he was doing there until he realized the truth.
His ten days must have already passed.
Captain Miller watched Lucian for a long moment, seemingly allowing him to speak. But Lucian didn’t feel the need to say anything. He stared silently, content to let Captain Miller break the silence.
“We are approaching the Gate,” the Captain said. “The general sentiment on board is that most seem to think it was an accident.” Miller watched Lucian for a reaction. “You have your friend to thank for that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Miss Almaty has been your best advocate, or so my crew has told me. Otherwise, people’s opinions might be quite different. Be that as it may, you still have your opponents who want you to remain in here.”
“Am I free to go?”
“Yes,” Captain Miller said, with a stern note in his voice. “Of course, if there’s any more trouble, I’ll put you back in here as fast as I got you out.”
“I understand.”
Miller nodded as if that settled it. He stood aside, allowing Lucian to see the cargo hold beyond for the first time in days. It almost didn’t feel real as he ventured outside his cell, feeling like a new person.