《Brummagem (Steampunk Progression Fantasy)》 Prologue No one ever hears acromantula coming. That¡¯s their whole thing, isn¡¯t it? Their aetheric ability ¨C ¡°dome of silence¡±. An invisible bubble that no sound can breach, in or out. Rarely does anyone ever see acromantula coming, too. The spiders are smart. They never attack at the beginning of a surge, when aether waves rush in and for a brief spell of days illuminate the world with their glow from the sky. No, acromantula wait. When the normal dimness descends ¨C that¡¯s when they strike. And the mighty walls of Lua aren¡¯t always enough to deter them. Unfortunately, no one had told Cillian that, or maybe someone had at some point, but the young boy hadn¡¯t cared. And why would he? He was thirteen, which, in his mind, made him immortal. Bad things happened to other people, not him. It was Friday, and Cillian wanted to pla¨C no, not play, playing was for children. Cillian wanted to explore the abandoned, spooky factory he and his best friend Aidan had been giving a wide berth for years. But today was different. Today, he was feeling brave. He would meet up with Aidan and issue a challenge to his friend ¨C whoever finds the most valuable trinket inside gets to order around the loser for an entire day. Cillian giggled quietly, imagining the lanky boy reciting a love poem while kneeling before his long-term crush Fiona. Cillian had even written the poem himself. He giggled some more. Mother eyed him strangely. Well, Cillian wouldn¡¯t actually do something so cruel to his friend, but having the poem handy ensured he¡¯d have the leverage to make Aidan willingly carry out other less monstrous things. ¡°What are you giggling about?¡± mother asked him suspiciously, walking alongside. Cillian grimaced. That was one wrinkle in his otherwise flawless plan ¨C she¡¯d decided to accompany him to the Moores. Because it wasn¡¯t safe, apparently. What a rake of bollocks, he thought angrily. So what if Aidan lived in the outer ring? Cillian had been going to his place for years, and there had never been any problems. Apart from the homeless, of course, but they were plenty in the midring, too. This time though, mother had insisted since there was talk about heightened beast activity near the city. It happened after nearly every gleambout, Cillian had tried to argue, but to no avail. I don¡¯t need a niss-damned babysitter. ¡°Nothing,¡± he replied, shaking his head innocently. ¡°Just thinking of you, mum. You know, all that cold, rattling metal in the tram and now this.¡± He demonstratively exhaled through his mouth to let vapor form and quickly dissipate. ¡°Must be a killer on your old bones.¡± She gently thumped him on the head. ¡°These old bones can still climb better than you, child, without tripping on air and falling on my behind.¡± Cillian turned to glare at her. ¡°A cat spooked me,¡± he insisted for the hundredth time, ¡°a black one, with vivid green eyes. And it was slippery.¡± She smiled, checked her timepiece, and said, ¡°Of course, Lian, of course. The same cat who bit your knuckles and caused you to slide off the pipe the other day.¡± ¡°No, mum.¡± He rolled his eyes. ¡°The pipe was Mr. Sullivan¡¯s cat; you can¡¯t fool me. I keep my stories straight, you know.¡± He paused. ¡°That is, because they are truth and all, easy to keep straight, I mean. And it¡¯s unfair anyway ¨C the way you climb buildings ain¡¯t natural. Must have some chimpanzee blood in you.¡± She sighed. ¡°You are such a charmer, Lian. Old bones, chimpanzee blood ¨C what else? And you do realize that if I have chimpanzee blood, it means you also have it?¡± He scoffed. ¡°Mine¡¯s watered down by father¡¯s weak blood.¡± Mother laughed. ¡°Why is your father¡¯s blood suddenly weak?¡± ¡°Well, maybe not weak, but from¡­ uhh, what¡¯s an animal that sits around all day?¡± ¡°That¡¯s what you think he does at work? Sits around? He¡¯d be surprised to hear that.¡± ¡°Alright, then he runs around, wishing he was sitting instead, like he does at home. What about a vermintooth? They are mostly stationary, right?¡± She thumped him again. ¡°Dear, vermintooth is a beast, not a normal animal. I hope you don¡¯t go around telling people they have beasts in their blood. That wouldn¡¯t go well for you.¡± ¡°I know, mum.¡± Cillian resisted an urge to roll his eyes again. ¡°I¡¯m just joking.¡± ¡°Well, don¡¯t,¡± she admonished gently, ¡°not even as a joke, alright?¡± ¡°Aye-aye, I get it.¡± They kept walking in silence after that, clicking their heels on the wooden blocks that made up the pavement in these parts. Cillian often joked that he could find the way to Aidan¡¯s house from the tram stop with his eyes closed, just by following the characteristic odor. Father had told him once that the smell came from the coal tar used to treat the rectangular blocks, and it was also the source of their dark brown-grey color. Personally, Cillian even preferred them over the cobblestones in his home sector. The pavement here was somehow nicer to run on ¨C when one got used to smelling that manky mix of house paint and a homeless man¡¯s breath, that was. The street they were on was long and narrow, only a couple of motorwagens¡¯ width worth. Not that there would be any, Cillian mused. So more like a couple of carriages¡¯ width worth. The lamp posts only lined one side of the street and weren¡¯t spaced closely enough to provide an unbroken illuminated lane, instead creating small islands of faint, warm light amidst the sea of dark. Honestly, they were doing such a poor job that the glow from the tall arched windows adorning the buildings on either side of the street contributed more to the endless battle against the dimness. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. The patches kept alternating. Cillian groaned internally. By himself, he would be there already. The boy wanted to sprint but couldn¡¯t just leave his mother behind; she likely wouldn¡¯t be able to keep up in her heeled boots. He much preferred her when she didn¡¯t pretend to be all dignified ¨C when she ran through rooftops with him, showing how to position his body and where to place his feet for an easier climb. Not tonight though. Tonight, she played the role of a concerned mother, escorting her brilliant son ¨C who didn¡¯t need escorting ¨C to his friend¡¯s house, and planned to have tea with the said friend¡¯s mother. Aether help me. Cillian forcefully stomped on a puddle formed in a hole left behind by several dislodged blocks. Just because he could. Mother glared at him, unimpressed. He grinned in response. At least, she¡¯d be occupied and wouldn¡¯t try doing something embarrassing, like following us. She opened her mouth to voice a rebuke, but a cold blast of wind straight to their faces intervened. She clutched her fedora and muttered, ¡°It is pretty cold tonight, I admit.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t feel any,¡± Cillian boasted. ¡°Of course you don¡¯t, dear.¡± Mother smiled and raised the collar of her long coat. Cillian shuddered and surreptitiously did the same. She still noticed. Mercifully, five minutes later, just before he could lose his mind, they reached their destination. A turn to the right through an archway into the inner yard, a short walk toward the far-right corner ¨C and they were there. Two doors led inside this section of the building, and both appeared shut, but he knew better. The one barring the way down towards a boiler room was shut ¨C two separate padlocks attested to that ¨C but the other one, leading to the housing units, almost certainly wasn¡¯t. The lock on it got busted with some regularity ¨C once even by Aidan himself on a dare. Cillian reflexively glanced up at a balcony on the third floor of the seven-story building. His friend¡¯s room; there was light. Good, he thought, Aidan wouldn¡¯t be able to claim he was asleep and knackered and say ¡°Let¡¯s go another day¡± or other such nonsense. Sometimes, he could be a wee slow on the start-up and needed a good kick. Hmm, Cillian suddenly got an idea, maybe I should climb up and knock from the outside? Wouldn¡¯t that be the craic? ¡°I assume you know the code,¡± mother said once they approached the door. She rubbed her gloved hands together and added, ¡°Hurry up!¡± ¡°No need. Look, it¡¯s banjax¨C oh.¡± Cillian blinked in surprise, all thoughts of climbing evaporating. ¡°It¡¯s actually whole?¡± He and Aidan shared the codes with each other habitually, but it rarely became relevant to Cillian as he could count the number of times the lock here hadn¡¯t been broken on his visits on one hand. ¡°Dandy. Maybe I can finally have a swing at it.¡± He hastily raised his hands at mother¡¯s frown. ¡°Kidding, kidding, I know the code. It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s something stupid; I remember Aidan bitchi¨C ahem, complaining about it a couple of days ago. What was it?¡± He began turning the bottommost and biggest ¡°gear¡± of the lock, which had numbers ranging from 1 to 36 engraved on every tooth, hoping the metallic snap-snap-snap would jog his memory. ¡°Umm, something obvious. First 36, then¡­ largest! Right, got it!¡± He quickly lined up the 36th tooth with the 12 o¡¯clock position then did the same with the 24th tooth of the middle gear ¨C middle both in size and placement. The smallest and topmost gear happened to have the required number already in place. The aligned code read: ¡°36-24-12¡±. The door unlocked, and the gears spun about randomly to reset, accompanied by a staccato of ticks. Why would anyone set something so stupid as the code? We live there! Cillian heard Aidan¡¯s mocking words in his mind. Apparently, so that dunces like me can remember it, he answered mentally in his own voice. Cillian opened the door with a bow, but mother only snorted, coming in. Hypocrite. Always tells me not to snort like that. He followed the ungrateful woman inside. Alright, step one of his master plan was complete, with some complications. Hopefully, the complications in question would stick with Mrs. Nora as promised. He flew up the stairs. Factory, here we come.
¡°Going somewhere?¡± Cillian grimaced and halted. Some finagling was required to escape the chimpanzee¡¯s clutches, it seemed. He turned around and smiled charmingly as if they hadn¡¯t been trying to sneak out just now. ¡°Mother! You look radiant! And, Mrs. Nora, thank you so much for the tea and biscuits, they were delicious! Alas, we have to go, important matters arose and require our attention.¡± ¡°Mhm.¡± Mother nodded seriously. ¡°And what matters are those, if I may ask?¡± ¡°It¡¯s confidential.¡± He sighed. ¡°But! Given how you¡¯re a respected member of my household, I¡¯ll share ¨C we¡¯re going exploring, nothing more.¡± ¡°Exploring? At this hour?¡± Mrs. Nora asked, looking at her son. Aidan hesitated, so Cillian supplied an answer, ¡°It¡¯s not too late yet, and tomorrow¡¯s weekend. It¡¯ll be fine, Mrs. Nora, everyone here knows us.¡± He quickly spun to face the door again and reached for the handle. ¡°Alright, gotta get going, bye!¡± ¡°Not so fast.¡± Mother walked up to the door and put her hand on it, eyeing him warily. ¡°What are you really planning?¡± Cillian mentally congratulated himself, Oh yes, feed an obvious tosh first then reveal the ¡°truth¡± once pressed. Perfect. He exchanged glances with Aidan and made an apologetic face, which caused his friend to furrow his brows in confusion. ¡°Fiiine,¡± Cillian dragged out, affecting reluctance. ¡°We¡¯re going to the girls¡¯ place, alright?¡± Aidan went wide-eyed in alarm. ¡°Girls?¡± mother repeated after a brief silence, clearly not having expected such an answer. ¡°Just Fiona, you know, she lives nearby; Aidan fancies her. And her sister Cara.¡± Cillian paused to process what he¡¯d just said. ¡°I mean, her sister Cara also lives there, not that Aidan fancies them both. Although, they¡¯re kinda similar¡­ Hey, Aidan¨C!¡± ¡°Shut yer gob, you prickwaver!¡± his best friend hissed and hit him in the arm. ¡°Aidan!¡± Mrs. Nora exclaimed in outrage. ¡°Sorry!¡± Cillian ducked behind his mother, hiding a smile. Yes! Aidan¡¯s reaction was perfect; it would help sell the impression they were really going to meet the cailini. He didn¡¯t know why it felt important to keep his true intentions secret from mother; going to the factory wasn¡¯t that big of a deal. But it was the principle of the thing ¨C Cillian was nearly an adult now, and his business was his business, no one else¡¯s. Mother would only worry unnecessarily. Besides, technically, he hadn¡¯t lied. After all, they would indeed go to the girls¡¯ place. He¡¯d never actually said they¡¯d meet the said girls, only that they¡¯d go in that direction, which was true. ¡°Aidan!¡± Mrs. Nora was pulling her son¡¯s ear while the boy yelped. ¡°You do not call a guest vile names and you do not hit them!¡± The woman kept chastising her son, and Cillian laughed. Until his mother turned and eyed him in disapproval. ¡°Really, Lian? Revealing your friend¡¯s private matters like this?¡± ¡°You insisted!¡± ¡°Like you had no other way of saying it! Nora!¡± she called out. ¡°Nora, my son is equally to blame. He can be a little¡­¡± ¡°Prick,¡± Aidan mouthed angrily but voicelessly, his left ear aflame, glaring daggers at Cillian, who shrugged innocently. ¡°Rude,¡± mother finished. ¡°And indecorous.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not an excuse,¡± the still-fuming woman replied. ¡°Apologize to your friend, Aidan, now.¡± The boy looked like he wanted nothing more than to strangle Cillian, but he obediently did as told with his lips barely moving, ¡°I¡¯m very sorry, Cillian, for calling you prickwaver and hitting you.¡± Cillian tried and failed to contain his grin. ¡°I accept your apology. Don¡¯t do it again though, it was very hurtful.¡± Mother thumped him on the head for the third time this evening. ¡°And I beg your pardon, too, for my unbecoming behavior,¡± he promptly continued as if had intended to apologize all along. The boy eyed the door. ¡°We¡¯re free to go?¡± It was the women¡¯s turn to exchange glances now. Mother said, ¡°They seem to be in the mood, Nora, might as well let them go. Otherwise, I¡¯d fear for your apartment¡¯s integrity.¡± Mrs. Nora didn¡¯t look convinced. Cillian might have overdone it a little. ¡°Please, Mrs. Nora, we¡¯ll be quick, in and out. I want to see Cara,¡± he implored. Again, not a lie, he did want to see her. And revealing an embarrassing thing about himself was fair at this point and might help placate Aidan somewhat. ¡°Oh?¡± mother raised an interested eyebrow. ¡°So you fancy a girl, too?¡± ¡°Cara?¡± Mrs. Nora asked in surprise at the same time. ¡°The girl is 17 if I remember right.¡± ¡°So? I¡¯m a charmer, mother said so just recently.¡± Aidan snorted in derision. Cillian responded by crossing his arms and wagging the index and middle fingers at the eejit surreptitiously. ¡°And you¡¯re going to meet the girl you like wearing this ugly duffel coat? It¡¯s way too small for you now, and¨C actually, where did you even get it?¡± ¡°Ugly? You bought it for me! And it¡¯s been lying here for yonks, mum. I use it when things get dirty.¡± Oh null! ¡°I mean, umm, the girls¡¯ parents aren¡¯t exactly expecting us, you know?¡± Cillian scrambled to clarify. ¡°We¡¯ll have to climb from the outside, and it¡¯s grimy there.¡± Aether, did I ruin it? Mother rubbed her forehead and sighed. ¡°You aren¡¯t helping your case, Lian. Just¡­ just go already, you¡¯re giving me a headache.¡± Mrs. Nora eyed her son sternly before giving her own reluctant assent, ¡°Fine. But best behavior, both of you, understand?¡± Cillian nodded eagerly while Aidan didn¡¯t look all that enthusiastic. Admittedly, he hadn''t been pumped about Cillian¡¯s plan for the evening to begin with. The boys headed out. When Cillian was already halfway through the doorway, mother suddenly asked, ¡°What¡¯s that in your pocket, Lian?¡± He hurriedly slipped out and began closing the door. ¡°Just a flashlight, mum. Bye-bye! Have a nice tea party!¡± Cillian could feel her suspicious gaze right until the moment the door clicked shut behind him.
¡°What the niss-shit was that!?¡± Aidan demanded as soon as they exited the building. ¡°What?¡± Cillian pretended not to understand but quickly gave up. His friend deserved a real apology. ¡°Sorry, that was not dandy. I just wanted to get away and thought they¡¯d let us go quickly if I mentioned girls. Father seemed pretty uncomfortable when talking to me about them recently. Figured it¡¯d work.¡± ¡°Then you should¡¯ve talked about your crush, not mine!¡± ¡°I did!¡± ¡°Aye, after babbling about Fiona! You know mine and her mothers are friends! She¡¯ll tell!¡± ¡°Oh. Right.¡± ¡°Oooh,¡± Aidan mocked angrily. ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry, mucker, I¡¯ll make it up to you.¡± ¡°How? With your stupid plan? You know it¡¯s stupid, right?¡± ¡°Hey now¨C!¡± ¡°There¡¯s not going to be anything of worth there, you muppet! It¡¯s been abandoned for yonks; everything of value is long gone! And don¡¯t you remember what homeless Rory had told us? It wasn¡¯t even a factory but some sort of gigantic furnace. What could possibly be worthwhile there? Slag?!¡± ¡°Stop shouting, Aid, we¡¯re still inside the cauldron!¡± Cillian hissed. ¡°And homeless Rory was full of niss-shit, a waste of the hard-won brandy he was!¡± ¡°He worked there!¡± ¡°He told us he¡¯d worked there!¡± ¡°Whatever,¡± Aidan scoffed. ¡°Still stupid. Let¡¯s get it over with; I¡¯m freezing my balls out here.¡± ¡°Aye. Why is it so cold today anyway?¡± Cillian eyed the sleeves of his coat and the ends of his leather gloves, which didn¡¯t quite meet on account of the former being too short, then fetched a hat with earflaps and a short brim from the coat¡¯s pocket and pulled it on his head. The boys quickly left the yard through an arch sitting opposite the one Cillian and his mother had taken earlier and fast-walked toward the main street ¨C it separated the 5th octant, on the edge of which Moores lived, from the 6th. Taken together the two octants made up the Null-Lem quarter of the outer ring. They expertly navigated through narrow alleys formed in between buildings very similar to Aidan¡¯s own, spooking rats along the way and climbing over wooden crates inconveniently blocking the path. A woman hanging clothes on a line stretching across the gap shooed them away when they greeted her. Bah, no manners at all! Five minutes later they were already on the main and turned left to head in the direction of the Wall. Despite the late hour, the street was still bright and lively ¨C the ground floors on both sides were filled with ever-full pubs and ever-present shops. Pubs, inside which Cillian had never been allowed to but had sneaked in a couple of times anyway. And shops, which were spilling their wares on tables and shelves almost to the road and had young boys loudly proclaim the quality of the goods to all passersby. It was like finding yourself in a different world after taking one small step. From a dark, quiet, and narrow alley to some sort of festival. Only it wasn¡¯t a festival; it was just Friday. The boys didn¡¯t bump into anyone and didn¡¯t have to elbow their way through, but people were still plentiful. This close to the midring, they were walking about on the wide street without fear; Cillian even spotted a couple of city guards on patrol. And there were working lamp posts on both sides of the road, actually giving off more than a whisper of light and allowing him to see the steam and smoke rising from the rooftops and short exhaust flues jutting out from the walls here and there. Although, if one looked closer, they¡¯d see that it wasn¡¯t a different world but a variant of the same. The pavement was still wooden blocks, and it was in an even worse shape ¨C there were great many holes simply filled with gravel, not to mention other holes filled with nothing but rain. The aforementioned people were also the same ¨C most were dressed in coats of various types, fedoras, and tall boots of dark colors, with an occasional aviator-style jacket, a rain cape, a gatsby, or a cloche appearing in one combination or another. The two friends didn¡¯t mingle with the crowd for long, soon turning into one of the numerous streets cutting through the 6th octant laterally. And it was an actual street rather than yet another alley. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Cillian finally acknowledged when they were almost halfway to their destination. They¡¯d been mostly marching silently until then. ¡°There¡¯s not going to be anything valuable.¡± Aidan rolled his eyes. ¡°But! I have another idea, this one¡¯s actually genius.¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to hate it, aren¡¯t I?¡± Aidan puffed out rhetorically. ¡°Only if you¡¯re a sissy.¡± Cillian grinned. ¡°We¡¯re going to climb the thing. The one getting higher wins!¡± Aidan stopped and stared at him as if it wasn¡¯t the greatest thought ever. ¡°That¡¯s even stupider, Kili!¡± he decried. ¡°The thing¡¯s rusted all over! It¡¯s going to crumble!¡± ¡°So, a sissy then?¡± Cillian smirked. ¡°That¡¯s what I thought.¡± ¡°What are you, five?¡± ¡°Just think. It¡¯s been derelict for yonks, and, aye, all the stuff¡¯s likely long gone, but it¡¯s been an upright derelict for yonks. You think no one¡¯s tried to climb it? There are steps, mucker. It¡¯s not exactly Foerstner headquarters, is it? It hasn¡¯t fallen yet, and it¡¯s not going to fall today.¡± Aidan huffed and resumed walking, slower now. ¡°What do you even have in mind, huh? Why do you want to order me around so much? What¡¯s your angle? Maybe I should just refuse to participate.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have an angle,¡± Cillian lied. Lying to a friend was okay. ¡°I just want to have the craic, don¡¯t be a wet rag.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not. Refusing your schemes is often just plain good sense.¡± ¡°Like null it is.¡± The deeper they went into the octant, the more differences with the one they¡¯d left behind reared their heads. Gradually, buildings stopped being uniform ¨C first in height and, soon, in the employed materials as well: worn-out rustic brown brick, limestone, concrete, and plastered brick pretending to be concrete replaced the red brick¡¯s near monopoly. The lengths of the buildings also varied. Roofs and windows stayed mostly the same though: the former ¨C all steep angles and smoking chimneys; while the latter ¨C tall and arched and featuring pronounced sills. However, after they turned left into an alley and then right into another street, this one narrower, a real change made itself known. Gone was the unpleasant odor of tar coal as there was no pavement in here, just hard ground turned to mud in some places. In its stead, an altogether different smell had taken over ¨C a back alley smell if you would. Piss and drunkards and cigarette smoke. Lovely. None of the inhabitants cared much for the two of them, thankfully. In their tattered and too-small duffel coats and funny hats, Cillian and Aidan didn¡¯t look like they had anything worth a null on them anyway. They looked like they belonged. Hopefully, in the dim light no one would notice Cillian¡¯s nicer-than-average boots. As the pair walked over a couple of corrugated iron sheets just lying on the ground, likely covering some hollows and looking like they¡¯d been stolen from someone¡¯s rooftop, Cillian asked, ¡°So, you in or what?¡± ¡°I¡¯m going, aren¡¯t I?¡± ¡°Aye, but I figured maybe you just want to make yourself scarce while your mum inevitably complains to mine about you. You know, how she longs for her eejit son to be more like the perfect Cillian.¡± Aidan laughed out loud. ¡°Ha! I bet they¡¯re drinking more than just tea because Mrs. Roisin wishes to forget you exist for a couple of hours!¡± They kept up the banter and playful shoving, without any sullen silences now. Cillian knew Aidan would come around eventually, he always did. The duo skirted past a group of men burning garbage in a barrel, walked under a metal catwalk, and emerged into a narrower part of the street. The pathway remained the same if weaving around more, but the buildings bulged out, edging closer to their neighbors across. It was more of a forest made from concrete, brick, and metal rather than a street ¨C not that Cillian had ever been to a forest. What gave off that impression was, first, more catwalks spanning the gap at all levels ¨C there were even catwalks connecting other catwalks. And second, most structures here looked like they¡¯d been grown over the years as opposed to being carefully planned and constructed, which was evident by the fact the materials in use often switched floor to floor, sometimes accompanied by a change in size too. That was, seeing a big upper floor, erected from concrete, sitting on top of a much smaller floor, built from brick, and without any visible support beams was nothing unusual. In fact, it¡¯d be a very mild example. If Cillian wasn¡¯t mistaken, one structure ahead and to the left terminated with an actual freight container at the very top. Not putting the metal tomb at the base likely constituted the extent of safety protocols here. Countless wall-mounted ladders and lanterns also added to the wilderness feel. In other words, the area was a complete mess, and Cillian loved it. It was a climbing heaven. There was even a resident gargoyle sitting atop a wide unused pipe running under the third floor of one of the buildings. On guard from evil outsiders, no doubt. ¡°Hey, shams! Who are you, and what do you want at the temple?¡± the gargo¨C ahem, boy called out to them. ¡°Get nulled, Flynn, it¡¯s me!¡± Aidan shouted in response. ¡°Hm? Oh, Aidan, hey! It¡¯s been a while. Who¡¯s this with you?¡± Flynn squinted from above, raising a small handheld lamp. ¡°Oh, ¡®tis your prissy friend! Hello!¡± ¡°Niss take you, little Flynnie,¡± Cillian said, not in the mood to be delayed. ¡°We ain¡¯t going to the temple,¡± Aidan assured. ¡°Where to then?¡± ¡°Not your business. We¡¯ll talk on the way back.¡± ¡°Kay. No skin off my arse if you¡¯re lying.¡± ¡°Ain¡¯t lying. Grown-up stuff, sham, you wouldn¡¯t understand.¡± ¡°Pfft, right.¡± ¡°Bye, gargoyle! Guard well!¡± Cillian yelled in farewell as they left him behind.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. The two boys reached the end of the street and climbed a small rise waiting there ¨C someone had helpfully carved steps into the dirt ¨C and immediately came upon a ditch two dozen paces wide. The ¡°scar¡± ran through a big chunk of the octant longwise and had been dug out yonks ago ¨C for a scheme no one could remember but everyone had a fantastical tale about ¨C and then never used. These days, it simply collected garbage and served as a playground for children. Multipurpose, that. They crossed the metal footbridge and turned sharply left to walk in between the ditch and more ugly buildings. The path was barely wide enough for two people to pass through shoulder to shoulder and was lined with iron sheets, with more of them also hanging a meter above their heads, sloping down toward the ditch. The end of the pathway signaled the end of their journey. As the two exited the ¡°tunnel¡±, they immediately spotted the factory ¨C it was hard to miss on account of a giant smokestack, at least six stories tall, standing proudly not fifty paces away, forward and right. They¡¯d seen it way before getting close, of course, but all the encroaching buildings and the fact that the factory was the only place not illuminated in any way had made it difficult to properly discern. Not anymore. Now, it looked somehow even taller than Cillian remembered. Not just the chimney but the main part of the facility as well. He felt no inkling to sissy out whatsoever though, honest. Aidan stopped and stared apprehensively, so Cillian affected a nonchalant air and casually strolled past the still visible scars in the ground where the heavy fence had once barred the way. A blast furnace, homeless Rory had called it. According to him, the trio of pipe-like things next to the smokestack, half its height but thrice the girth and ending with a dome instead of being open, were cowper stoves, which had been used for preheating air before blasting it into the furnace itself from below. Cillian could sort of see it as the main tower had a huge pipe wrapped around it about two meters above the ground. He still thought Rory was a shameless swindler. He carefully walked past the smokestack, crunching on the gravel underfoot and for the first time appreciating the sheer scale of the thing, then past the stoves too, gently brushing one on the way and feeling the cold even through the gloves. A dozen paces further he ducked under a pipe running parallel to the ground only to realize that it terminated abruptly three steps away. Ahead awaited a maze of metal scrap, amidst which he couldn¡¯t see anything connecting the big heater yokes to the tower, but then again, lots of stuff here was just gone. Case in point being a couple of hangar skeletons to his far right. Aye, skeletons, because only the rusted frames remained. Everything here was dark and rusted. Cillian crept closer to the supposed furnace, crouching under more broken pipes and twice having to circle piles of unidentifiable junk. He didn¡¯t look back to see if Aidan was following; he didn¡¯t need to. Teasing aside, his best friend wasn¡¯t a coward. Just a dozen paces from the tower, Cillian stopped and looked up. ¡°What are you doing?!¡± Aidan shoved him forward. ¡°Don¡¯t stand under it!¡± Aye, that probably wasn¡¯t smart. He hadn¡¯t been staring up at the tower itself but rather at a black opening of yet another prematurely terminating pipe, this one vertical and wide enough to swallow Cillian whole with room to spare. It originated from the side at the very top of the furnace, going first diagonally then straight down, and was clearly supposed to go into something on the ground, but that something had been scurried away by locals, leaving the pipe just hanging in the air like an arm. How it hadn¡¯t fallen off yet was a mystery. A few more steps and, at last, they were at the heart of the place. Cillian marched to the side of the imposing structure that felt most like the ¡°front¡± to him ¨C the one furthest from the ditch ¨C and only then deigned to look at it, tracing his gaze up from the bottom. The concrete foundation and the aforementioned encircling pipe came first, followed by five levels of steel grating platforms connected with stairs and, same as the pipe, snaking all around the brick spine. And, at the top, his eyes glued to a curious slingshot-like shape, upside-down, taking up three more levels in height. He had to shuffle back a little and crane his neck hard just to be able to see the tip from this close. Suddenly, Cillian felt really intimidated and small. The furnace wasn¡¯t the tallest structure he¡¯d seen in his life, not by a long shot, but nothing else he remembered had appeared so exposed. There was always a facade covering the insides. Not here. He shook his head and looked away. It didn¡¯t matter. No way he would back down now even if he didn¡¯t feel ready. ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± Cillian proclaimed loudly and turned to face his friend. ¡°Umm¡­¡± Aidan looked unnerved. Sissy. ¡°I don¡¯t see the ladder. Do you?¡± he asked, voice hesitant and hopeful. Cillian chose to overlook it. ¡°What ladder?¡± ¡°The one that should be here, leading to the first platform. How would they climb there otherwise? It¡¯s three meters up!¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Cillian turned back to the tower and spent a few seconds properly processing what he was seeing. ¡°It¡¯s fine. We just have to reach the pipe, and there¡¯s plenty of stuff to hold on to.¡± He cleared his throat, trying to rid of any residual hesitation in his voice. ¡°It¡¯s fine. Just follow me.¡± Before he could convince himself to postpone and without waiting for an affirmative, Cillian tore his eyes away from the top, walked up to the concrete base, and jumped on it. One step at a time. Reaching the pipe, indeed, turned out to be easy, but it took him three tries to get a grip on it; it was so thick. Cillian pulled himself up and, sitting atop now, asked cheekily, ¡°Need a hand?¡± ¡°Get nulled!¡± came an expected response. Cillian stood up. The first platform was now at his waist level, and it lacked any railings. More scrap for locals, probably. He clambered up and waited for Aidan. ¡°See?¡± he asked once the mucker joined him. ¡°Stable.¡± Cillian stomped. The bang reverberated louder than he¡¯d expected. ¡°Oops. Nothing to worry about.¡± ¡°I swear, if you start jumping up and down, I¡¯m going to strangle you.¡± They carried on. The stairs between the floors soon proved to be easily conquerable even if Cillian took his time feeling up each step carefully. Mother had trained no tool. Even with the measured approach, it took them less than five minutes to ascend to the top platform. A little underwhelming, truth be told. ¡°Woo-hoo!¡± Cillian bellowed, raising his arms. Aidan swatted at him. What¡¯s with everyone smacking me around today? Further up, the footpaths surrounding the ¡°slingshot¡± looked more like scaffolding and were only reachable by ladders, which, thankfully, still remained. Although, their shabby appearance inspired little confidence. The boys took a breather. Cillian felt for the first time that the wind had shifted to warmer now, which was nice. He approached the edge and looked around. They were above most structures in the vicinity, but this height meant nothing to him; he¡¯d climbed much higher with mother. Glancing in the direction of the center of Lua, he saw the midring wall, behind which stood more buildings playing host to countless light sources and gradually growing larger, but couldn¡¯t discern any details beyond that. The aether streaks in the sky, colorful as they were, didn¡¯t provide all that much illumination. Nice view but not exceptional. He should come back when¨C A strange silhouette spotted out of the corner of his eye on a nearby roof interrupted Cillian¡¯s train of thought. He turned and shifted his focus to it, but there was nothing, just darkness. Cillian frowned, confident he¡¯d seen movement, and examined the building closer for several heartbeats, top to bottom and back ¨C nothing still. It stood serenely on the other side of the ditch and looked typical of the environment. Shoddy. But no moving shapes. The only worthy thing to note anywhere close was mist, which was just starting to form along the ground but was swiftly expanding. Grand, exactly what we need. ¡°I think Rory had the right of it, Kili!¡± Aidan called out from the right, startling him. ¡°Look!¡± ¡°What?¡± Cillian questioned irritably, breaking off his staring contest with the building and joining his friend. ¡°Oh, that.¡± He¡¯d somehow forgotten about another feature of the facility, initially not visible on their approach because of its position on the other side. There was a shaft. An inclined one. Supposedly, for an elevator. Only a frame again, and it looked like someone had simply lowered a normal vertical shaft until its tip ended up resting on the platform that the boys currently occupied. There was no cabin, hoist ropes, or anything at all other than the beams going down and crisscrossing the ¡°walls¡±. ¡°See? I¡¯m pretty sure that¡¯s a guide rail, so it is an elevator. Or was. And the whole thing¡¯s welded, Kil, not just lying on top,¡± Aidan pointed out, kicking one of the beams for emphasis. ¡°Huh.¡± Cillian peered closer. ¡°But¨C but what¡¯s the point of having a tilting elevator? It would require more metal, no? Makes no sense!¡± Aidan snorted. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure whoever built this yoke knew more about blast furnaces than you do, mucker.¡± Cillian rolled his eyes. ¡°Whatever. I ain¡¯t apologizing to Rory though; he¡¯s still a swindler.¡± He straightened up and changed the subject, nodding at the ¡®slingshot¡¯, ¡°So, we going up?¡± Aidan grimaced. ¡°Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s high enough? Look at these ladders ¨C they¡¯re so rusted you can¡¯t even tell what color they are!¡± ¡°I knew it! You¡¯re going to sissy out after all? Be my little servant for a day?¡± Cillian grinned in anticipation. ¡°Nah, Kil, see, I¡¯ve never actually agreed to¨C¡± A shriek interrupted him, and they both jumped. A woman¡¯s shriek, from somewhere down below, muted by distance but still distinct. It grew hysterical then cut off, as abruptly as it had erupted, and not because the woman stopped shrieking, but as though someone had shut the world¡¯s heaviest door on her, leaving now ominous silence behind. The boys exchanged long looks. Violence was nothing new here, but, thankfully, it wasn¡¯t nearly as bad as in the true slums. Whatever was happening, it didn¡¯t concern them. They would stay out of it. Although¡­ Cillian fetched his small flashlight and rotated the bottom of the handle to switch it on then walked to the stairs they¡¯d used to climb up and shone it onto the lower floors to make sure the violence in question wasn¡¯t about to pay a visit to them. Damn mist was everywhere now, thin as it was, even at the bottom of the furnace. Something didn¡¯t feel right to him. What was it? He strode to the opposite side to look across the ditch once again. Aidan joined him, shining his own flashlight down, not that it reached the ground. ¡°What?¡± Cillian shook his head. ¡°Whisht. Listen.¡± They stood and listened. After several breaths, Aidan shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t hear nothing.¡± ¡°Aye. Me neither.¡± Cillian faced his friend. ¡°Like, nothing at all, just wind and ourselves.¡± Aidan blinked and frowned. ¡°Huh. Right. That¡¯s quare.¡± Quare, indeed. Cillian peered down intently. Yes, he could hear the wind and all that metal surrounding them quietly groaning, but where were the sounds of people? What was happ¨C He gasped and took an instinctive step back as he witnessed a nightmare. Beside him, Aidan let out a strangled, horrified noise. A spider emerged from the mist and gloom, big as a hound, scurrying along the ditch¡¯s far wall, just close enough to the buildings¡¯ sparse lights to be visible. Then another followed the first, this one the size of a man. Then another, smaller again. And another. The mist was swirling around them as if an active participant of its own, denser at the creatures¡¯ feet and making them appear all but glide above the surface. They were so mesmerizing that Cillian couldn¡¯t look away. Until he belatedly realized that the big spider was dragging something through the garbage and mud. Someone. A recognizably human shape, absolutely cocooned in the webbing, was being taken along for the ride. By the Heaven¡­ The beasts lined up with the boys and, not sparing the petrified duo a glance, kept trudging along down the ¡°scar¡±. Cillian yelped when a hand seized him by the shoulder, but it was just Aidan, who was pointing at a different spot, mouth agape. He followed his friend¡¯s arm and saw more spide¨C no, more acromantula crawling over the walls and roof of a taller building standing further away from the ditch. He saw one monster slip inside an open window, trailed by more. Breath caught in his throat, Cillian watched the same scene repeat at another location. A bigger spider through an open window or door, with a smaller taking a chimney. One more time. And again. And again. Some wee part of his mind had realized what was about to happen, yet a larger part couldn¡¯t quite believe his eyes. Monsters? Here? That was impossible! He should have started bellowing warnings, should have tried to alert even a single soul, but he did nothing. Only watched in terrified fascination. So the two young boys stood, frozen like statues, and the world itself appeared to stay stock-still as the last of the visible acromantula disappeared inside. How many were there hiding in shadows and waiting in ambush, which he couldn¡¯t see? In a few heartbeats, the picture returned back to normal ¨C nothing at all seemed out of the ordinary once again. Almost like he¡¯d dreamt up the whole thing. One second. His whole body felt tense. Two. Please, let it be just a trick of my overactive imagination. Thre¨C An entrance to a building burst open, and a man fell out of it into the mist, back first, with a smaller spider on top. Blink and you¡¯d have missed them. No. But, like a first punch in a fight, it was immediately followed by an eruption of violence. More doors and windows exploded out, spilling terrified humans abandoning their homes in a panic. Don¡¯t! Cillian wanted to shout, That¡¯s exactly what the ones outside are waiting for! As people stumbled and fell, not knowing what to do and where to run, the beasts pounced on them. In stark contrast to the flailing humans, the spiders acted methodically. So very orderly. So unlike what he¡¯d always been told to expect from supposedly mindless monsters. Cillian saw a man get jumped as soon as he exited his house. Then the same happened to another man. To the left, he spotted a naked woman climb out of a window and leap from one catwalk to another, only to slip and plummet down; a big acromantula was unhurriedly lowering itself on a strand of web in pursuit. He frantically swept his gaze from side to side ¨C the monsters were emerging from everywhere now. One moment they were separated into small groups, the next ¨C dozens had cropped up out of countless dark nooks and corners, swarming all over, skittering across walls and pipes, and dropping down on the fleeing prey. Several especially big ones even seemed to be acting as sentinels and were spreading over the rooftops. Spreading their range, he realized. Cillian returned his gaze to the ground and could only stand and watch in horror as another woman got pierced from behind ¨C an acromantula¡¯s spindly limb tearing open her chest with a gush of blood. He made a sickened gasp and averted his eyes, in time to catch sight of flashes of gunfire to their left. Then more. He saw all that, yet not a single sound reached them. Nothing. Cillian squeezed his eyes shut and breathed, trying to process the scenes and blindly grabbing for his best friend¡¯s hand. Aidan clutched him back tightly. A horrific mime show was unfolding beneath ¨C the two boys its sole audience. He could only hope they would remain spectators. His first instinct was to run but run where? They were probably safer here than anywhere else at the moment. Mother, a panicked thought came to him, but Cillian forced himself to relax. She¡¯s far enough away; she¡¯s fine. Where was the null-damned alarm, anyway?! Oh, right, acromantula. There might have been an alarm, and they just couldn¡¯t hear it. Makes sense, aye. Also likely why we don¡¯t hear nothing; we must be beyond the combined dome. The bubbles merge together and grow bigger, right? But how did the monsters get so deep without alerting anyone to begin with? No, Cillian shook his head. He had to focus. Hows and whys weren¡¯t important right now. On wooden legs, he trudged to the corner providing a view both at the ditch and at the area with the gunshots, which had ceased a moment ago, dragging Aidan with him. Oh null. The mist was rising, obscuring more and more, but he still spotted a big acromantula crawling on top of the roof of the pathway they¡¯d taken earlier. In their direction. Then the sound returned. Cillian jerked at the abruptness of it as pleading screams, cries of pain, shuttering of glass, and even someone¡¯s crazed laugh ¨C everything assaulted him all at once. It took the boy a moment to shakily readjust, during which he had a silly realization that his previous thought about a heavy door being slammed shut on the shrieking woman had been pretty accurate. And now the room had expanded to include them, too. They were under the dome. Which could only mean one thing. ¡°They¡¯re coming for us,¡± Cillian uttered, surprised at his own calm tone. He could feel Aidan shudder. ¡°What do we do?¡± his friend asked in a hoarse voice. Good, the mucker was still functional. Cillian didn¡¯t have time to respond though as somewhere very close metal screeched in protest, and the whole tower trembled. Then rapid tap-tap-tap sounds came, like a stone on steel, hollow. Oh no. Something was climbing up the broken ¡°arm¡±, underneath which he had foolishly gaped earlier. Aidan whimpered, or maybe it was him. Things were happening faster than Cillian could think, so he didn¡¯t. When a monster appeared from below, almost flying up the pipe, and lunged for them, he simply tackled Aidan to the platform, and the beast soared a hairsbreadth above. He screamed as his right shoulder was sliced open, only barely registering the other boy¡¯s cries of pain. From the floor, Cillian choked out a sob, coughed, and forced himself to look up. His vision was blurry but good enough to see the looming abomination. It was already facing them and preparing to attack once again. This is it then. Defiance surged up in him, and Cillian did the only thing he could ¨C threw his shining flashlight at their would-be killer. It wasn¡¯t even a good throw, lying prone as he was, and the flashlight simply bounced off one of the creature¡¯s many legs. So much for defia¨C The monster went berserk. It pounced on the implement, which was rolling away, and tore into it, making awful clicking sounds. Cillian blinked stupidly. What? Then Aidan¡¯s moans interjected, and he jumped to his feet. And fell again. Crawled to his friend. Cursing and sobbing, the two rose together, helping each other. Cillian tried not to look at the psychotic beast five paces away. Inadvertently, his eyes fell on another flashlight, this one turned off, and the realization finally dawned on him. Aether burning. Niss-crap, I¡¯m an eejit! He shoved Aidan towards the stairs, grabbed the flashlight, and scrambled after. Don¡¯t look behind. The back of Aidan¡¯s head was oozing blood. As for his own shoulder ¨C a warm, almost pleasant feeling was spreading over it, but, strangely, he didn¡¯t feel any pain. They fled down the stairs, thundering over the steps three at a time, caution be damned. If the thing crumbled now, it would still be better than being carried away by the monsters. On the second platform from the ground, Aidan screeched to a stop, and Cillian almost crashed into him, averting at the last moment and falling on his knees. His friend was yelling something incoherent, but he didn¡¯t need to hear properly to understand ¨C another acromantula, even bigger, was skittering toward them from the hangars, diving in and out of the mist. It would reach the furnace and climb before they could descend. And it was still too high to just jump down and run away. They were trapped. Aidan was panicking now, and Cillian himself felt an urge to close his eyes and pretend he was somewhere else. Yet he stumbled to his feet and, more firmly than he felt, wrapped Aidan in a one-arm hug, his other hand clutching the flashlight. ¡°Mucker, listen! I¡¯ll throw the flashlight once it gets up here, and we run!¡± Cillian swallowed as the incoming creature disappeared from view, too close to the tower to see from their position. ¡°Wait til it goes mad, you hear?!¡± Thump-thump-thump. ¡°Aidan, you unders¨C?!¡± The monster exploded above the edge of the platform, and he fumbled to switch the light on. Then, in a panic, he threw it randomly right and up, but, instead of flying away from the tower, the flashlight bounced off the first acromantula, which, unnoticed by both, was slowly sinking to their level from above on a lengthening and barely visible thread of web. Cillian watched in dread as the glowing stick landed back on the platform with a loud clang and skidded to a halt right at the opening to the stairs leading down. Oh null. Both creatures leaped at it, carelessly tearing into each other in their frenzy. He desperately cast about for another way down. The elevator shaft! Cillian slapped Aidan on the face and shouted, ¡°Snap out of it, mucker! Let¡¯s go!¡± He had to forcefully turn and push the useless prick, who began yelling as they neared the edge at speed. Cillian didn¡¯t care, only bellowed, ¡°JUMP!¡± and trusted Aidan to do it out of sheer survival instinct. They both yelped the entire short flight but managed to grab onto the frame. Thank aether for the cross-beams! ¡°Come on, come on! Don¡¯t freeze, eejit! To the vertical girder and get to the ground!¡± The loss of firm footing had seemed to jolt Aidan back to reality, and, freaking out loudly, the two of them recklessly slid down in less than five seconds, tearing their gloves and coats on the jagged edges in the process. They were back on solid ground but at a loss for what to do next. Cillian glanced up and regretted it immediately. Then Aidan took the initiative ¨C he rushed straight to the ditch. ¡°Where are you going?!¡± Cillian didn¡¯t understand but ran after anyway. Better to move somewhere. ¡°Garbage!¡± ¡°What?!¡± ¡°There are some dumpsters there! We can hide!¡± Aye, hiding was good. Best damned thing Aidan had ever said. They all but tumbled into the ditch in their hurry and took off left ¨C past the stoves and chimney again and back the way they¡¯d come from. The immediate vicinity of the furnace was still eerily untouched likely because it was so open with nowhere for the monsters to stage an attack from. But soon, not forty paces away, other people appeared amidst the white haze and dust ¨C a trickle at first, all scared and bloody, screaming and shoving each other out of the way. Then more. Everybody was rushing any which way: some attempting to cross to the other side, others ¨C scurrying along the ¡°scar¡±, same as them. There were also dead acromantula lying around. Not many but enough to give Cillian hope. The hope died right away when he finally noticed smoke and flames coming from the ditch further ahead. He¡¯d been so preoccupied with clambering over junk, scattered everywhere, and deliberately not looking up at the carnage that he¡¯d first smelled the fire rather than seen it. But, as soon as he had, Cillian stopped and gaped at the spectacle. A man, his left leg on fire, was yelling madly at a beast and swinging a hammer at it. Too slow and too wild. He cried out in agony when sharp talons pierced him through the side but, instead of going down, roared like a beast himself, lunged forward, grabbed the monster, and charged into the flames. Both disappeared inside the raging inferno. Cillian couldn¡¯t believe his eyes. ¡°What are you two standing around for, boys?!¡± some woman rushing past shouted. ¡°RUN!¡± More things ignited to the left of the ditch ¨C someone was throwing fire cocktails about. There would be no hiding for them here. ¡°Up!¡± Cillian overtook Aidan and started climbing the wall to their right on all fours, digging his fingers into the dirt and for the first time realizing his injured shoulder wasn¡¯t moving properly. But no intense pain ¨C good enough. Just three steps off the edge was where the line of buildings began, and, miraculously, the one right in front of him had its metal door gaping open. They rushed in and slammed it shut. But before he could even consider holing up in there, a scream ¨C a girl¡¯s scream ¨C came from the upper floor. Cillian whirled around. Looked at the stairs. Looked at Aidan. His friend shook his head, eyes going wide. The scream turned into agonized gurgles. And ceased. Cillian hated himself for feeling relief at not having to make a choice. Then he lurched forward, crashing into a table, as Aidan suddenly shoved him from behind, shrilling, ¡°FIONA! Fiona lives close!¡± Before Cillian could understand what was going on, his friend thundered past to the opposite side of the room where another door led outside, threw it open, and fled. ¡°Aidan, NO!!!¡± Cillian groaned and rose unsteadily to his feet. Prickwaving moron! He rubbed his elbows, winced, and gave chase. First left ¨C the boy more or less stumbled to the end of the alley ¨C then right, picking up pace and cursing the lovesick fool with every breath. He spotted Aidan ahead, shouted for him to stop, and fell again ¨C tripped. On a corpse. Two corpses, in fact ¨C one woman, one monster. And a bloody crowbar discarded nearby. He grabbed it before shuffling away, in too much hurry to feel horrified. Swaying side to side like a drunkard, catching himself on walls, railings, and barrels, Cillian nonetheless carried on, barely noticing a man pursued by two spiders jump from one roof to the next above his head, and no longer paying any attention to screams and crashing sounds coming from everywhere. He might as well be cut off from the sounds again ¨C none of it mattered. One step after another, Cillian went after his best friend. Come on, Aidan, don¡¯t be an eejit! How many stupid alleys could there possibly be?! He struggled to remember the way as everything looked the same. Someone forcefully bumped into his shoulder, and Cillian spun and fell. Yet again. He got up and kept going. Yes! That building ¨C I know it! Cillian mentally cheered. His cheer was short-lived. He was late. He knew it as soon as he saw an acromantula crawl on a pipe past an opening to the alley he was staggering through. Past the opening only two dozen paces away from Fiona¡¯s home. The small beast vanished from view, heading there with intent. ¡°NO-NO-NO! Aidan!¡± Cillian wailed, hoping the mucker would hear him and react. He kept half running, half limping; his right knee no longer quite right. The sounds of furious banging on metal reverberated, then he heard Aidan¡¯s unmistakable voice shouting for Fiona. Cillian emerged on the three-way junction, himself screaming something unintelligible. Emerged, just in time to see the monster jump on his friend from above. ¡°AIDAAAAN!!!¡± The spider tore into the boy¡¯s head. Cillian threw the crowbar uselessly, not hitting anywhere close to the pair, but when he saw the blood erupt and heard his best friend¡¯s burbling cries, he lost it. The whole world shrank to a single point, and then¡­ and then Cillian couldn¡¯t think, couldn¡¯t recall things clearly. One moment he was running, the next ¨C found himself launching at the beast, tackling it off Aidan¡¯s sprawled form. He didn¡¯t remember landing and didn¡¯t know how the monster got behind him, but suddenly Cillian was face down in the dirt with his back being sliced to ribbons. Another blink ¨C now he was back on top, howling and trying to wrap the ripped coat around the beast. Someone was calling out his name ¨C it didn¡¯t matter. The one thing that did was bashing the lump off the ground again and again, and, when the creature fell from the ruined cloth, he jumped on it, uncaring of the talons cutting into his flesh, and kept pummeling down. Fists, elbows ¨C he threw all he had ¨C until blood, his blood, was running everywhere, coating both the monster¡¯s body and his bare hands. Where had his gloves gone? Cillian never stopped thrashing the broken abomination, feeling no pain, only fury. It became his singular purpose. Then strong hands enveloped him from behind. The boy lashed out blindly. ¡°Lian!¡± He lashed out again. ¡°Lian, it¡¯s me!¡± He kept struggling, trying to get free, screeching like a madman, and was about to bite the hand on his shoulder when he heard another desperate, ¡°Cillian, it¡¯s mum!¡± Cillian stopped dead. MUM?! He clicked his jaw shut and snapped back to reality, heaving a strangled breath. Comprehension flooded back into his mind. That and agony. And Aidan. ¡°I¡¯ve found you, son, I¡¯ve found you,¡± mother chanted. ¡°MUM!¡± Cillian tried to find his feet. ¡°Aidan! He¡¯s injured, he needs help!¡± But she held onto him. ¡°MUM!¡± He heard her let out a single sob from behind. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, dear,¡± she whispered, voice shaking. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but we have to go.¡± ¡°WHAT?!¡± ¡°Can you walk, sweetie?¡± Mother hefted him up, and he sought to stand, already turning, intent on reaching for Aidan. But his legs wouldn¡¯t support him, and she had to catch him before he crashed. Then she lifted him up and draped him across her shoulders, squatted to pick up the crowbar, and began hurriedly walking away from the scene. ¡°Mum, WAIT! Aidan!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lian,¡± she repeated, openly crying now, but didn¡¯t stop. ¡°MUM!¡± Cillian tried to crane his neck to look back, but his everything hurt, and he could only manage enough to see his friend¡¯s unmoving legs. ¡°AI¨C!¡± he called out but choked and spat blood. Mother approached the closest door and tested the handle ¨C no give. She banged and pleaded to let them in. No response. ¡°No-no-no,¡± she muttered desperately when more screams and clicking sounds came from behind them, very close. She abruptly turned, and Cillian had only just noticed a spider crawling towards them on the wall when an ear-shuttering bang came from right next to him, and the spider fell. Mother fast-walked to a building on the opposite side. What? Since when does she have a gun? Cillian was barely cognizant at this point, his ears ringing, but he saw that the structure didn¡¯t have a ground floor and was instead standing on arches made from crisscrossing girders of dark metal. Mother was saying something to him, tone reassuring, but he¡¯d missed the meaning; his addled mind latching onto some cylindrical thing underneath the building ¨C anything to avoid thinking about his dead friend. It took him several seconds to identify the object as a doghouse converted from an old, rusted boiler now lying on its side and having the top replaced with an ill-fitting wire mesh door. Mother cursed, ¡°No lock. Damn it.¡± She was right. There were shackles welded both to the door and the boiler¡¯s wall, but no padlock. ¡°No matter, I¡¯ll hold the door with the crowbar.¡± She knelt, gently pulled Cillian from behind her head, and set him down legs first, his back to the open doorway. Which was why he saw the attack coming. ¡°Behind you!¡± he rasped in warning, his voice gone. Too late. Unable to help. Useless. Again. But mother surprised him. She reacted immediately ¨C pushed his limb body in, rose and spun around, viciously back-swinging the crowbar without looking and whipping out the revolver from inside the coat, all in a blink of an eye. She fired. The terrifying creature, which had torn into her forearm, went limp but was still hanging on, the talons dug deep. Mother cried out in pain but didn¡¯t try to shake it off ¨C she couldn¡¯t ¨C as another much bigger monster lunged at her. She shot it as well. ¡°MUM!¡± More spiders came. Cillian made to get out ¨C grabbed the edges of the boiler and pulled. He barely shifted a hairsbreadth before the pain in the shoulder forced him to let go. Useless. ¡°No, Lian, STAY THERE! Close the do¨C!¡± She threw the crowbar at his feet. A fourth shot rang out. Niss take the damn thing, he wouldn¡¯t sit there and do nothing! He feverishly pulled on the edges again and moved this time. Yes! Almost out! Then he heard rapid thumps above his head, and another acromantula showed up, looked upside-down at him, and dropped on top of his legs. He grabbed the crowbar and rammed it ¨C the creature didn¡¯t fly far. It made to leap at him again, and Cillian instinctively pulled up his legs and slammed the door shut, hooking the end of the weapon through the mesh and pulling on the handle. Only then did he realize what he had done. The spider stabbed wildly at the mesh with its limbs. Crack-crack-crack. Crack-crack-crack. Unable to puncture the thing yet relentless. Cillian no longer saw his mother; his entire view was taken up by the monster. He was holding on to the crowbar for dear life. Another shot ruptured the air. Chill crept up his spine. How many did she have left? The monster kept pouncing at him. Mother screamed. ¡°No-no-no,¡± Cillian pleaded and pushed the crowbar, damn the consequences. But the spider leaped forward again, and the door slammed shut. ¡°LET ME OUT!¡± he yelled and threw forward as much of his weight as he could. The stupid beast didn¡¯t understand that the meal was willingly coming. It crashed into the door over and over. Cillian¡¯s vision went blurry ¨C he was crying now, his whole body trembling. ¡°Please, LET ME OUT! Please, help us! Help mum! Please!¡± The hideous black eyes and fangs, gnawing on the mesh, were his only reply. ¡°Ho¨C hold on, son!¡± He heard her! One final shot rang out. His mother suddenly erupted in fury, shouting her last-ditch defiance. YES! But the fury broke just as abruptly, leaving only wheezing and coughing. Struggling to say something else. ¡°MUM!¡± She sounded quieter. ¡°Please, mum!¡± Crack-crack-crack. And quieter. He saw glimpses of her down on her knees but still fighting. ¡°Li¨C Lian.¡± Crack-crack-crack. A spider jumped on her from behind, and she collapsed. ¡°MUUUM!¡± She struggled fiercely. Then less. NO. Then her voice faded forever. ¡°MUM!¡± ¡­ No response. ¡°Please, mum,¡± he sobbed in despair. It couldn¡¯t be. NO! He refused to believe it ¨C pushed yet again. Why was he so damn useless and weak?! Then the small beast moved aside, to be replaced by a much larger specimen and letting Cillian catch sight of her limp form. The bloody remains of his mother. He froze and stared, going numb, all remaining strength abandoning him in an instant. A much larger limb pierced the thin mesh like paper, the talons almost reaching his head. Cillian just sat dumbly, uncomprehending. Another stab. M-mum? And another. But what did it matter? Please. His whole world had crumbled before him. Cillian began howling, no longer caring. Mother¡­ The boy let go of the handle. Chapter 1. Hello, World! Cillian dreamed of flames. Orange and blindingly bright, even through his tear-streaked eyes, and rushing in like a wave out of nowhere, consuming the spider before him. The flames never touched him directly, but the heat was unbearable. Hell itself had seemingly opened its gates to collect him. He dreamed of throwing himself at the far end of the coffin and covering his head. Dreamed of shrieking in agony and hopelessly pounding the wall, trying to get away. The flames might not have touched him directly, but he still felt ablaze. Then a laugh came ¨C an inhuman laugh, an entire chorus of inhuman laughs, each slightly different from the rest, but every single one creepy and hoarse. And a man, in a metal mask and a hat tilted low, kneeling and peering through the circular opening. With a screech, the roof got torn off, revealing a dozen pairs of mocking eyes glowing sickly yellow and glaring down at him, while the rest of the world went up in smoke. Cillian woke with a gasp. He abruptly sat up, mouthing for air and frantically looking around with wide eyes, clutching his right shoulder, ready to bolt. Spiders and flames and the man with pitiless eyes and¡­ mother. Where was his mother? He had to¨C No. Stop. He closed his eyes and exhaled with a shudder, then folded in half, moaning quietly and trying to force himself to breathe normally. There was no smoke, no need to struggle for air. Also, no man, no monsters, no pain. And no mother. Just his room. This dream again. He sagged back on the pillow. It¡¯s been a while. And I haven¡¯t missed you one bit. Cillian released the shoulder and felt an urge to check his back for burns but resisted, instead stretching both arms down and lying still. After almost a full minute of making himself stay as if stone, calmness and clarity came back to his mind, and, in a manner that felt strangely routine, he reached for a cup on a low table next to the bed, drained it in three big gulps, and padded his sweat-covered forehead with a towel waiting for him under the pillow. Rare or not these days, the dream always brought back old pain and never failed to make him thirsty. It paid to be prepared. He swung out of bed and went to the bathroom, shaking his head in a vain attempt to get rid of the lingering images of his savior. Those intense blue eyes, somehow sparkling even in the dim light, and that mask¡­ like a weird combination of a masquerade and a gas mask. On one hand ¨C dark metal richly inlaid with gold threads weaving meaningless patterns around a single oblong eyehole, narrower down the middle and featuring a thin rim made from the same gold. On the other ¨C a bronze-colored plate curving over the man¡¯s nose and stretching down to cover the mouth. It protruded forward, as if there were supposed to be exhalation slits cut into it but weren¡¯t, and also featured two circular air filters, presumably decorative, sticking out on both sides of the mouth. The masked man and his companion ¨C a monstrous amalgamation of a horde of hideous bodies; the myriad of heads all cackling in delight. They had come to save him from the spiders. What a joke. Cillian washed his face in cold water and peered into a mirror. He looked tired. With bags under his brown eyes and a wrinkled forehead beneath dark hair, he appeared much older than his eighteen years. A shadow, which he¡¯d neglected to shave yesterday, didn¡¯t help either. He massaged his face, trying to coax it to relax. It was no good. He returned to his room, checked that both alarms were still set to 6 o¡¯clock, and took a single sleeping pill, knowing from experience that he¡¯d need it if he wanted to fall back asleep. Otherwise, the fretfulness and the eyes wouldn¡¯t let him doze off now and would likely follow him for the rest of the day. Today, of all days, he couldn¡¯t afford that. Cillian sat down on the bed and glanced out the window. The Everstorm ¨C a shining vortex forever raging in the sky far Heavenward ¨C greeted him, only partly visible through the dense cacophony of buildings even from the seventh floor. It was still noticeably blue ¨C light blue ¨C growing paler closer to the core; the fading color letting everyone know that the gleambout was over. Yes, today, on the 6th day of the blue surge, he absolutely had to get as much rest as possible. The final interview awaited him in the morning. He lay down and tried to loosen up his rigid muscles, cursing the blue-eyed man under his breath. More out of habit now rather than real bitterness. He¡¯d made his peace with the past. The chevalier hadn¡¯t been truly at fault; he was just late. Once a chevalier himself, Cillian would always strive to do better than that.
The tram slowed down, opening its back door, and he jumped out without waiting for it to come to a full stop. He wasn¡¯t in a hurry but why wait? After checking that his fedora was still safely tucked into the overcoat''s belt behind his back, Cillian cleared off the road and looked up. The skywalkers ¨C far, far above everyone¡¯s heads ¨C were crawling along their daily route from Rim to Lemwise, shining down on insignificant humans hurrying about their oh-so significant errands. Judging by the walkers¡¯ current position and provided level of illumination, he estimated it wasn¡¯t yet 7 ¨C plenty of time to get to his target location. He crossed the wide road to the other side of the street, skirting right in front of a motorwagen and eliciting a curse from its driver in the open cabin. He waved an apology and, once on the sidewalk, began ambling in the direction of the center of Lua. His mood was a bit mixed ¨C one part excited, one part weary. He hoped a long walk in the cold would do him some good. Cillian loved this time of day. Pale yellow light from the skywalkers, reflecting off brass doorknobs, copper pipes, and glass windows, not too many people around, newspaper and poster boys scurrying this way and that on bicycles, ringing their bells in warning ¨C what¡¯s not to love? And to think, he was walking toward an interview that could spell a complete transformation for him. Most of the world didn¡¯t have an engineering marvel in the sky creating a convenient day and night cycle and was drowning in eternal dimness, instead. Most of the world didn¡¯t have any sort of civilization or culture. Most of the world was infested with beasts. He had to step out onto the road to bypass a trio of workers in brown overalls, who¡¯d taken the entire width of the sidewalk with their strewn about boxes and instruments. The ladders, ropes, and a huge signboard, leaning on the wall, suggested they were about to install the latter above one of the shops. A motorwagen honked at him. He cursed. On the other hand, most of the world also didn¡¯t have nearly as many people as Lua. Good enough reason for a city boy to go out and fight monsters? Moryah. As unwanted doubts began invading his mind, Cillian looked down at his attire to forcibly switch the topic of contemplation. He¡¯d been over this countless times before, alone and with father. No reason to doubt himself now; his decision was final. He was just feeling nervous. The damn tie sat uncomfortably around his neck. He¡¯d never worn it before as the school uniform didn¡¯t include one, and it¡¯d taken him five minutes just to put it on correctly. Father¡¯s suggestion. That and the black low-heeled shoes adorning his feet ¨C brogue shoes, apparently. Father had told him the tie and the brogues would make him look like he meant business. Cillian didn¡¯t know about that. What he knew for certain though was that the tie was strangling him, and the shoes were hindering his every step. Why was it important to wear both for the final interview but not for the previous ones, he didn¡¯t understand. The rest of his clothing was the same as the last time ¨C pleated trousers, a crisp dress shirt, a double-breasted vest, and the high-collar overcoat. The shirt was white; everything else ¨C dark grey, with the vest being a notch lighter. Cillian frowned when he crossed paths with a man in his thirties dressed very similarly and realized he probably looked just like any other corporate ant, if a little younger. His hand leaped to his face in a sudden alarm. But no, he had remembered to shave. Relax, mucker, why are you so fidgety? There¡¯s nothing to fear; just another interview. He eased his shoulders. Aye, just another interview. Cillian walked across a stone bridge spanning a canal, with the tram he¡¯d taken only now noisily passing him on the right, then strode in between two crumbling sections of the original wall and into the inner ring proper, not for the first time wondering why they wouldn¡¯t just completely demolish the old thing. He kept diligently following the sidewalk ¨C early hour or not, the traffic could be pretty chaotic as loud whistles from patrolmen attested to ¨C but soon found himself with a roof over his head anyway, because the building above him extended all the way to the road, creating a sheltered walkway with a succession of contiguous arches serving as the outer wall. As he walked, Cillian saw shops and cafes on the ground floor begin to give signs of life. That was interesting as they normally didn¡¯t open so early. A massive black-and-white banner made from light fabric, as its gentle rippling in the wind suggested, reminded him of the likely reason. It covered almost the entire side of the next building and was tethered to the row of snarling gargoyles sitting below the edge of the steep tiled roof. The contents depicted a larger-than-life three-headed canine monster cowering at the feet of an even larger silhouette of a man. Right. Today wasn¡¯t just his final interview day ¨C no one but him and his father cared about that ¨C today was also Foerstner Academy graduation day. Graduation. Should I come? It¡¯d been a while since the last time. He¡¯d stopped coming after the incident, but he remembered enjoying it very much with his parents, and, if he passed, it would actually be relevant to him. Although, would they tell me the results right away? Cillian judged it unlikely, but he was already going toward the center; might as well swing by the ceremony after. The deeper he went into the inner ring, the more grandiose the buildings on both sides became. It was sometimes difficult to believe that the half rusted, half rotten slums, littering the edges of the outer ring and getting barely any light from the skywalkers even in the middle of the day, were located in the very same city as these ostentatious structures he was seeing right now. Every building here had to have a distinguishing feature, it seemed. Be it a covered gallery or gargoyles, like in the buildings he¡¯d passed earlier, or, say, a collection of huge circular balconies completely replacing one of the corners and, instead of protruding outward, appearing as if carved in stone, one above another. There had to be something differentiating you from the neighbors ¨C that was the unspoken agreement. And he was still half a dozen kilometers away from the true craziness. Cillian reached an intersection and had to stand by until a patrolman gave him and others a signal. While waiting for a couple of open-wheel motorwagens to approach and then hurry past, he spied a trio of lifting cranes standing on top of a half-finished structure diagonally across the street and noted that it was already an entire level higher than last time, which he found mighty impressive. The cranes almost seemed to be constructing the building around themselves and rising with it. He thought he should like this place. Many decorative moldings above doors and windows, covered porches, and, in particular, fake columns integrated into corners of most buildings, giving an impression as if every floor stood on a foundation supported by four columns stretching from the floor below ¨C all of it provided plenty of hand and footholds for climbing. But, in reality, everything here was simply too tall. Most buildings in the inner ring weren¡¯t that much higher than those in the midring on paper ¨C if one were to merely count levels. However, it wouldn¡¯t take you long to realize after coming here that every floor, every window, every arch, and even every roof ¨C all architectural elements were somehow stretched vertically. Not by much but, taken together, enough to make reaching between one hold and another a difficult proposition. Not to mention city guards zealously running after the homeless, hooligans, and would-be climbers. Also, smoke. Thick pillars were rising from most roofs while smog was sinking down low. Even this early in the day it was thin but noticeable and unpleasant. For a reason unknown, the midring often had significantly less smog than the other two. None of it had stopped Cillian from scaling buildings here in the past, of course. But it was dangerous without a partner, and he never had one these days. After fifteen more minutes of traversing the streets, he came in sight of his destination. A pretty boring structure by the standards of the inner ring ¨C it had a distinct central portion ending in a massive dome with a cupola at the very top and two wide wings mirroring each other, both sporting traditional gable roofs. The tall, long-defunct light pillars, four of them, proudly standing guard at the ¡°corners¡± of the dome marked it as a very old building. Or, more likely, marked the owner as a pretentious tool who had erected the pillars there purely for show. Regardless, his target loomed ahead menacingly by virtue of being situated on top of a small rise, its dark roof shimmering in the warm light. He walked down the long, gradually declining street leading up to it, reached a wide perron consisting of three flights of low steps and flanked by two marble statues, both depicting some famous individuals he didn¡¯t care about, climbed to the top, shielded his eyes from the intensifying skylight, and checked his pocket watch. He was early. Following verification of his identity with a guard, Cillian entered through the building¡¯s main doors and proceeded into the vast space. He walked past the burgundy-colored walls, featuring white arches leading to nowhere, some of which were used as frames for more busts of noteworthy people, and then under a massive chandelier somehow suspended at the level of the fourth floor instead of hanging from the very top. The sights and sounds engulfed him. That and people. Despite the early hour, they were hastening left and right, making him feel like an intruder. Also, rather self-conscious. At first glance, no one here appeared to be dressed significantly better than him. But look and listen more closely and you¡¯d see and hear the many jingling and sometimes even ticking metal trinkets. The women had small golden chains and ornaments decorating their predominantly dark corsets and layered skirts; their necklaces and earrings glittered in the light, and velvet chokers covered their entire necks. A couple of ladies, who were practically flying across the hall in a hurry, wore fake vambraces on top of their white blouses and had fancy chainwork adorning the tops of their tall, heeled boots. The ensembles made an appreciable tinkling sound when they intersected his path. Cillian fancied you could distinguish one woman from another just by the walking noises they made. As for the ticking, it came from a gentleman sitting on a bench near the entrance. He was reading a newspaper all the while the gears on the front of his leather jacket, stylized to look like a worn-out soldier coat, kept rotating ¨C the middle gear snapped to a new position every second, causing the two smaller ones to follow suit. Fake. Everything here was fake. Sometimes even aether-powered fake. But pretty, Cillian had to admit. Should I wear a fake of my own? To null with it, he decided while clicking his shoes on the dusky stone floor, polished to a mirror-like shine, fetched a bracelet from the pocket of his trousers, and put it on the left hand. Might as well. Although, classifying it as a bracelet was likely incorrect. There was a loop wrapping around his wrist, but most of the object took the form of a skeletal hand laid on top of his hand. Only missing fingertips. Cillian didn¡¯t like wearing wristwatches or anything else adding weight to his arms, but this golden contraption, from a distance appearing as if his very bones shone through the skin, had attracted his attention. Yes, sometimes he liked silly baubles as well, sue him. It would serve to liven up his otherwise all-too-serious look. Cillian quickly climbed the stairs to the now familiar office on the third floor, where an assistant greeted him and told him to wait. She grimaced when a train rumbled past the pair of wide windows, and he laughed quietly to himself. Don¡¯t like it much, do you? Now imagine taking a written evaluation with trains constantly running back and forth on the stupid overpass.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. The building likely didn¡¯t belong to Foerstner, and they were simply using it for the interview season. Not that it mattered. Cillian sat on a chair and glanced at a clock on the wall. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes til my fate is decided. No sweat. He took off his coat and relaxed the shirt¡¯s collar slightly. Aye, easy as falling off a log. No sweat at all.
¡°I have the results of both your medical and psychological evaluations. Which would you like to begin with?¡± Mr. Byrne, his interviewer, asked him. ¡°Medical,¡± Cillian replied at once. He wanted to get it over with. ¡°Medical it is.¡± The man nodded and dropped a folder on a low table between them. The two were sitting at the end of the room opposite the window, on a pair of comfortable upholstered sofas facing each other, which was different from all the previous times. Then, Cillian had occupied a much less agreeable chair on one side of an imposing walnut table while his interviewer, or even several, had towered on another, backlit by the skylight. He much preferred the current arrangement. Good sign? Mr. Byrne opened the folder and read out loud, ¡°Third-degree burns all over your back; lacerations on your arms, shoulders, and chest; nose broken multiple times; and, from your own words, broken left leg, which we don¡¯t have any records of. Does that cover it all?¡± ¡°It does.¡± The man eyed him for several long seconds, perhaps waiting for more, then continued, ¡°Naturally, I understand the burns and the lacerations ¨C you were one of the many unfortunate victims of the so-called ghost-train incident ¨C but broken nose and leg? How do you explain it? Are you clumsy, Mr. Shea?¡± ¡°No, sir.¡± He thought about how to better phrase it. ¡°The nose¡­ umm, I used to get into fights,¡± Cillian confessed reluctantly. ¡°Get into fights?¡± ¡°Aye.¡± Don¡¯t they have records of it? Foerstner owns the damn school! Or is it another test? ¡°Age 13 to 14, I used to get into many.¡± ¡°But not anymore?¡± ¡°Not anymore, no. Not in yonks.¡± ¡°And the leg?¡± Cillian grimaced. ¡°It was a climbing accident a couple of years back. You don¡¯t have a record because a physician my father knows treated me at home. It healed well, no problems. At school, I said it was a bad strain.¡± Mr. Byrne frowned. ¡°Why lie?¡± He shrugged. ¡°It was stupid, really. I just thought it would look less suspicious that way. They never stopped watching me closely because of the history of impropriety.¡± ¡°Fighting, you mean?¡± ¡°Aye, fighting. And a lack of proper respect shown to the authority figures,¡± Cillian elaborated candidly. The man hummed. ¡°I see.¡± Then adjusted his glasses ¨C big round lenses, likely fake again, with very thin bronze rims ¨C and repeated, flipping the page, ¡°I see. For all your escapades, you don¡¯t seem to have any injuries limiting your range of movements.¡± ¡°Lucky, I guess.¡± ¡°Lucky, indeed. Lucky not to be expelled and, before that, lucky not to get punctured anywhere vital, lucky not to burn alive. Also lucky to avoid poisoning.¡± At Cillian¡¯s confused expression, he explained, ¡°Many of the initial survivors of the ghost-train incident who¡¯d had physical contact with an acromantula later died from poisoning. You didn¡¯t know that?¡± The boy shook his head. ¡°The details were hard to come by. We¡¯ve tried.¡± Perhaps now was his chance to get some answers from someone in the know. ¡°Speaking of the incident, the chevalier who saved me¡­¡± He thought he¡¯d done a remarkable job of keeping bitterness out of his voice. ¡°Umm, what was his name again?¡± Mr. Byrne chuckled. ¡°Nice try, but no. The details of the event are confidential.¡± This again. ¡°Alright.¡± Experience had taught him not to pry. ¡°In any case, surviving a face-to-face confrontation with a beast is a good experience to have. Of course, no one can corroborate your account of the events, but it reads cohesive enough to me. Onto the next topic then,¡± the man pivoted. ¡°As I mentioned, there are also results of your psychological evaluation to consider.¡± Another document binder joined the first one on the table, this one significantly thinner. ¡°Let¡¯s start with ¡®Temperament and Character Inventory¡¯. Should I remind you of the dimensions?¡± ¡°No need, I remember.¡± ¡°Good. Notably, you scored very high in ¡®Novelty seeking¡¯ ¨C ¡®Exploratory excitability¡¯ subscale, in particular. You also scored high in ¡®Self-directedness¡¯ ¨C ¡®Purposeful¡¯ and ¡®Resourcefulness¡¯ scales stand out to me. At the same time, your ¡®Harm avoidance¡¯ score is noticeably lower than the mean, and the ¡®Ambitious¡¯ subscale of the ¡®Persistence¡¯ dimension is strangely low, too. Does that sound right to you, Cillian? May I call you Cillian?¡± He nodded absentmindedly, taking time to think about the question, playing back the pronounced assessment in his mind. Eventually, he replied, ¡°Sounds right, more or less. I mean, I don¡¯t understand why I am considered unambitious ¨C I¡¯m trying to become a chevalier, aren¡¯t I? ¨C but everything else? I don¡¯t seek harm, of course. In fact, I think I have a good sense for danger¨C¡± ¡°How confident are you about that?¡± Mr. Byrne interrupted. Cillian blinked. ¡°Umm, what do you mean?¡± ¡°I mean, are you sure you don¡¯t intentionally plunge into perilous situations?¡± Now Cillian furrowed his brows and replied tersely, ¡°I¡¯m sure I don¡¯t.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t mean to offend, Cillian, but look at it from my point of view. I see a young man who, from his own words and written testimonies, regularly gets into trouble and acts recklessly. Climbing a decommissioned blast furnace, fighting an acromantula in close quarters, brawling with your schoolmates, now you¡¯re telling me you treated a broken leg at home instead of going to a hospital. And don¡¯t think we don¡¯t know about your jaunts to the Wall, trying to sneak in and go up. You¡¯ve done it twice, and I suspect there might have been other attempts when you saw the futility and turned around on your own rather than being caught, am I right?¡± ¡°Four,¡± Cillian answered swiftly. ¡°Four times in total.¡± The frowning man sat back, took off the glasses, and rubbed at his eyes. ¡°At least, you seem to be honest.¡± There was a lull. ¡°Are you finished?¡± ¡°Excuse me?¡± ¡°Are you finished telling me what I already know? Can I defend myself now?¡± Mr. Byrne smiled and made an inviting gesture. ¡°By all means.¡± ¡°First of all, I agree with the rest, but not going to a hospital for the leg wasn¡¯t an instance of reckless behavior or anything of the sort. It was just a matter of convenience. Second, you don¡¯t see a young man doing all those things ¨C you see a young boy. The boy who¡¯d had too much curiosity and too little sense and, aye, sometimes had lacked discipline.¡± He shrugged. ¡°The young man I am today hasn¡¯t had any problems with the aforementioned things in years.¡± ¡°And you are telling me all of your issues are now gone? Nothing left at all? The very high score in ¡®Novelty seeking¡¯ paired with the low score in ¡®Harm avoidance¡¯ tell me otherwise, Cillian.¡± The boy shrugged again and dropped back to rest on a cushion himself. ¡°I don¡¯t know what the tests are telling you, don¡¯t know how much you can rely on some questionnaires, but what I do know is that you can rely on your records. You seem to trust them well enough regarding my misconducts and such, so it¡¯d be fair to also trust what they say about my improved attitude, no?¡± ¡°They don¡¯t say much.¡± ¡°They say I¡¯ve scored well in the finals. But I meant the absence of any recent records indicating improper behavior.¡± ¡°Indeed, there are none. The last one dates back to almost four years ago, which could be interpreted in a couple of ways, actually, but, for the sake of moving things forward, let¡¯s say I believe you for now.¡± Another folder was added to the growing pile. ¡°This one¡¯s related ¨C mental health evaluation.¡± Mr. Byrne began slowly scanning the pages, clearly only for show. Cillian resisted an urge to sigh. It was the fourth time he¡¯d been here, not counting the medical examination, which had taken place in a different facility. The first was a general ¡°Getting to know him¡± interview, followed by the said medical and two rounds of psychological testing. And, of course, the finals at school, which he knew were very important. He wondered if Foerstner performed such rigorous screening procedures when hiring in all their divisions, or if it was specific only to the ¡°Companion¡±. Cillian had never asked father about his hiring process back in the day. ¡°You don¡¯t seem to exhibit signs of hypochondria, paranoia, or any other severe mental disorders,¡± the man finally carried on. ¡°The only one making me slightly concerned is your moderate score in ¡®Depression¡¯, which doesn¡¯t necessarily mean you suffer from one but might indicate a general dissatisfaction. So, are you dissatisfied?¡± ¡°Dissatisfied? Dissatisfied with what?¡± ¡°You tell me. With your education, with the way the company has been treating your family, with life in general ¨C anything.¡± He looked at Cillian, expecting a prompt answer, so the boy obliged, ¡°Well, I suppose I am dissatisfied with my life. Isn¡¯t everyone?¡± ¡°In what regards? Don¡¯t you live in comfort?¡± Mr. Byrne fixed him with a cool gaze. ¡°The spots in the academy are limited, as you know, and becoming a chevalier is fiercely sought after. Why should a slot go to someone who already has everything?¡± Cillian felt incredulous at what he was hearing. Most students will be brats from the inner ring; what in the aether is this tool babbling about? ¡°With respect, sir, you¡¯re talking like I¡¯m trying to buy an exclusive ticket to an opera or something of that sort. Pure pleasure. But being a chevalier is not about privilege alone, is it? There¡¯s a rake of responsibilities attached.¡± ¡°True. So you want to do your part in advancing Foerstner¡¯s interests, is that it? Or are you one of those ¡°keep people safe¡± types?¡± Something in the man¡¯s tone and eyes seemed mocking and really tickled him, so, despite his best efforts, the words came out a little aggrieved, ¡°I¡¯ll do what¡¯s necessary, sir, as long as I get to leave this null-damned prison for once.¡± ¡°You feel shackled in here?¡± Mr. Byrne sounded surprised. ¡°Lua is a very big city, and there are many other professions that allow one to go outside.¡± ¡°Aye, other professions. Go outside all the while shaking in fear, you mean. Hiding behind corporate soldiers.¡± ¡°Security forces, not soldiers,¡± the man corrected firmly. ¡°Apologies. Obviously, that¡¯s what I meant.¡± ¡°Obviously.¡± He put his glasses back on. ¡°So you want to go out and not feel fear? Why not join our ¡®Security¡¯ division then? They go beyond the Wall all the time.¡± ¡°In huge convoys, maybe.¡± Cillian had never seriously considered turning into a corporate soldier. They had no real freedom as far as he could tell. ¡°And you feel the need to what, fight against beasts single-handedly?¡± ¡°That¡¯s not what I said, I¨C¡± ¡°No, see, Cillian, I think you¡¯re lying. To me or to yourself, I¡¯m undecided. I also think you¡¯re wasting the company¡¯s time.¡± The man picked up the lone folder still remaining on the sofa, got up, and walked behind it, sounding callous all of a sudden. Before the boy could say anything in response, he continued, ¡°You know what else I think?¡± Cillian shook his head, too put off by the unexpected development. ¡°I look at your history, and, believe me, I can infer a lot from what wasn¡¯t added to your school record as I very much doubt that your activities were limited to a few brawls and unauthorized excursions ¨C I know how these things work. Then I look at your low ¡®Harm avoidance¡¯ and high ¡®Depression¡¯ scores¨C¡± So it¡¯s ¡®low¡¯ and ¡®high¡¯ now whereas before they were ¡®below average¡¯ and ¡®moderate¡¯. ¡°¨Cand all of it taken together makes me think that you want to somehow go out swinging, that is, recklessly fight monsters until, very soon, one terminates your intolerable existence. Or maybe,¡± he fetched some paper and started waving it, too fast for Cillian to discern the contents, ¡°you only wish to attend the academy out of some misplaced sense of injustice done to you by the company. Maybe you want to get in and start digging or try to sabotage Foerstner from the inside or other such foolishness.¡± What?! ¡°It¡¯s a copy of your essay, Cillian. The one about your plans for the future. The one where you express an intense desire to dismantle Foerstner Group for unwittingly bringing the monsters to Lua and then not coming to your rescue until it was too late. Ring any bells?¡± Cillian blinked. Shit. He buried his face in his hands. I forgot about it. ¡°I see it does.¡± The boy mumbled, ¡°I was 14 and very, very angry.¡± ¡°I understand that,¡± the man replied. ¡°And what of your habit of asking incessant questions about things you have no good reason to ask about? Yes, I know about that too. Is ¡®I was young¡¯ your excuse here as well?¡± He placed his hands on the back of the couch and leaned forward, eying Cillian intently. ¡°Which one is it, Cillian? Are you suicidal or an idiot?¡± His eyes narrowed. ¡°I personally think you¡¯re angry at the world and want to kill yourself. Kill yourself and waste the company¡¯s resources invested in you in the process. And why wouldn¡¯t you?¡± He gave Cillian a nasty smile. ¡°I¡¯ve read your account of your mother¡¯s and Aidan Moore¡¯s deaths, and it made me sick. You killed both of them, you realize that, don¡¯t you?¡± As blood rushed to his head, Cillian¡¯s consternation transitioned to shock before swiftly turning into nascent fury. ¡°What did you just say?¡± came out in a murderous whisper. ¡°You disagree? Here.¡± Mr. Byrne fetched another document and handed it to him. ¡°A copy of your report, word for word. Do you even remember what you wrote? Or do you recall things differently now?¡± ¡°I¨C¡± ¡°You were the one who dragged Mr. Moore to the abandoned furnace and, therefore, to the epicenter of the attack in the first place. Wasn¡¯t that the case?¡± ¡°Yes, but¨C¡± ¡°Your best friend, in your own words, dead. Because of you. You were also the one who decided to grapple with the acromantula that attacked Mr. Moore even though it was clear that it was already too late, and that you couldn¡¯t help him in any way¨C¡± ¡°He was still alive!¡± ¡°¨Cand, in doing so, you severely injured yourself, which necessitated for your mother, Mrs. Roisin Shea, to carry you, therefore considerably hindering your collective ability to move, which, in turn, directly led to her gruesome death. Torn apart by the monstrous spiders. Because of her own son.¡± He tutted. ¡°Does that sound about right? You are the reason they are dead.¡± Somewhere in the middle of the man¡¯s tirade, Cillian sprang to his feet, breathing heavily and almost vibrating with rage. ¡°Or do you disagree?¡± Mr. Byrne pronounced slowly and scornfully as if talking to a simpleton, not looking threatened in the least. ¡°Why would we even consider admitting someone with such a magnificent track record of bringing death to others because of his ineptitude?¡± Do I disagree? Cillian felt sick and in pain all over again. He imagined jumping over the furniture and throttling the man or, better yet, smashing his stupid glasses so the fake lenses shutter and dig into his skin. Anything to wipe away that smug smirk. But it was a familiar territory. Cillian closed his eyes and forcibly pushed his toes into the floor as if trying to burrow into it ¨C fancy brogues and all ¨C until it hurt. Do I disagree? He¡¯d been over this so many times the count was probably in the hundreds. If not thousands. But no, he didn¡¯t disagree. Cillian had never doubted his fault. But he also knew that he¡¯d been just a child. He¡¯d long accepted his share of the guilt, despite rationally knowing that the only ones truly responsible had been the monsters. And even they had simply done what monsters always did. Cillian hated them, sure, but those acromantula were all dead. Slaughtered in a three-day hunt that had followed. Just an awful twist of fate. He¡¯d done what he could, and there was no reason to loathe himself. Perhaps, one day the boy would even believe it. ¡°We done?¡± he asked quietly, glaring at the tool, and made to grab his coat and fedora from a stand and leave the office. ¡°Please, sit down, Cillian,¡± Mr. Byrne replied, suddenly jovial once more, circled back around the couch, and did so himself. ¡°We aren¡¯t finished.¡± ¡°I think we are.¡± ¡°I apologize for my words; I meant none of them.¡± Cillian didn¡¯t turn around. ¡°Sit down,¡± the man repeated, more firmly this time. ¡°Just a test. Yes, another test. I know you¡¯re sick of them.¡± ¡°A test?¡± The boy clenched and unclenched his right fist, still facing the door. ¡°Aye. I honestly thought that I¡¯d laid it on a wee thick. Sit down, let¡¯s continue our talk. Some harsh words aren¡¯t enough to deter you, I hope? You didn¡¯t try to punch me ¨C even though I can see you really want to ¨C didn¡¯t start screaming obscenities, or blaming someone else. You didn¡¯t lose your temper ¨C that¡¯s what I wanted to check. Good enough for me.¡± Cillian breathed in and out sharply, contemplating if he should stay, then, reluctantly, shuffled back to the couch and dropped on it, without looking at the eejit, lest he did something unwise. ¡°No evidence of misconduct in years is a good thing, but a better thing is when there is evidence of the opposite ¨C of proper behavior, of self-control. A chevalier is a significant position with serious responsibilities, and it¡¯s my job to whittle down the undeserving early. Of course, getting admitted to the academy is not a guarantee you¡¯d become a chevalier.¡± He could only nod stiffly in response. ¡°Your handling of that awful situation wasn¡¯t ideal, but you were very young; you¡¯re still very young. And you can learn; I think you have potential. As long as you aren¡¯t trying to join in a misguided attempt at revenge against the beasts. It¡¯d be pointless ¨C there are always more of them.¡± The boy shook his head. Pointless, aye. ¡°And, between you and me, there¡¯s nothing wrong with some recklessness here and there. After all, people call it bravery when it succeeds, don¡¯t they? If it succeeds.¡± Mr. Byrne collected the folders and dropped them back on the sofa. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s discuss other more pleasant matters, shall we? Your father, Mr. Brendan C. Shea, works in our ¡®Motorwagen¡¯ division. You also graduated from one of our schools. So, in regards to your loyalty score¡­¡± Cillian felt a wee unsettled at another sudden change of mood and did allow a sigh to escape him this time. More questions. What a surprise. A train rumbled past, and his tense shoulders sagged. Aether help me. The torture continued. Chapter 2. High level The cage¡¯s doors opened, and the monster slithered out. Sharp gasps reverberated through the square: some excited, others ¨C horrified. Cillian squinted, trying to see the almost black creature a little better. I should¡¯ve taken my spy goggles. From so high up, it resembled a dark blanket draped over the cobblestones. Thankfully, the stones were light grey, allowing the shape to stand out. And what a disgusting shape it was. A darkmantle, he belatedly realized. Cillian was familiar with it from a book he¡¯d once read. There were no pictures, but the creature was described as a lump of tentacles with a single menacing eye adorning each and appearing as if sitting on top of an old, wide-brimmed hat with holes in it. In reality, the circular ¡°brim¡± was the thick skin membranes stretching between the tentacles. He saw the said membranes flex as the darkmantle cautiously moved forward a few strides and back again, then wriggled left ¨C toward the massive crowd. All without turning once. And why would it? It lacked any sides, as far as Cillian could tell, or even a distinctive head. Its top was just a conjunction of tentacles, and the myriad of eyes went all around. A few people shouted insults at the beast, and someone even cried out in alarm, despite the large distance and a row of Foerstner security forces standing in between. Cillian rolled his eyes. He couldn¡¯t remember everything, but he did recall that darkmantles were cave-dwellers normally hanging from ceilings and pretending to be stalactites. They couldn¡¯t move fast and were practically helpless when not awaiting in ambush. Menacing looking, sure, but Foerstner would never put a precious graduate in real danger. It was all a spectacle. Speaking of the graduate: the class¡¯ valedictorian ¨C a dark-haired girl wearing a long skirt and a slim-fit jacket with shoulder pads, both black ¨C stood calmly on the opposite side of the square with a cage of her own close by, this one significantly bigger and covered with a veil. At a signal, she threw the white garment aside and unlocked the heavy doors herself. The people began applauding even though nothing had happened yet, thus making Cillian miss the girl¡¯s words. She¡¯d said something to the cage¡¯s occupant, who immediately began clambering out. Another monster emerged on the scene on all fours then slowly straightened out until it stood on two legs, towering over its master. A rougarou. Cillian grimaced. Boring choice. Another word, and the armor-clad beast took a step. First right leg, then left, and repeat. Moving ever so slowly, hunched forward, its massive limbs dragging along the ground and stepping down surprisingly softly. Or maybe not that surprisingly, given the lower parts of its body ¨C those not obstructed by the metal ¨C were covered in dirt and murky moss, dense as fur. The companion¡¯s movement seemed unhurried, deceptively lazy. Yet inevitable. This ain¡¯t going to be a fight. What¡¯s the darkmantle supposed to do? It can lengthen its tentacles and wrap them around the rougarou all day long; nothing will come of it. The closer the companion got to its helpless opponent, the louder the whopping throng cheered. Encouragements and furious calls to ¡°Kill the beast!¡± flew from all over, including a balcony positioned above the pipe atop which Cillian was perched. As if there weren¡¯t two beasts on the square. One was just tamed. Halfway there already. The darkmantle began scurrying from side to side before dashing to the right, but it was met with a trio of guards jabbing down with their rifle-mounted bayonets. The panicking creature hastened back to the cage and swiftly slithered its way to the roof. And not a moment too soon. The rougarou rammed the cage. One second it was still shuffling upright, the next ¨C once more dropped on all fours and leaped, displaying the previously unseen swiftness. The companion smashed into the criss-crossing bars like a boulder, which, Cillian supposed, wasn¡¯t that far from the truth. Submerged in a bog, one could easily mistake its massive head and shoulders for a trio of rocky mounds. The cage, only three-quarters the tamed beast¡¯s size and designed to hold a very different type of monster, barrelled backward with a screech, tumbling twice and lifting a thin cloud of dust. Everyone held their breaths, waiting to see if the darkmantle had been crushed. The rippling tentacles were their answer. The monster was on the wall of the cage now, and it quickly wriggled its way inside by way of one of the freshly created gaps. The girl came to stand next to her companion. Damn the noise! Cillian missed her command again as the crowd cursed the darkmantle and demanded its head. The head, which the monster didn¡¯t even have. The rougarou began lumbering forward again, trailing some greenish liquid in its wake. The cat-and-mouse game didn¡¯t last long after that. One beast approached the cage and tore it apart with its colossal arms while another desperately struggled, trying to squeeze the tentacles around the attacker with no effect. The ¡°fight¡± ended with a furious roar followed by a disgusting squelch. And a loud celebration, of course, which made Cillian remember why he¡¯d stopped coming here in the first place. Because he didn¡¯t want to see any prickwaving staged fights and the adorning public, that¡¯s why. Bleedin¡¯ mockery. The crowd loved it though. People filled the entire long plaza, applauding and cheering as one. How could those at the back even know what was happening, he had no idea. More people cramped balconies and elevated walkways, the support legs of which made the square look like an arena ¨C the buildings as its grandstands and the series of widely spaced stone columns at each corner as the ways in and out. And, of course, Foerstner headquarters offered the greatest view of all ¨C Cillian could faintly see what were probably the company¡¯s bigwigs looking down from the majestic watch tower in the middle of the structure, a hundred or so meters from the ground. Even the four turrets surrounding it ¨C likely converted from the actual light pillars, unlike at the interview site ¨C hosted some spectators. Cillian watched the long shadow cast by the building across from his own slowly creep forward over the gathered crowd, like a tide. It, too, appeared slow but inevitable. ¡°Twatwaffles,¡± he grumbled, suddenly feeling disgusted with the whole thing. Footsteps sounded above. A girl, no more than ten, stretched over the railing and looked down at him. ¡°Hey! What are you doing here?¡± Oh null. Cillian craned his neck up and replied right away, hoping his smile was coming out reassuring, ¡°Pipe repair, madam, nothing to concern yourself with.¡± She blinked and, without taking her eyes away from him, slowly sucked in a lungful of air and called out, ¡°MUUUM!¡± then ducked inside. Niss-shit! Time to leave. He peered down to check if the balcony below was still empty ¨C it was, but the door leading to it gaped open. Double niss-shit! He swung himself down but didn¡¯t drop, instead reached with his right leg for the arching lintel above the window, jammed the foot sideways into the corner, twisted around, and pressed into the wall back first, hands pushing off the pipe. He looked up and could see nothing but copper. Good. ¡°What are you talking about, sweetie?¡± came a woman¡¯s voice, growing more distinct with every word. ¡°What man?¡± ¡°He said he was repairing the pipe, but I think he was a spy!¡± Niss take that girl. What is she even doing here? Isn¡¯t this some sort of administrative building? ¡°He is right¨C hey! Where is he?!¡± Cillian had to screw his face hard to avoid chuckling. Below, the valedictorian girl marched toward her fellow graduates, proudly standing at the top of the wide stairs leading up to the Foerstner headquarters, her companion back in its cage. ¡°There¡¯s no one here, Sile. Are you inventing things again?¡± ¡°He was right here, I swear!¡± The girl sounded appalled at the accusation. He smiled wider. ¡°I can barely work with this ruckus going on as it is. Please, don¡¯t distract me unless it¡¯s actually important, alright?¡± Cillian stopped smiling, even as the girl protested her innocence, once he realized his predicament. He¡¯d been planning to climb to the roof of the building, noticing too late that the top levels had been modified since the last time he¡¯d been here with his mother. Made unclimbable. So it was either descend all the way down and try to find another route or settle for a consolation prize in the form of a pipe, two floors below his target. He could settle, no problem. Only they always used the fire escape on the other side as their way back ¨C its lowest platform wasn¡¯t reachable from the ground because of the sliding design of the ladder ¨C and without getting to the roof he wouldn¡¯t be able to get to the fire escape either. And the balconies would be crowded until the end of the ceremony and then some. Niss take me, he mentally berated himself. What a tool. He listened intently to the girl and her mother but couldn¡¯t hear anything. Was it because they weren¡¯t there anymore or because of the noise, which was starting up again as the graduates¡¯ assignments were being announced one by one, Cillian didn¡¯t know. He risked twisting around the pipe, hanging on his arms alone, and stole a glance. No one. He pulled up and quickly crawled to the corner of the building only a dozen meters away. A cautious peek to the other side revealed more spectators occupying the balconies. He darted back. ¡°Twatwaffles,¡± he repeated, quieter this time. ¡°They can¡¯t even see anything from there.¡± The boy eyed the curving walkway connecting his building to the headquarters; it was only a level or two below, but it was also teeming with beas¨C ahem, people, among which there would be guards too, in all likelihood. Behind the structure and still some ways off, he glimpsed vivid green ¨C a rare color to encounter in the city. Rare everywhere but at the very core of Lua, that was, where the elites lived and had their lavish gardens and greenhouses. Cillian shook his head to clear it. There was nothing to it; he had to wait. As the finely dressed young chevaliers congratulated each other, their masks shining in the light of the skywalkers, another young man and a would-be chevalier far above their heads let out a sigh, settled down, and prepared for a long stretch of boredom.
On the way back home Cillian was in a strange mood. All in all, things had gone well today. He hadn¡¯t received a straight answer as to his chances to be accepted to the academy, but Mr. Byrne¡¯s questions and comments toward the end of the interview had almost sounded like words meant for someone who would, in fact, be admitted. Like the prodding about the contents of the contract he¡¯d have to sign, making sure he understood the implications. Or the man¡¯s surprising willingness to describe the curriculum and facilities in more depth than in the pamphlet. The previous interviewers had all refused to share meaningful details. Cillian felt optimistic but would have to wait for a letter with the official answer until the 13th of the blue. One whole week. He had backup options, of course, but nothing he really fancied. He didn¡¯t have a passion for engineering, like his father, or anything else for that matter. Apart from climbing, which wasn¡¯t a paying profession, unfortunately. He didn¡¯t feel like doing any one of the rake-load of jobs he¡¯d gotten glimpses of from above over the years. Nothing appealed to him. Huh. Perhaps, there was some merit to the stupid psychological tests, after all. Dissatisfaction with life? You don¡¯t say. I¡¯m addressing it, aren¡¯t I? One week. A cyclist sped past. But maybe I should add a little more joy right this moment? Cillian looked around with intent ¨C a very specific intent. Why not? The roads were much busier now, filled exclusively with motorwagens. Big and small, open cabins and closed, with elegant arches above their wheels, most sporting black roofs and red doors, of Foerstner make and others. His father had likely had a hand in manufacturing some of them. That¡¯s not it. What am I looking for? At an intersection ahead stood a lone patrolman, appearing quite a busy bee, and a tram, his tram, was rumbling by. Perfect. Cillian put his fedora on and pulled it as low as it would go, took off the skeletal hand ¨C too distinct ¨C and began jogging toward the uniformed man, himself being mindful of the traffic. The patrolman was constantly turning this way and that, so he noticed the boy coming but could only stare first in annoyance then in incredulity as Cillian knocked his blue flat cap clear off his head on the run. The boy muttered, ¡°Terribly sorry,¡± then proceeded to accelerate until he caught up with the departing tram. He jumped on the steel bumper, reached for the lip above the rear window, pulled up, and sat himself on the edge of the roof. ¡°Don¡¯t you have traffic to manage, sir?¡± he shouted, pointing at the motorwagens rushing past the stunned man on all sides. The copper cursed, picked up his cap, and, with one final baleful glare, spun around. A loud whistle conveyed his irritation. Some unfortunate fella was about to get his day spoiled by an overly pedantic traffic controller. Cillian cracked up and grinned, feeling stupidly proud of the antic, like he was back to being 13. It¡¯d been a while since he last engaged in any mischief, and he didn¡¯t even know why he was suddenly feeling so impish. Had to be the delayed realization that he was finally done with the interviews; they¡¯d been quite stressful. A driver following the tram was staring at him. Cillian shrugged and waved, then looked to the side, his eyes inadvertently landing on a group of excitable youths. Half a dozen boys and girls in school uniforms were sauntering down the sidewalk and lively discussing something ¨C likely the ceremony. They laughed and playfully shoved each other; the fella at the front was even walking backwards while gesticulating wildly. So carefree. How old were they? No more than 15, surely. Cillian kept watching.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. When was the last time I experienced something resembling this? This¡­ camaraderie? Or even just a simple friendly banter? Yonks ago was the obvious answer. His joy dimmed somewhat, and he turned away. Aye, yonks ago¡­ And there was no one to blame for it but himself. Aidan, his best friend, might be dead, but it had been Cillian¡¯s fault for pushing every other friend away. All that fighting and anger. And bitterness. By the time he¡¯d gotten a grip on himself ¨C with a lot of help ¨C it was already too late. Everyone had hated him, and rightfully so. Then, over the following years, he¡¯d grown accustomed to loneliness. There were even times when he believed he preferred it that way. What were Mr. Byrne¡¯s parting words again? That everyone in the academy needed a circle of support. Everyone had to learn to work with others and, at times, rely on others. ¡°Can you do that, Cillian Shea?¡± Well, he still remembered himself at 13. He¡¯d made friends easily then; he could do so again now. Engage with others more, make some jokes, help with problems ¨C how hard could it be? He¡¯d make friends, and they would become chevaliers together, progress through the ranks together. He would rediscover the joy of human interaction. That was the plan. Speaking of the ranks¡­ He might not have been able to see the graduates¡¯ masks in detail, but Cillian knew all of them had received their first etchings today ¨C a single leaf of a shamrock, heart-shaped, on a short curving stalk, denoting Rank 1, the Honored. Every chevalier was supposed to have a mark of their standing decorating the mask in a clearly visible spot. Every chevalier¡­ His savior flashed through Cillian¡¯s mind as the tram kept clamoring along. The man¡¯s mask hadn¡¯t had any etchings, that was for certain ¨C he dreamt of the stupid yoke often enough; could recall every crease. Plenty of meaningless golden swirls but no leaflets anywhere, unless something was hiding inside a cavity of one of the ¡°filters¡±. But even if there hadn¡¯t been a shamrock on display, fully leafed or not, Cillian felt confident the chevalier was of Rank 3 ¨C the August. Given his companion, the man could be nothing else. Aye, compared to that monstrosity, a darkmantle was positively cute. And a rougarou? Cillian understood why beasts capable of both withstanding a lot of physical punishment and negating a wide range of aetheric effects were popular companion choices, but how many more rougarous or orgeshi could Foerstner possibly want? Personally, he hoped for a more exciting partner since it would accompany him for the rest of his life. Besides, a rougarou didn¡¯t emanate enough menace. One could grow to be truly enormous and was pure deadly, no doubt, but it simply lacked that spine-chilling aura, which the man¡¯s companion had in spades. Even though Cillian didn¡¯t dream of that part too often ¨C not in the last couple of years ¨C he could still close his eyes and vividly envision himself being carried away by the blue-eyed chevalier, with soldiers spewing fire from their flamethrowers on all sides. He¡¯d been half dead at that point but still coherent enough to make out that creature. The creature he¡¯d mistaken for an entire horde at first because it sported dozens and dozens of separate bodies, each half his height and with their own heads, arms, and legs. All ¨C the color of a drowned man¡¯s skin. He could also easily recall those mocking yellow eyes and mouths, lined with sharp teeth and stretching from one pointy ear to the other, which had been laughing at him, jeering. He remembered the long tongues flickering out in amusement. The bodies grew from something in the center, obstructed from view. Some legs were scurrying along the ground while others merrily dangled up in the air. And every so often, a few bodies would tear off the main mass. Literally. They would lean forward and stretch the skin until it ripped. Then they¡¯d go wreak havoc on the monsters ¨C other monsters ¨C somewhere out of sight, before returning and merging back into place. Try as he might, Cillian hadn¡¯t been able to find any mention of the species in any book. So he dubbed it a ¡°drowned orchestra¡±. And even if there was not an iota of gallantry in that entire abomination, he would still much prefer having something like that; expectations behind the word ¡°chevalier¡± be damned. Something practical but intimidating¡­ Aye, that would work. He looked up. Wobbling on top of the tram and watching a majestic airship momentarily obscure the light from the skywalkers, which were now drifting directly overhead, he concluded that obtaining a formidable companion and a couple of friends would make for a good goal for the academy. If he got accepted. An honored chevalier. And hopefully more. Was it really possible? There was nothing left to do but wait.
¡°What are you waiting for?¡± father asked, looking at him expectantly across the table. Cillian eyed the letter in his hands nervously ¨C Foerstner¡¯s shamrock was stamped into the burgundy wax seal, begging him to be undone. This is it. It had required all of his self-control to restrain himself from ripping the envelope open right next to their postbox downstairs. He¡¯d delayed so that they could read it together. His oul fella had even taken a day off for the occasion. Without any more hesitation, the boy took a deep breath, carefully slid the knife under the seal, retrieved the lone parchment, and began reading it, hurriedly skipping past the unimportant jabber and seeing¡­ ¡°Cillian Faol¨¢n Shea¡­¡± ¡°Application number¡­¡± Blah blah blah. ¡°Foerstner Chevalier¡­¡± ¡°We are delighted to announce¡­¡± He paused, blinked owlishly, and reread the line. ¡°We are delighted to announce the positive decision regarding your¡­¡± Cillian¡¯s mind ground to a halt. There was a sound of a chair scraping the floor. I¡¯m in? He sat and stared dumbly at the line. ¡°¡­positive decision¡­¡± And the one below: ¡°You are accepted into the program¡­¡± I¡¯m in! ¡°Well?¡± Father¡¯s voice was a wee strained. I will be a chevalier! I will go outside! I will finally¨C wait. Father¡­ He swallowed, eyes still down, unsure how to feel all of a sudden. That was good¨C no, more than good, that was immense! With a few short words, all his hopes for the future had become real; the door leading to a very different life had been unbarred and thrown wide open for him to pass through. Aye, that was grand, and he should be feeling happy, should be jumping and whooping for joy right about now. So why wasn¡¯t he? Father was still waiting. Father. How should I break the news to him? Cillian wasn¡¯t an idiot. Despite his oul fella¡¯s unyielding support from the very first time he¡¯d announced his intention to join the Foerstner Chevalier Preparatory Academy, as it was officially called, he knew the man hated the idea. Probably even secretly hoped that Cillian wouldn¡¯t be accepted. He didn¡¯t begrudge his father this. Moreover, perhaps deep inside he¡¯d even been harboring similar hopes himself. Father would have to battle mixed emotions, same as me. ¡°I¡¯m in,¡± he said and finally looked up. Brendan Shea sat motionless for a long moment, processing, then stood, swiftly circled the table, and embraced Cillian, who immediately reciprocated. ¡°I¡¯m proud of you, son,¡± came out quiet but firm. Cillian hugged his father tighter. ¡°Thank you, dad.¡± His own voice wasn¡¯t nearly as steady; there was a lump in his throat. Tears threatened to escape, so the boy inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and repeated, ¡°Thank you.¡± The pair held one another. Once, they¡¯d been so unalike, father and son. And, after the tragedy, they¡¯d even briefly grown distant as one was dealing with the grief by constantly lashing out, while another ¨C by throwing himself into work. Father always loved him and provided for him, but the man had never been vocal and, as Cillian later realized, simply hadn¡¯t known how to help his broken son. And, above all, he¡¯d been thoroughly broken himself. We aren¡¯t anymore. We are good. It was one very bad beating the boy had received that, ironically, helped them to turn things around and go on the mend. As Cillian had been lying in a hospital bed for the second time in his life, father was inconsolable, having a nervous breakdown ¨C crying and blaming himself, saying he was a worthless parent and that he should have been the one to die that day, not mother. Those words and the sight of his normally stoic dad being so freaked out cut through Cillian¡¯s anger and self-loathing like a knife. The two ended up sitting there, weeping together, just like that awful day a year and a half prior, and promising each other to do better. And they had been doing better ever since. Cillian couldn¡¯t say they were regularly having lively and heartfelt conversations, but they¡¯d become a real family again. Reduced and damaged but real. So he hadn¡¯t been surprised when father offered his complete support back then, just as he wasn¡¯t surprised now that the man couldn¡¯t find in himself too many words of congratulations. Cillian getting admitted meant a long time apart. Two years. And then who knows how often I¡¯d be able to visit. One rainbow cycle on the actual academy grounds and another on a faraway assignment under supervision to complete the education ¨C that was the deal. Then you become an honored chevalier and get sent on tasks all over the plane. But I¡¯m in! He couldn¡¯t quite wrap his head around the fact. Still not breaking off the embrace, father whispered, ¡°She would have been proud too, Lian. So very proud.¡± With one last mutual squeeze, they separated. ¡°I know.¡± Cillian gave a raspy chuckle, smiling fondly. ¡°Mum would¡¯ve loved it. It¡¯s a wonder she¡¯d never run off to join herself.¡± Father sat down next to him. ¡°Oh, she was all over the place when younger, could never decide what she wanted to do in life. Tried everything and liked nothing, that girl. Or, more accurately, didn¡¯t like anything for too long.¡± ¡°Tried everything, huh?¡± ¡°Aye, sometimes it felt that way. We weren¡¯t together back then, just had a couple of mutual friends, but every time we met she had a new story to share about one thing or another she¡¯d gotten to experience. I was hopelessly in love with her, obviously, because of her stories and for many other reasons. But your mother didn¡¯t care one whit about me.¡± ¡°That so? Seems to me she liked you well enough, or where did I come from?¡± Cillian joked. Father gave a rare smile. ¡°That happened much later. When I finally managed to screw up enough courage and go for it. One of my greatest achievements in life ¨C becoming the first thing Roisin Kelly actually committed to.¡± Cillian scratched at his neck absentmindedly. ¡°Aye. And a good thing she did.¡± He looked out the window. ¡°Just have to commit, I suppose.¡± Father stood and walked back to his previous seat. ¡°You aren¡¯t having second thoughts, are you?¡± ¡°No,¡± he denied right away. ¡°Still processing, that¡¯s all. Need to sleep on it.¡± ¡°You do that. When do we have to come and sign the contract?¡± ¡°We? You¡¯re going too?¡± ¡°If you want to.¡± Cillian read the letter again. ¡°Have until the day after tomorrow to agree, or the spot goes to someone else. Can you take another day off?¡± ¡°I believe so; have quite a few accumulated.¡± ¡°Then why don¡¯t we go celebrate after? It¡¯s been ages since we went anywhere.¡± ¡°Good idea. What do you have in mind?¡±
Cillian stood in the dimness, a chill breeze massaging his back and a bawdy song about a woman¡¯s large chest slowly fading from his mind. He gazed up at the blast furnace. ¡°Everyone needs an ample bosom for a pillow, and hers is up to 90. Everyone needs an ample bosom for a pillow¡­¡± The boy smiled. He and his father had signed the contract earlier today and then went to a restaurant and a music hall. Neither of them had expected the said hall to turn out to be a rowdy place, full of naughty songs and reminiscent more of a pub rather than a theater. The patrons laughed uproariously, spilling cheap drinks everywhere, loudly applauding some performers while booing others off the stage. Musical plays kept alternating with comedy sketches and even a few acrobatic acts. Not at all what Cillian had in mind when he¡¯d suggested they try one. The surprise was welcome though since, despite genuinely intending to celebrate, both of them had been in a somber, contemplative mood, often lapsing into long silences, which, while not unusual for either of them, had bothered Cillian. But no one could stay gloomy for long in that establishment ¨C the many humorous and outright vulgar songs coupled with liberal consumption of beer and cocktails saw to that. He would forever cherish the sight of his father chortling and actually spilling his drink when hearing lyrics about Lua¡¯s governor being ¡°buggered by the Big Four every morning¡±. Cillian couldn¡¯t believe the singer¡¯s guts, or maybe the man was just mad, since neither the governor nor the corporations would be amused. Regardless, it had served to pull them both from their murky thoughts and fears, and the two celebrated properly in the end. Which had brought Cillian to this. Father had gone back home while he had elected to take a stroll. A stroll around the neighborhood turned into a tram ride and into a subsequent journey down memory lane. He hadn¡¯t even been sure the place still existed, but here the furnace stood ¨C it appeared the same as ever to Cillian; even the ¡°arm¡± was still hanging limply. He hadn¡¯t seen the thing or even visited the octant as a whole ever since that day and wasn¡¯t sure why he¡¯d come today. To wallow in his misery again? At first, he¡¯d relived the events obsessively every single day, fueling his anger and self-loathing. Later, he¡¯d endeavored to do the opposite ¨C put the tragedy out of his mind completely. To his surprise, over time, he¡¯d mostly succeeded. The trick, Cillian had learned, was to always keep busy. He¡¯d studied and read and climbed and researched beasts and chevaliers as much as he could, given the confines of the city. He¡¯d even tried his hand at drawing and playing instruments, only to discover he had an aptitude for neither. Well, here¡¯s to hope he would be better suited for killing beasts and other responsibilities of a chevalier. Cillian knew monster extermination was just one of their numerous duties. No, the young man decided, he wasn¡¯t here to be depressed. He¡¯d come to say goodbye. Cillian began climbing. I¡¯m going to be a chevalier, mum. It¡¯s done now; the contract¡¯s signed. Of course, he had to get through the academy before he would truly become one. There were plenty of rumors of students dying during the program, particularly in the second year. He didn¡¯t give the talk much credit though as everyone knew that the elites always took up most of the available slots, and he couldn¡¯t imagine them doing so if there was a high chance of death. Many of those entitled brats likely only wanted to graduate and gain the prestige and privileges associated with the position and then use their family connections to avoid being sent on any truly dangerous missions. Or any missions at all. Cillian scaled the ¡°slingshot¡± too ¨C to the very top ¨C finally finishing what he¡¯d started years ago. And who could say for certain how many people got in and how many of them later got out, anyway? The lists of students weren¡¯t publicly available even if, he mused while pulling up the final ladder, a determined individual only had to observe the interview sites and the train station on the departure day to correctly infer most identities. Not that the majority of the chevaliers attempted to hide their true names in the first place. Some were even celebrities, and the masks were largely for show ¨C a symbol of status, nothing more. Select few took the secrecy seriously, but, when they did, it was nigh impossible for anyone on the outside to find out any details about them. Hence Cillian¡¯s inability to dig up a scrap of information on his mystery savior. He perched upright on the narrow platform, which quietly complained at his intrusion, taking care to carefully work out how he would jump back to the ¡°slingshot¡± if the rusted thing started to give in under his weight. A pointless exercise as the furnace would likely stand unchanged even upon his own graduation ceremony two years later. And long after that, too. He remembered someone telling him that when its operation had first been halted, there were riots. Not because of the furnace alone ¨C there were other factories in the octant being put out of use at roughly the same time. For years, the locals harbored hope the regular work would resume any day, guarding the place from vandals and scavengers alike. It proved to be a futile activity; Heavenly Steel had no plans to reopen it. Gradually, the hope was ground to dust, and only the rusted skeletons remained. A symbol of the better times for the octant. Cillian found it sad but also a little unfair. Why should some null-damned smelting facility have a symbol, a reminder of its prior glory, while his mother hadn¡¯t received anything? The elites buried their dead in a graveyard accessible only to them ¨C all the while scoffing at aether-worshipping savages living outside and practicing the same rites ¨C but everyone else¡¯s bodies got cremated, and the ashes scattered. No exceptions. He shook his head forcefully. I¡¯m not here to be all dejected and glum, remember? The boy looked around ¨C not much had seemed to change in five years. Oh sure, there had to have been plenty of damage ¨C a lot of burned down buildings and destroyed lives ¨C but the ¡°scar¡± was still there, and the forest of concrete, brick, and metal blocks had grown back, leaving no trace of the carnage. Different yet the same. Just like Cillian himself. He¡¯d been a very different boy back then, standing at the top of the tower and peering down at the surroundings. Some parts of him had disappeared, never to be seen again, with new ones emerging to take their place. Although, he wasn¡¯t completely unlike his younger self, either. He still possessed the same curiosity and daring, if tampered, that had gotten him in so much trouble as a kid. He still loved climbing and heights. In his heart, he still wanted to go on an adventure. He still wanted freedom. Sounds of laughter and someone¡¯s poor but enthusiastic singing reached him, filling the place with life and making the boy smile. Well, he would get his chance soon enough. On the 49th of the blue, just three days before the start of the next surge, indigo, the train for the academy would depart, taking Cillian away from Lua for the very first time. Taking him away to start his adventure. Bye, mother. Bye, mucker. Cillian took one last deep breath, eyed the Everstorm, which was spinning lazily in the sky, slowly let the cold air out, turned around, and began the descent. There might not be a symbol, but I will always remember you both. Chapter 3. Path traversal Cillian watched the clock hand shift one notch closer to the upright position. Soon after, a warning horn reverberated, signaling fifteen minutes until the departure. Excitement and dread ¨C he felt both in equal measure. The clock was an enormous golden thing standing on top of the similarly golden arch stretching over a couple of rail tracks and looking like it would roll down left or right at the slightest breeze any moment ¨C its contact point with the arch appeared so minuscule. Cillian liked the see-through design ¨C he could glimpse the sky through the neat holes fashioned into the rim in a circle, forming the numbers. Although, the readability was questionable. Fifteen minutes. He cast about in search of something else to distract him. Contrary to the image of a train station Cillian had always had in his head, the platform wasn¡¯t bursting with scampering people hurrying to board, buying snacks, looking for missing luggage, or simply pushing each other out of the way. The reality was an orderly affair ¨C not too many folks, none of whom appeared in haste, and plenty of guards. Both O¡¯Driscoll and Foerstner guards, with the former vastly outnumbering the latter, notably. They could be easily differentiated by their distinctive styles: O¡¯Driscoll ¨C almost military look, pine green and with lots of straight lines and wearing patrol hats; and Foerstner ¨C more casual, predominantly darker shades of grey with burgundy neckerchiefs, all sporting fedoras. It¡¯s quare that we have to hitch a ride on an O¡¯Driscoll train. The academy had first been built somewhere to the Null-Rimwise, he knew, but, after it¡¯d been overrun with beasts one time too many, it was relocated Heavenward of the Azure mountains, close to the majority of the farmlands. The farmlands belonging to O¡¯Driscoll & Co., which were only reachable by the rail constructed and maintained by them as well. It probably chafed Foerstner Groups¡¯s bigwigs ¨C having to employ someone else¡¯s transport to get to their own academy. ¡°You should go, or they¡¯ll leave without you,¡± father said quietly from behind him. Cillian swallowed. ¡°Aye. I really should.¡± He tried to think of something to say to alleviate the mood, but nothing came to mind. It¡¯s happening. No way back now. He¡¯d already handed over his baggage, receiving a stern warning from a man collecting it that the bag would be searched and that nothing aether-powered was allowed. He knew that already; Mr. Byrne had told him as much. There was nothing left to do but say his farewells and board. Cillian found it hard to do either, so he eyed the glass ceiling instead. This was how the inside of a greenhouse had to look like, the boy imagined ¨C a myriad of translucent panes allowed the warm skylight to shine through. Only in place of flowers and saplings, the said skylight illuminated the sea of brass. It seemed everything here was made of or decorated with it ¨C the clock, the arch, the girders curving along the ceiling and supporting it, and even the train itself was garnished with golden lines. It was ostentatious and tasteless, yet Cillian scrutinized the surroundings so intently as if he expected a test on the contents of the station upon arrival to the academy. He did that as, if he looked at his father now, he wouldn¡¯t be able to hold back tears. To null with it. Cillian jerked his shoulders angrily and turned around. What does it matter if I cry or not? To his surprise, father was misty-eyed too. The man wasn¡¯t one to show his emotions openly, not counting a couple of exceptional occasions. Cillian supposed today counted as such an occasion since, in a few short minutes, they would separate for the next two years. Two years away from home, to begin with. And the second one would be in constant dimness. The past several weeks had flown by in a blur. By some unspoken agreement, the two of them had attempted to spend more time in each other¡¯s company. When normally Cillian would have been either out and about climbing one structure or another or shut in his room reading or studying, and his father would have been at work or tinkering with various mechanical curios in his office, the days leading up to the departure they¡¯d endeavored to enjoy together. It mostly meant lingering in the living room, quietly engaged in their own projects, and exchanging rare comments and observations, instead of immediately making for their respective corners. It was nice. Visiting his father¡¯s workplace, like Cillian used to when he was younger, had also been nice. And father had even accompanied him to one of his favorite roofs yesterday, which was quite hilarious to witness. His oul fella was strong but not very flexible. However, with each passing day, the weight of the upcoming separation had been growing heavier. And now it pushed down on Cillian¡¯s shoulders like an actual physical burden. Another horn sounded. Ten minutes. They embraced. A million different thoughts raced through Cillian¡¯s mind. What should I say? Nothing will make it feel any better. He brooded over all the countless words he¡¯d never gotten to say to his mother. He¡¯d loved her so much but had been too ¡°grown-up¡± and too ¡°tough¡± to voice any of them. It was one of the rake-load of things he regretted. ¡°I have something for you,¡± father pulled away and reached into the inner pocket of his coat. ¡°Hope you like it. Here. Give me your hand.¡± Cillian did and shortly found a weighty thing sitting on top of it. ¡°Whoa. Heavy.¡± It was a pair of goggles. As soon as he realized that, he grabbed them with both hands and began twisting this way and that to get a better look. Very pretty. ¡°I know they look bronze, but it¡¯s actually gold-painted steel all the way through. What do you think?¡± Cillian blinked, looked up, and bumped his father on the shoulder with a huge smile. ¡°Pure whopper, dad. I mean it.¡± He removed his hat and eagerly put the pair on. The goggles were, indeed, deadly. They sported sizable orange-colored lenses, many decorative creases, and were covered with superfluous cogs and nuts all over. His smile turned even broader when he began rotating the gear sticking out to the side of the right lens and discovered they also featured an adjustable magnification. Cillian tapped on the lenses. ¡°So that¡¯s what you were doing the whole last week.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right. But I began much earlier than that; took me a while to get the design right. Not too gaudy, I hope?¡± ¡°No!¡± He hugged his oul fella again. ¡°Thanks, dad. They are perfect. And I¡¯ll miss you. Blindin¡¯ fiercely I will.¡± Father clapped him on the back. ¡°I¡¯ll miss you too, son. Don¡¯t forget to write often, you hear?¡± ¡°Aye-aye.¡± They let go of each other. The boy returned the hat back atop his head, hefted his small bag with essentials for the two-day journey from the ground, and swiftly climbed the steps leading into the carriage. Don¡¯t leave things unsaid, eejit. He turned back and pulled the goggles down to his neck. ¡°I love you, old man. Don¡¯t throw big parties without me.¡± Father laughed with tears in his eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll try to wait for you, but no promises. You go and enjoy your adventure, kid.¡± ¡°That I will.¡± See? He could learn. Then, with one final wave and a smile, Cillian glanced up at the sky, spun around, and disappeared inside. Until we meet again, dad.
He quickly found his assigned compartment and entered. But before that, he¡¯d taken off the goggles and hidden them in the bag, just in case the chaperones found a problem with him having them. A first glance revealed that the space was more generous than he¡¯d thought it would be ¨C four beds, more twin than single in size, with two on top and two underneath, and a table down the middle. A second glance revealed that it was already occupied. There were two boys on the right. The one above sat with his back to the window and a book in his lap. He didn¡¯t seem to be reading though but rather fuming at something. Why is he pissed off already? His counterpart at the bottom was peering at the platform, trying to locate someone, while simultaneously unpacking. Both looked up as he came in. Make an effort, muppet. This was his chance to start over, with people who didn¡¯t think of him as some sort of beast-blooded savage. ¡°Hello. I¡¯m Cillian.¡± He nodded to both and dropped the bag onto the only remaining free bed. The bunk on the upper left was being used as a storage for towels and pillows, for some reason. ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Eamon, but you can call me Eams if you want!¡± the boy below, Eamon, greeted him with a smile. He was blond and friendly-looking, cheerful. The other fella was eying him with an irate expression, or maybe it was his default one. Cillian silently waited for him to say something. Eventually, he did, ¡°Teagan.¡± He sounded irate as well. Cillian nodded again. ¡°So you are a first-year too?¡± Eamon asked, abandoning his previous activity and turning his entire attention on Cillian. ¡°Umm, yes? Did you think I was here to check your tickets or something?¡± he joked with what he hoped was an affable smile, judging that starting with some humor was probably the right choice. Aether, would I have to think about every phrase now? It used to be so simple. Teagan snorted, nose in the book. Eamon didn¡¯t take offense, only grinned. ¡°Nah, figured you were here to mop the floors or some such.¡± Cillian took off his coat and hat, hanged them both on a hook, and sat down. ¡°Mop the floors, aye. You might be more correct than you think if what I¡¯ve heard about the academy turns out to be true.¡± ¡°How do you mean?¡± He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve heard some people say the students do all the chores, you know, cleaning and cooking and stuff.¡± ¡°That so? Doesn¡¯t sound like the craic.¡± ¡°Well, those people also told me the academy had long been infiltrated by the Hierarchy, all in the same breath, so don¡¯t take it too seriously. Trustworthy information about the place is hard to come by. Unless you¡¯re high in the chain, I suppose.¡± ¡°Ha! I can¡¯t imagine the Hierarchy infiltrating anyone. What people were those?¡± ¡°Just some oul fellas from the 4th outer octant, claiming to be former Foerstner enforcers. Although, I¡¯ve heard it from others, too.¡± ¡°You¡¯re from the outer ring then?¡± Cillian shook his head. ¡°The middle. Hang around the outer a lot. Or used to, I suppose.¡± ¡°Another tarhead. Figures,¡± Teagan muttered loudly enough for the rest to hear. Eamon and Cillian exchanged glances. After a short pause, the former shrugged and carried on as if he¡¯d heard nothing, ¡°I¡¯m from the 3rd outer meself. Shame I¡¯ve never met there any fellas telling stories like that. What else did you hear?¡± He leaned forward with interest; the boy¡¯s eager eyes were a little disconcerting. ¡°Umm, a lot. I¡¯m sure most of it is pure tosh though, like the talk about the no-gun policy. Has to be niss-shit, right? Chevaliers all carry them.¡± Cillian began unpacking while he talked. Slippers first; everything else could wait. ¡°Aye. I¡¯d sooner believe in the infiltration theory rather than this. What about you, Teagan?¡± Eamon twisted to look up at the boy. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Know any thrilling stories about our destination?¡± No reply. ¡°Teag?¡± The addressed boy grimaced and breathed out as if trying to steady himself. ¡°My name is Teagan, Eams. And I don¡¯t entertain nonsense like this. It¡¯s for simpletons.¡± Eamon laughed. ¡°Simpletons, you say? Clearly, you¡¯re one of those ¡®high in the chain¡¯ as our mutual neighbor has just so aptly remarked, aren¡¯t you? So what do they say about the academy in your esteemed circles, Teagy?¡± Teagan turned the page and without looking at either of them responded through clenched teeth, ¡°Nothing. And it¡¯s not me being high, but rather someone else being low, I should think.¡± Eamon stopped craning his neck and sat back, miming being hanged and winking at Cillian. ¡°Apologies, your honor,¡± he proclaimed loudly. Then quieter, ¡±Ye hear, Cillian, cop on, we¡¯re mere manky peasants here.¡± Cillian just watched in slight bafflement. Do they already know each other or not? His last meaningful interaction with peers had been ages ago, so he had no idea how to navigate the conversation. Eamon wasn¡¯t suffering from any such ailment though. The boy kept talking. ¡°As for meself, I¡¯ve heard every single instructor there is of the August rank, can you believe it?¡± ¡°That¡­ doesn¡¯t sound likely to me,¡± Cillian replied slowly. ¡°Isn¡¯t there supposed to be a rake-load of them? Would be pure waste for the company to have so many of their best herd a bunch of youths.¡± ¡°Maybe. But if you want to raise the best they should be trained by the best, methinks. And who¡¯s better than an augustman? Have you ever met one?¡± ¡°Uhh¨C¡± ¡°I have! Declan Kavanagh himself! He was at the graduation ceremony a couple of years back. The man¡¯s a giant. Can you imagine an establishment full of Kavanaghs?¡± Cillian had heard of the man. The renowned treasure-hunting chevalier. ¡°That would be grand. As long as none of them are the Hierarchy¡¯s spies.¡± ¡°A heap of rotten shite,¡± Teagan growled under his breath. ¡°Something to add, yer nobleship?¡± Eamon asked with a grin. The fella finally put his book down and glared down at them. ¡°There¡¯s not going to be anyone of the 3rd rank, apart from headmaster Gorman, stop talking tosh! And infiltrated by the Hierarchy? What else? Rotfangs as personal servants? Aether only knows how culchies like you got admitted to such a prestigious institution, but you are here now, so you should refrain from¨C¡± ¡°You got a problem with me being here, Teag?¡± Eamon stood up and glared at the boy, not allowing him to finish. Teagan only raised his bushy eyebrows, not appearing particularly intimidated. Cillian couldn¡¯t blame him as the other boy looked like he''d get up on a gust of wind. ¡°Figured it out on your own, did you? Guess you really do deserve your spot, genius that you are.¡± Why so much aggression from the get-go? Or had they already been at each other¡¯s throats when I came in? It dawned on Cillian that he had no aetheric idea of how 18-year-old boys normally interacted with each other. ¡°That¡¯s right, I do deserve to be here, I¡¯ve earned it,¡± Eamon seethed. ¡°What about you, big guy? Let me guess, your parents had to buy a place for you? Or did they simply lick someone¡¯s arse?¡± Teagan snapped the book shut and made to get up, but, before he could do so, the door to their compartment slid open without knocking, and a Foerstner guard came in. The man looked disinterestedly at the pair, at Cillian, at the pair again, then glanced down at his pad and asked, ¡°Teagan Baessler present?¡± ¡°I¡¯m here.¡± Teagan swallowed his anger with visible difficulty. ¡°Do you need something?¡± But he was ignored. ¡°Eamon O¡¯Leary?¡± ¡°That¡¯s me,¡± Eamon replied. ¡°And you are Cillian Shea?¡± ¡°I am.¡± The man marked something on the pad. ¡°We¡¯re departing now.¡± He eyed the two boys¡¯ aggrieved expressions sternly. ¡°Don¡¯t make troub¨C actually, I don¡¯t care if you make trouble so long as you keep it quiet and none of the escorts feel a need to intervene, understand? We are guests here.¡± Eamon smiled widely and raised his hands, palms out. ¡°Sure thing, chief, you¡¯ll hear nothing from us.¡± ¡°Make sure that I don¡¯t.¡± And he withdrew, leaving the angry duo to their staring contest. It didn¡¯t last long as Teagan switched his gaze to the door and then back to Eamon, undoubtedly still contemplating violence, but evidently thought better of it and stiffly leaned back. ¡°Lucky you.¡± Wind down, Eamon, Cillian implored silently. The last thing he wanted was having to share the compartment with two warring boys until the next evening. ¡°Well.¡± Eamon smiled sheepishly. ¡°Not the best start, innit?¡± He dropped down on his bunk. The ¡°big guy¡± picked up the book again ¨C Cillian spotted the title, ¡°From Null to Heaven¡± ¨C opened it seemingly at random and resumed reading. Thank you. Soon, a loud air trumpet announced the departure, the doors closed, and they promptly took off. There was no ceremony or grand speech, only a rhythmic tadgak of the wheels and the waving families. As the train began rumbling along the platform, Cillian looked for his father but couldn¡¯t find him, so he mimicked Teagan¡¯s half-lying position and tried to suppress his suddenly rebelling nerves. It hadn¡¯t occurred to him until now ¨C he¡¯d been fretting over the academy itself for most of the past few weeks ¨C but they had to actually reach the place first. The path could potentially be fraught with danger, regardless if it was a well-trotted one or not. And he was leaving the city for the very first time. It wasn¡¯t quite traveling the world, per se, more akin to simply traversing the line from point A to point B, still severely confined, but Cillian would gladly take what he was given. Excitement and dread. I should probably get used to experiencing both. The silence didn¡¯t last long since Eamon, evidently, couldn¡¯t be put off for more than a couple of minutes. They chatted for a spell. Well, his neighbor chatted, talking about everyone and everything, with Cillian making polite noises and Teagan ¨C impolite ones. Eamon ignored the rude boy and kept loudly describing his ¡°culchies¡± parents, his friends and what they were up to after school, and even his cat, which he, lamentably, hadn¡¯t been allowed to bring to the academy. Cillian could only sit and nod. It felt like the boy was in a hurry to unload his entire life story, and they hadn¡¯t even left the city yet. To be fair, Lua was big. The train headed almost directly Heavenward, making the skywalkers¡¯ light gradually grow fainter and fainter. Such was the peril of those living in this and Nullside directions; not all octants outside of the inring had been made equal. The illumination kept diminishing, yet Eamon¡¯s eagerness to talk ¨C didn¡¯t. Cillian was being fed a rake-load of facts, and he made a genuine effort to retain at least some of them, instead of letting the words flow past him. Eamon had no siblings, only cousins, and his family were all Foerstner too ¨C no surprises there ¨C with his father doing ¡°metallurgy science¡±, whatever that meant, and his mother working in a small administrative role in the same department. He would be the first member of the O¡¯Leary clan to rise higher in the corporation and was very proud of the fact. Cillian discreetly checked his pocket watch. ¡°What about your family?¡± the boy asked, seemingly satisfied with the waterfall he¡¯d unleashed. For now. ¡°Foerstner as well. Motorwagen division,¡± he answered succinctly, not wishing to delve deeper into the topic of his parents. ¡°That¡¯s grand! Do you own one? Can you drive?¡± ¡°Umm, no and sort of? Father has one, not me. And I can drive, but no papers yet.¡± ¡°Must be sweet! I¡¯ve only ever ridden as a passenger a few times ¨C very convenient. If the trend holds it shouldn¡¯t be too long before they become affordable to the wider public; I can¡¯t wait.¡± There was a blissful pause. Eamon seemed lost in thought for a moment. ¡°What trend?¡± Cillian inquired. ¡°Hm? Oh, I mean the general trend of all new tech first being introduced for the soldierly and industrial uses only, then scale down and wide until it suits the commodity market. We are at a point where motorwagens are already a commodity, just an expensive one for now.¡± ¡°I suppose. Father owns a T3, but he received a company discount. T4 is cheaper as far as I know, not by much though. But given the rate of development, it¡¯d be much faster for us to graduate and rise to the August and be able to afford anything rather than wait for the prices to come down enough, I reckon.¡± ¡°That might be. And you, Teagan? Can you drive?¡± Eamon extended an olive branch to the larger boy, shifting to take a seat at the foot of Cillian¡¯s bunk without asking for permission.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Teagan didn¡¯t deign to reply. Eamon opened his mouth to say something else, but a deafening ¡°Attention!¡± interrupted him, sounding as if a man with a speaking trumpet was bellowing from right outside their compartment. ¡°Attention all onboard! We will begin the procedure of crossing the Wall in five minutes. Be advised that outside the boundaries of protected habitats all usage of aether-powered devices is strictly prohibited. This is for your own safety. Anyone caught violating the rule will be summarily punished in accordance with the O¡¯Driscoll & Co. regulations. Oil lamp illumination will be provided from 7 am to 9 pm in all communal areas. All passenger compartments are equipped with their own moderator lamps as well. Read the provided instructions on their operation before attempting to light them. Attention! We will be crossing the wall in four minutes...¡± Cillian realized there really had been a man outside their door when he moved further down the carriage, repeating the words. I wonder how those living outside denote time when there aren¡¯t any skywalkers? He glanced at the rapidly approaching Wall. He¡¯d seen it up close many times before so wasn¡¯t that interested currently, but soon he¡¯d be able to observe it from a completely different angle. ¡°Scary, innit?¡± Eamon asked quietly. ¡°Huh? What is?¡± ¡°That we need structures such as this to keep us safe.¡± ¡°¡¯Scary¡¯ is not the word I would use. I think it¡¯s inspiring.¡± Eamon glanced at him curiously. ¡°A big lump of stone with guns is inspiring?¡± Cillian shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s an inhospitable plane, but we get by. The Wall, the railroads, the skywalkers ¨C constructs like these are a testament to human adaptability, our will.¡± ¡°Or they are a testament to our isolation.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t it be both? We¡¯d been forcefully isolated, but we adapted.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s how it went, but who knows. Just a shame having to be clustered in a train seemingly geared up for war every time you want to go outside. And you can¡¯t even do that without permission from everyone and their grandma. And other city-states? They might as well be on different planes altogether.¡± The boy looked at Cillian expectantly, waiting for an agreement or aether knows what else, so he shrugged and uttered very artfully, ¡°It is what it is.¡± ¡°Like we need anyone else,¡± Teagan chimed in with contempt from above, no longer pretending to read. ¡°You want to rub shoulders with savages out there? Or maybe with the rotfangs?¡± He glowered at them. ¡°Although, you two would be right at home.¡± Cillian sighed. What was the fella¡¯s problem? Eamon opened his eyes wide theatrically, leaned toward Cillian, put a hand to his mouth like he was about to share a secret, and ¡®whispered¡¯, ¡°Right, that one¡¯s here too. For a moment I forgot where I was and thought it was me cat up there. She also likes to climb places and make beastly noises.¡± Cillian puffed out a laugh. Null. I don¡¯t want to pick sides. ¡°What did you just say?¡± Eamon pointed at his ear. ¡°You deaf? You¡¯d fit with the so-called savages well enough yerself, methinks, given yer attitude.¡± Teagan abruptly swung down, landing with a thud, and Cillian for the first time appreciated how tall and brawny he really was. The boy loomed over them. ¡°Say it again, Eams.¡± Eamon, to his credit, also didn¡¯t seem threatened much. He stood up, and the two found themselves nose to chin. ¡°Say what again? That you¡¯ve been acting like a rotten prick the whole time since I came in? What¡¯s gotten up your arse, Teagy-boyo?¡± Cillian cracked an involuntary smile. Maybe his 14-year-old self would¡¯ve fit here well enough after all. At Eamon¡¯s words, Teagan¡¯s face turned contrite for an instant. Unfortunately, he then noticed Cillian¡¯s expression and didn¡¯t like it one bit. Shit. I should probably try to diffuse the situation. Aye. But how does one do that exactly? He spoke in his best diplomatic tone, ¡°We¡¯re about to go through the Wall, guys; better to start igniting the lamps.¡± ¡°I will, aye, right after I cave your faces in,¡± the brute hissed. ¡°Mine?¡± ¡°I¡¯m waiting,¡± Eamon sneered. What are you doing, tool?! ¡°O¡¯Driscoll would take objection to that; they are paid to deliver the goods. Undamaged.¡± ¡°O¡¯Driscoll can kiss my arse. Steamin¡¯ farmers.¡± Just then the train came to a halt, and Teagan rocked back slightly. Eamon jumped him. The hell?! Cillian jerked in surprise. The smaller boy shoved the bigger one at the top bunk. The movable body and the immovable frame collided with a thump ¨C it wasn¡¯t a strong hit but enough to make Teagan lose his balance and crash down on top of the bed with a curse. Eamon didn¡¯t give him even a moment of reprieve and followed up with a knee to the stomach, all but dropping on top, but Teagan recovered quickly and redirected the flying knee with his own. He then grabbed the falling fella by the shoulders and shoved him down into the corner between the bunk and the wall. Eamon hit his head and let out a strained ¡°Fuck!¡±, before rolling out of the way of the next punch. Which never came. Instead, Teagan wrapped his opponent¡¯s neck from behind into a chokehold. He started squeezing and spitting the words into Eamon¡¯s ear, ¡°You steamin¡¯ rot! Jumping at me like that, what kind of coward are you?!¡± The smaller boy struggled futilely. Cillian sat, bewildered, not quite comprehending the sudden escalation. Why had Eamon struck first? There was no time to ponder the events further though. He got up and grabbed Teagan¡¯s right shoulder. ¡°Let him go already. He¡¯s turning purple.¡± The fuming fella seethed at Cillian, ¡°I¡¯m not going to kill him, but he has to learn the lesson. Same as you.¡± He attempted to shrug off Cillian¡¯s hand by thrusting his shoulder up, relaxing the grip around Eamon¡¯s neck just a wee, and Cillian used the movement to quickly hook his own right arm under the boy¡¯s armpit and behind the neck, grabbing for the chest with the other. He heaved. Unfortunately, trying to pry Teagan¡¯s arm away felt like pulling on a supposedly slidable ladder that had been rusted stuck long ago ¨C very little give. But at least it allowed Eamon to breathe. ¡°Let go!¡± Teagan fumed. ¡°What in the aether is going on, fellas?! Do I have to press the emergency button? We¡¯d all be in trouble then.¡± Cillian wasn¡¯t sure if such a thing existed. Unlikely, given the prohibition on aether usage. ¡°Come on, mucker, release him!¡± Teagan did so abruptly, and Cillian staggered back, pulling his arms away to untangle from the pile. But the large boy wasn¡¯t finished ¨C now rounded on him. ¡°Now see here, mucker, don¡¯t ever tou¨C¡± The world plunged into darkness. ¡°-ch me again!¡± Apparently, at some point they¡¯d resumed moving, albeit slowly, and were now inside the Wall. Tagdak. The train chugged along. The two boys on their feet were breathing heavily while the one below wheezed and coughed. Tagdak. Cillian couldn¡¯t resist a smile at the situation. Teagan clearly wanted to glower at him but couldn¡¯t see anything. Neither could he. Awkward. Tagdak. And so they stood. All through the brief ride, followed by another stop ¨C waiting for the heavy outer gate to be raised and the bridge across the ditch to slide into place, no doubt ¨C and until some semblance of visibility returned once their carriage cleared the tunnel. The whole sequence had taken at least two minutes. When the light came back, Cillian saw that Teagan¡¯s mood hadn¡¯t improved much. But there was no time for this distraction anymore. He swiftly skirted past the still-seething brute, who raised his fists at the sudden movement, expecting an attack, but Cillian was no longer interested in any prick-measuring. No, he had much more important business to attend to. He dropped at the head of Eamon¡¯s bed and peered at the Wall, catching Teagan¡¯s look of confusion out of the corner of his eye. Eamon kept gasping. Whatever. He¡¯s not dead; good enough. The pair of them can wait. Teagan snorted. ¡°Steamin¡¯ tarheads. Remember your place; there was a rake-load of better deserving than you two.¡± When no reply was forthcoming, he tsked, muttered another curse, and climbed back to his bunk. ¡°That¡¯s exactly how I imagined my chevalier career to begin!¡± rasped Eamon with a laugh. Just shut up already, you twatwaffle. The Wall on the outside looked very different ¨C gone was the mostly homogeneous stone, and, instead, from about halfway up, the surface was littered with rectangular pockets playing host to mighty turrets. And the two lowest levels featured rows of slits currently being barred with solid metal shutters. They only had scraps from the skywalkers combined with aether streaks far above for illumination, but even in the dimness Cillian could still see the myriad of pockmarks, long scars, and entire chunks missing, particularly closer to the ground. It seemed the Wall was due for some extensive repairs. From this close, they couldn¡¯t yet see the curvature, but he knew it was there. The imposing structure went all the way around the city. Isolated? Aye. But also awe-inspiring. Our only barrier between civilization and wilderness. Off they went into the said wilderness, gradually leaving both the city and his old life behind. So long, Lua. Once he could no longer discern any details, he moved back to his own bed. For a while, they rode in blissful silence. Teagan lit his lamp and was reading again, and Cillian did the same. The title of his book read ¡°The Cradle of Learning¡±. A story about a fictional library ¨C although many claimed it had existed in truth yonks ago ¨C supposedly containing all the knowledge in the world, including the origin of humanity. He didn¡¯t believe it for a second, but the tale was still interesting. Unfortunately, Eamon proved incapable of staying quiet and soon started talking again. First, making small comments about everything they could see from the window ¨C not a lot, mostly dead trees, and even they were rare ¨C then moved on to animatedly speculating about what awaited them during the first days in the academy. Cillian didn¡¯t find it likely that they¡¯d be subject to an immediate ¡°trial by fire¡±, whatever the boy had meant by that. Even a brief interaction with his fellow trainees had left him drained. He hoped the introduction wouldn¡¯t be indicative of his future relations with the others. Just when Cillian was about ready to admit defeat and close his eyes, feigning sleep, to see if that would deter Eamon from trying to engage him in any further conversation, there was a knock on their door, which was promptly opened before any of them could say anything. A tall, blonde girl about their age stood there. She quickly glanced around from one person to another. ¡°Hello everyone.¡± Her eyes found the boy on the upper shelf. ¡°Teag. I¡¯m looking for Sorcha; have you seen her?¡± ¡°Do you see her here?¡± Teagan asked irritably in lieu of giving an answer. It appeared he was generally snapping at everyone. Good to know. The cailin raised her eyebrows. ¡°I see you are even more cheerful than usual on this fine day.¡± She grabbed the handle and made to leave but, with the door already halfway shut, changed her mind, turned back, and spoke in a soft voice, ¡°Liam, Fia, and others are in compartment six playing cards.¡± The girl glanced at Cillian and Eamon and seemed to hesitate a bit. ¡°Moira is not there, so you can come out into the light.¡± She frowned and bent forward to peer at the dim exterior through the window. ¡°As much as there is, anyway.¡± And with that, she was gone, gently sliding the wooden door all the way. Cillian didn¡¯t expect the burly boy to follow, but, after a brief hesitation, Teagan swung down again, glared at them one more time for good measure, and departed as well. ¡°Man, did you see that cailin?¡± came out of Eamon¡¯s mouth immediately following the click. ¡°Why is it always the big stupid ones who get all the girls?¡± Cillian looked at him. ¡°I grant you big but stupid? How do you know if he¡¯s stupid? And the blonde didn¡¯t seem like his mot to me.¡± Eamon rolled his eyes. ¡°Because he¡¯s clearly not too bright. And I ain¡¯t talking about this girl, although she sure seemed overly concerned for him too. I¡¯m talking about that Moira one.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think stupid ones get to ride on this train in the first place, and for all you know Moira is his sister or something.¡± His one remaining neighbor eyed him with exasperation. ¡°I see now how the gears in your head spin. But you¡¯ll cop on that I¡¯m right. He is probably just some bigwig¡¯s nephew. I can¡¯t see him passing the test otherwise.¡± ¡°The test?¡± ¡°You know, the admission test,¡± the boy clarified. ¡°The admission test?¡± Eamon looked at him strangely. ¡°The test we had to pass to get accepted into the academy? That admission test?¡± ¡°You mean the finals?¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t mean the finals! I mean the admission test ¨C 90 questions about everyone and everything!¡± Now Eamon looked indignant again as if Cillian was screwing with him. ¡°I didn¡¯t have to take any additional tests. I had the finals at school then a rake-load of interviews and evaluations. Medical, psychological, and stuff but no tests,¡± Cillian spelled out slowly, not sure who was being an eejit. ¡°You kidding me?! I had to pass the test before I was even allowed to take part in the interviews!¡± ¡°That so? Hmm, what school did you say you¡¯d attended?¡± Eamon calmed down rapidly. ¡°Public one, in my home octant.¡± The fella oscillated a lot, it seemed. ¡°I¡¯m Foerstner-schooled.¡± ¡°Ahh, you think it¡¯s because you are a privileged one? At least, a more privileged one than me?¡± Cillian shrugged. ¡°Sure looks it.¡± ¡°That¡¯s just blindin¡¯ unfair. The prick probably didn¡¯t have to do anything at all then! Even the interviews!¡± Eamon circled back to the initial topic of his ire. ¡°Who cares? It¡¯s how it works, and you¡¯re here, right? The end result is the same.¡± Eamon muttered something uncharitable under his breath then slumped and went quiet. Finally. Cillian returned to his book. So what¡¯s that whole fuss about the cradle?
The food in the dining carriage turned out to be the usual fare ¨C potatoes, an assortment of de-aethered meats, a scant selection of vegetables, but plenty of greens. They¡¯d been proceeding to the place together ¨C Cillian and Eamon ¨C but along the way his friendlier neighbor had disappeared inside another compartment. Just to meet and greet, apparently. Cillian had opted not to wait. Now here he was, alone again, standing with a cup of tea ¨C he wasn¡¯t hungry yet ¨C and looking for a place to perch. There was a plethora of available seats, but, as part of his ongoing quest to engage with others more, he approached a girl with dark hair in a neat braid, sitting with her back to him before an assembled chess board. On the other side lounged a boy in elegant round glasses. Cillian watched the game, standing next to the table and not saying anything, just sipping tea. They both glanced at him but didn¡¯t speak either. He wasn¡¯t a proficient player himself, but it quickly became evident that the girl¡¯s opponent was being completely outclassed. And after the fella departed, appearing disgusted with his performance, Cillian took the freed place. ¡°You don¡¯t mind?¡± She arched an eyebrow. ¡°Mind what?¡± ¡°Playing a few rounds with me, I mean.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m doing here. Play.¡± ¡°Aye, but¨C never mind.¡± ¡°As long as you don¡¯t spill your tea on the set or the clock.¡± ¡°You got it. Rules?¡± ¡°Whatever you prefer.¡± Her voice carried a note of amusement as if it didn¡¯t matter what he chose. To be fair, it likely didn¡¯t. ¡°Then let¡¯s do 30 seconds per move. The less time I have to think, the better I do.¡± ¡°That a chess assessment or a general one?¡± Cillian smiled. They assembled the pieces and began playing. ¡°What¡¯s the knight¡¯s movement again?¡± When she gave him a very unimpressed look, he raised his hands. ¡°Sorry, only joking.¡± And, of course, barely ten moves later, he got crushed. ¡°I¡¯m out of practice,¡± Cillian grumbled. The cailin just eyed him mercilessly and started arranging the board again. A rematch. Alright, mucker, stop embarrassing yourself. He got crushed in twelve moves this time. Umm, progress? The boy hid his face in his hands. ¡°You aren¡¯t very good at this, are you?¡± Cillian rubbed his forehead and shrugged. ¡°Let¡¯s give a lash to 2 minutes per move, shall we? I¡¯d been mistaken; I¡¯m a much more thoughtful guy these days.¡± He nodded sagely. ¡°Aye, that was my error, I see it now.¡± Let¡¯s start with e4 this time. Needless to say, it helped none. ¡°You seem to know some openings but don¡¯t follow through. How come?¡± ¡°I do know a few,¡± he confirmed. ¡°But I simply memorized them without really understanding their objectives. Seems disingenuous to just copy from a book, so I often end up making a prescribed first move or two and then wing it.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the most witless thing I¡¯ve heard all day,¡± she deadpanned. ¡°It¡¯s not even midday yet, give it time. In the meanwhile, care for another?¡± Before they could begin a new round, a displeased shout from the end of the carriage interfered. ¡°Sorcha! Stop playing chess and come help me scour the town off the rotfang infestation!¡± What? Cillian¡¯s opponent didn¡¯t look up at the intruder. ¡°I am busy, Aoife, go away,¡± she said loudly but without any heat in her voice. ¡°You¡¯ve been playing since the skywalkers ignited!¡± The voice was coming closer. ¡°Actually, you¡¯ve been playing since the skywalkers stopped lighting the way.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be back once I win this game.¡± Then quieter, ¡°And a few more.¡± Cillian turned around and saw that it was that blonde girl from earlier. She had a pretty name. Aoife reached their table and tapped on it. ¡°You¡¯ve said it before, you know.¡± ¡°Yes, I remember. ¡®A few more,¡¯ I said. But how many is ¡®few¡¯?¡± Sorcha shrugged. ¡°Who can say for certain.¡± ¡°You¡¯re hilarious.¡± ¡°With the rate she¡¯s demolishing me,¡± Cillian chimed in, putting his white queen into place, ¡°¡¯a few¡¯ could mean a hundred, and she¡¯d still be done in no time.¡± Aoife glanced at him. ¡°And you are¨C oh, one of Teagan¡¯s neighbors, aren¡¯t you?¡± ¡°That I am. He¡¯s still there with you?¡± At her nod, he continued, ¡°Is he being complimentary about me and Eamon, perchance?¡± The girl chuckled softly. ¡°Not quite.¡± ¡°It¡¯s your move,¡± Sorcha said impatiently. ¡°I¡¯ll see you soon, Aoife.¡± Her friend sighed. ¡°30 minutes. And then I¡¯m dragging you by the ear. You can¡¯t spend the whole trip playing chess.¡± When she turned around and left, Sorcha muttered, ¡°Watch me.¡± ¡°Name¡¯s Cillian by the way.¡± ¡°A pleasure, Cillian. Now make a move.¡± He smiled. For some reason, the cailin had made him feel comfortable from the beginning. Probably because she seemed so utterly disinterested in having a conversation and simply wanted to play chess. For the first time since he¡¯d boarded the train, he could stop fretting over what to do or say. Just make moves. Come on, I need to take this seriously. Cillian could even see himself growing to like the game more. Once he stopped being so fiercely hopeless in it, that was.
The next 40-odd hours had gone by more or less the same. They¡¯d first neared the Azure mountains after climbing steadily for a good while, whisked right through the pass, and, finally, left the belt far behind. And all throughout the journey, Teagan had continued to be mostly absent. Or reading. Or staying quiet. In a word, continued to be a perfect bunkmate, their rough initial interaction notwithstanding. Eamon was different. His talkative neighbor had never given Cillian more than two consecutive hours of peace, but, truthfully, he found not minding it too much. In fact, the boy reminded him of a certain kid who could also never shut up for long. A couple of times the compartment had been visited by their Foerstner chaperones to check up on them, but Cillian didn¡¯t think the treatment was in any way special; the same likely happened to everyone else on the train. He¡¯d also made an acquaintance with several others. When Sorcha had failed to materialize in compartment six fast enough for Aoife¡¯s liking, the latter brought the game and the playing party to the dining carriage, instead. That was when Cillian met Moira, but he didn¡¯t care to find out if she was Teagan¡¯s mot, sister, or whatever. Her making an appearance caused the sulking boy to vanish posthaste, taking his disdainful glances with him, which was good enough. Even just playing a couple of rounds in the company of seven others had made his head spin from all the talk and banter. It appeared they were all well familiar with one another. Cillian had excused himself soon after, justifying the retreat with a thought that he managed enough progress for one day. Overall, he¡¯d been feeling restless the whole time. It wasn¡¯t nervousness because of what awaited him ahead or fear because of the imminent risk of being attacked by beasts but rather something else. He thought the confinement itself was the likeliest culprit. He simply wasn¡¯t accustomed to being so sequestered from the world for such a long time. Constant dimness and noise messing with his sleeping routine hadn¡¯t helped either. So the hours dragged on. When, an eternity later, an announcement proclaiming they would arrive in 20 minutes finally came, Cillian felt like cheering. He carried both excitement and exhaustion, despite not engaging in anything remotely straining for close to two days. ¡°Finally,¡± he couldn¡¯t help but blurt out loud. ¡°Tsk, I¡¯m disappointed,¡± Eamon declared, reclining on the bed with both hands behind his head. Cillian glanced at him, then back through the window. ¡°The settlement¡¯s not even visible yet; how can you be disappointed already?¡± ¡°Not that. I¡¯d been hoping we¡¯d get attacked at least once.¡± ¡°What? Why would you hope for something like this?¡± Eamon shrugged. ¡°The outside is supposed to be teeming with beasts, innit? Where are they then?¡± He sat up and leaned close to the glass as if hoping a monster would emerge then and there. ¡°Trains use steam and not aether for a reason. And beasts around these parts likely learned to stay away the hard way. I was given to understand that O¡¯Driscoll runs the route regularly.¡± ¡°Nah, beasts don¡¯t really learn. And, anyhow, it¡¯d be nice to see one getting obliterated with our mounted guns from safety.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t speak blindin¡¯ nonsense, Eamon!¡± The words came out harsher than Cillian had intended. ¡°A beast attack is always a serious matter, and there¡¯s no such thing as complete safety.¡± ¡°Whoa!¡± Eamon raised his hands up. ¡°Where did that come from? I didn¡¯t mean nothing by it. Just¨C just never seen a beast up close, that¡¯s all.¡± ¡°Lucky you,¡± Cillian muttered before taking hold of himself and hastily changing the subject, ¡°Anyway, I want to get out as soon as possible; sick of being cooped up in here. Hopefully, there won¡¯t be any lengthy security checks on arrival.¡± There weren¡¯t. The train station turned out to be a teeny concrete box, resembling an entrance to a bunker more than anything. Just a single structure, nothing else. Not even personnel. Why does it look so drab, and what¡¯s the point of it being here in the first place if we don¡¯t even use it? Cillian voiced his confusion to no one in particular when he finally emerged to the open air once again, and, to his surprise, Teagan decided to answer. ¡°There was a better one some time ago, fully manned and equipped, but beasts overran it thrice. So they decided to just make this,¡± he nodded at the squat building, ¡°and don¡¯t use any aether burning whatsoever. And the crew only comes in from the settlement when necessary. This way there¡¯s nothing to destroy and no need to rebuild over and over.¡± Cillian looked at him, wondering when the fella had begun considering him worthy of polite attention. ¡°What?¡± Teagan noticed his expression and asked heatedly. That¡¯s better. ¡°Nothing. Thanks for the info.¡± The boy eyed him for a moment and scoffed, ¡°Whatever. Do try to correct your ignorance, tarhead.¡± Their welcoming committee consisted of six trucks ¨C modified AA models, Cillian recognized, which had their open cargo beds extended until they were hanging a full meter behind the rear axles ¨C and four smaller and older T2 models, with their black leather roofs folded back like accordions and the lone passenger seats replaced with big guns on swivel bases. The students were counted, divided between the trucks, and they were off. Getting freight treatment wasn¡¯t the most pleasant experience ¨C everyone had to sit on the floor and hold on to the side walls for dear life. The bed didn¡¯t even feature a tailgate, for aether¡¯s sake. And swallowing dust from the trucks in front coupled with jumping up and down on countless bumps made examining the surroundings a difficult exercise. The single local skywalker was already powered down for the day, too. Regardless, the hopping headlights provided sufficient illumination for Cillian to soon spot the settlement¡¯s walls. Not nearly as impressive as even the midring wall in Lua, they still stretched a good 20 or so meters in height and sported battlements all along. The procession didn¡¯t make for the main gate though, which was easily identifiable by two guard towers flanking it, but rather rode past it, reached the corner, and turned right, heading toward the opposite wall. Cillian saw the Everstorm far in the distance ¨C not a trace of blue anywhere now, just dull white in the center and even duller white at the edges ¨C and, thanks to it, could now orient himself for the first time since disembarking. It seemed the settlement was more or less aligned with the cardinal directions. They reached the Heaven wall, which stood less than a hundred paces away from a forest, and the transports spread out into a single line to ride alongside it. A break in the stone barrier soon revealed itself ¨C not another gate but a hangar, sticking out slightly as if it had crashed into the wall from the inside and decided it was a good place to stay. As they got closer, the warm light spilling out of the open gateway gave Cillian a view of the ramp smoothly creeping out in between a pair of guide rails already extended across the ditch. One by one the motorwagens disappeared inside, with the escort transports entering last. Out of the hangar through the other side and into the open space they went, on foot, leaving the torturous vehicles behind and each carrying their own baggage. As they were being marched to another walled enclosure inside the walled enclosure, Cillian saw the buildings¡¯ windows and lanterns gleam down the slope, inviting him to explore, but very shortly his field of vision became dominated by the looming stone once again. The walls surrounding the academy grounds appeared even taller than their outer counterparts. It felt to him like they were sneaking in as if thieves in the night since even here they¡¯d entered through what clearly was just a side gate. To add to the impression, no one greeted them on the inside, and the place itself was dark and hushed. No lights were visible, apart from a small glowing island surrounding a lone lamp post further ahead. No sounds indicating any activity reached them either. However, it wasn¡¯t entirely silent as there was constant monotonous chirping coming from all directions. ¡°An auspicious start,¡± Eamon whispered from Cillian¡¯s right. Is everyone asleep? I¡¯d like to join them right about now. ¡°Welcome to the Foerstner Chevalier Preparatory Academy, neophytes!¡± one of the chaperones, who Cillian recognized from the train, proclaimed after stopping and turning around to face them. ¡°Welcomed, are we?¡± Eamon asked loudly, standing in the middle of the throng and making a show of looking around with exaggerated slowness. ¡°Doesn¡¯t feel like it.¡± ¡°That¡¯s just how it goes, lad. You¡¯ll meet your nanni¨C ahem, instructors soon enough. For now, on behalf of the Security division, allow me to wish you all a pleasant stay. I dearly hope you find your time in this place cozy, restful, and not at all traumatic!¡± The guards all around chuckled, and the man himself was still laughing even as he resumed leading the column deeper inside. An auspicious beginning, indeed, Cillian thought while excited chatter reverberated around him. For better or worse, it would be his home for the next seven surges. He eyed the sky, noticing the skywalker¡¯s dark silhouette hanging dormant, with layers of constantly shifting aether smears of all colors ¨C most of them blue ¨C serving as its backdrop. A hand pushed Cillian from behind to keep him moving, and he looked back at the seemingly lifeless buildings. As far as first impressions went, this one didn¡¯t inspire confidence. And what in the aether is this damn noise? He caught up with Eamon. Just grand. Sure hope I¡¯ve made the right choice. Chapter 4. Onboarding Cillian woke up and rolled to the side with a quiet groan. The mattress pressing into him felt stiffer than usual, somehow. Much stiffer. The boy squirmed, trying to get more comfortable, and sluggishly noted that there was still no skylight coming from the window, which was all the permission he needed to allow himself to melt into the sheets once again. Smiling and already halfway back to happy slumber, a single hazy thought passed through his mind, Weird. Since when is there a window right above my head? His eyes flew open and he craned his neck to stare upside-down at the iron-barred opening. That and a small, dark silhouette sitting on the sill just outside and seemingly looking back at him curiously. Huh? Cillian blinked and sat up, comprehension making a drowsy comeback. Another blink ¨C the shape was still there. Right, I¡¯m in the academy now. He reached for the regulator of the aether-powered lamp, which jutted out from the wall next to the bed, and rotated it ever so gently, hoping not to spook the creature. Alas, at the first sign of light, the bird took off immediately, and the only thing he¡¯d managed to glimpse before it disappeared was its blue and pink feathers. Pretty. A glance at the clock hanging opposite the window revealed it wasn¡¯t even 6 yet; plenty of time before the day would begin in earnest. But, as he was wholly awake now, Cillian stretched, swung out of the bed, and went to the bathroom ¨C every unit had its own, thankfully ¨C to take a shower. He¡¯d neglected to do it yesterday ¨C and the day before that, come to think of it, stuck on the train as he¡¯d been ¨C and was now in dire need of one. In fact, the previous evening he had accomplished nothing more than shrug off his clothes and crash. Who would have thought that restlessly doing nothing for hours on end could be so exhausting? He turned on the water, made it just shy of scorching hot, and sighed contentedly. Cillian doubted that anyone else had engaged in any exciting activities either since, after they¡¯d all been ticked off the list and handed their unit keys by the lone academy staffer welcoming them aboard, the entire cohort had been marched straight to the dormitory and told not to leave until morning. It was all very quare. He¡¯d expected to at least receive some sort of inspirational yet intimidating speech by a stern-looking chevalier in charge, congratulating them for being admitted and warning not to be eejits all in the same breath or something of that sort. But there had been nothing. No light, no speech, no people. What was that bird? he wondered idly while washing away the sweat of the journey. Hororohoruru? Didn¡¯t seem hostile. After the shower, Cillian checked out the room¡¯s wardrobe and found it to be filled with an assortment of clothes. Most notably, it contained two full sets of uniform consisting of: straight-fit trousers, dark grey; a long-sleeved dress shirt, white; a basic five-button vest, of a slightly lighter grey color; and a silk neckerchief, of the customary Foerstner burgundy. As for the outerwear, a pair of identical corduroy jackets, featuring a standing collar, a couple of big breast pockets, and only four large buttons across the entire length, were hanging on top of the uniforms. Interesting choice of material, he mused, caressing the tough fabric. It looked as if it was made from countless black cords, very thin, laid parallel to each other. The poor man¡¯s velvet, it was often called, to his knowledge. Cillian hadn¡¯t thought Foerstner would ever use a material associated with the word ¡°poor¡±. He started putting on the uniform while also peering closer at the rest of the contents. There was some sort of white turtleneck, only very light and airy, paired with loosely cut cotton trousers. Athletic wear, maybe? To the right swayed a thick leather apron, its purpose unknown. A neat row of boots ranging from elegant to menacing lined the bottom, while several differently-sized bags adorned the shelf at the top. No hats anywhere though, which he found surprising. Cillian nodded in satisfaction as the final piece of the attire ¨C the jacket ¨C slid its way on top of his body. He looked at himself in the framed mirror affixed next to the front door. That tiresome medical examination, which included taking lots of measurements, had been put to good use, it seemed. He felt comfortable. Or, at least, as comfortable as one could get when wearing unfamiliar clothes for the first time. Out of the room and into the hall he went, gently shutting the door behind and, to his surprise, finding the saffron light already coming from the communal area. Cillian strode toward it and saw another figure, clad in a blouse and a skirt, doing the same from the opposite wing, closer to the destination than him. The girl soon turned right and disappeared from his view, but her voice carried out to him. ¡°What are these?¡± As he approached the space, he noticed that she was talking to a dark-haired, bespectacled fella who was sitting on one of the velvet sofas, leisurely flipping the pages of a leather-bound booklet, which had an outline of a golden shamrock depicted on the cover. ¡°Our very own chronicles,¡± the boy replied, his words measured and carefully enunciated. He glanced at Cillian and gave a small nod. ¡°Ooh, where¡¯s mine?¡± She started rifling through the three stacks of folders arrayed on the polished wooden table in the center of the room, making a mess of them. ¡°Shauna,¡± the lounging boy grimaced and admonished. ¡°What?¡± ¡°They are all signed and arranged in alphabetical order. Put them back in place.¡± She scoffed, finally found her own, and replied, ¡°Do it yourself if it bothers you.¡± ¡°Hello,¡± Cillian interjected. The cailin only glanced at him and said nothing while the boy raised his eyebrows and asked, nodding at the jacket, ¡°Going somewhere?¡± ¡°Just planning to look around.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve been told to remain here, remember?¡± ¡°Until the morning.¡± He glanced through the set of lofty windows and saw the brightening world outside. ¡°I¡¯m Cillian, by the way.¡± ¡°Oscar.¡± The newly introduced fella slowly looked Cillian up and down as if trying to commit every hairsbreadth to memory. It was kind of unsettling. ¡°This one¡¯s Shauna,¡± he added with a lazy wave. ¡°So I¡¯ve heard,¡° Cillian remarked, gladly stepping out of Oscar¡¯s direct line of sight and shuffling to the table himself. ¡°This is steamin¡¯ rubbish!¡± Shauna exclaimed and tossed her now empty folder to the floor while holding open an identical booklet and several bound sheets of paper, with the first one sporting the words ¡°Rules of conduct¡± at the top in a large font. ¡°What is?¡± Oscar glanced at her. ¡°What¡¯s a ring?¡± Cillian asked at the same time, looking over the girl¡¯s shoulder. She whirled around and glared at him. ¡°And what are you looking at?!¡± ¡°Whoa.¡± He took a step back and raised a calming hand. ¡°Only curious, what¡¯s the big deal?¡± ¡°The big deal? The big deal?!¡± she almost screeched, threw up her hands, then turned to Oscar and complained, only marginally quieter, ¡°I¡¯m the second ring, Oscar! Me!¡± The boy blinked and pivoted to fully face her, nestling one leg on the sofa¡¯s seat and one arm on its weaving backrest. Very unhurriedly. Everything he did appeared slow and deliberate. ¡°You don¡¯t say.¡± His expression was solemn, apart from a wee upward tug at one corner of his mouth. ¡°I do say! This is intolerable!¡± While she was letting out her frustration, Cillian pinpointed his own folder and was now reading the opening page of the ¡°chronicle¡±, as Oscar had called it. Three distinct sections stared at him. The top one simply read: ¡°Cillian Faol¨¢n Shea.¡± ¡°Date of Birth: 17/G/440AF¡± The one below: ¡°Foerstner Chevalier Preparatory Academy¡± ¡°Date of Admission: 49/B/458AF¡± ¡°Ring: 2¡± ¡°Date of Companion Elanroot Acquisition: ¡± ¡°Year 1 Ranking: ¡± ¡°Year 2 Assignment: ¡± ¡°Date of Graduation: ¡± ¡°Honored Chevalier Assignment: ¡± And the final section contained a single line: ¡°Companion Species: ¡± The rest of the pages were all blank. Judging by the name, the book was presumably meant to be filled with heroic deeds and exploits he would accomplish over the course of his long and illustrious career. Hopefully. Cillian mused about the entries. Most of them were self-explanatory ¨C also empty ¨C but what exactly being of the second ring meant, he didn¡¯t know. Nothing good if Shauna¡¯s reaction was any indication. There was also a curving golden line painted on the inside of the cover ¨C a single stroke, nothing else ¨C which, at first, he¡¯d taken for a bizarre decoration but, after closing and opening the booklet a couple of times, realized that the line exactly mirrored the shamrock¡¯s stalk on the outside. So they¡¯ll add the leaves in here as well as to my mask. Nice. The storm in the background was still going strong. ¡°How dare they humiliate me so?! I swear, when I get my hands on whoever made the decision¨C!¡± ¡°Maybe it¡¯s an honest mistake?¡± Oscar asked with a proper smile now. ¡°Is being of the second ring somehow bad?¡± Cillian chimed in. ¡°I¡¯m also one.¡± Shauna whirled to face him, again, doing it so fast her long wavy hair loudly smacked the top of another sofa at her back. She glowered, ¡°Of course you are, you¨C you steamin¡¯ tarhead! I¡¯m surprised you aren¡¯t the first ring! But me?¡± The mad cailin began pacing back and forth while muttering curses to herself, then abruptly stopped and asserted to Oscar, ¡°You¡¯re right, it must be a mistake.¡± ¡°And maybe,¡± the boy gestured at the line of windows, which, thanks to the arching wall, were giving them a panoramic view of the academy grounds, ¡°It¡¯s not too late to fix it? The day¡¯s fresh; there is time.¡± Shauna perked up. ¡°Yes. Yes! I¡¯ll do just that. And will make them bleedin¡¯ apologize to me!¡± She gathered the folder from the floor, forced the papers and the booklet inside, and stomped toward the staircase. It was a wonder she wasn¡¯t furiously waggling her fists at the sky. Once her footsteps faded, Oscar returned to a lounging position. ¡°Shauna, Shauna, never change.¡± He chuckled, glanced at confused Cillian, and explained, ¡°There¡¯s no one here yet. Sure, some security and service personnel, but the instructors and the headmaster are all away. She¡¯s going to complain to the empty hallways.¡± He suppressed another chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. Cillian furrowed his eyebrows. ¡°What do you mean there¡¯s no one here? Where is everyone then?¡± The fella gave him a self-satisfied smile. ¡°You¡¯ll find out soon enough.¡± When nothing else was forthcoming, Cillian shrugged and gazed around the communal area to distract himself. To tell the truth, the whole spectacle had made him uncomfortable and at a loss what to do or say, the same as during the confrontation between Eamon and Teagan on the train. He wondered if it was just him, or both situations had been really quare. A painting of a tall man in gleaming armor, pinning some kind of ursine monstrosity to the ground with a spear, adorned the wall to the left of the windows. That¡¯s a¡­ what did she call it? Steamin¡¯ rubbish, he thought. Surely, chevaliers don¡¯t wear full-body armor like this? On the opposite side was a similarly unrealistic depiction of a typical Lua street at night with dozens of elegantly dressed residents strolling one way or another while being illuminated by the soft light from the many windows and torches. It was unrealistic because the Everstorm was hanging right above the street, big and dull orange everywhere but at the very core, yet it somehow didn¡¯t contribute much illumination to the scene. And who uses torches anyway? Cillian had to admit that both pictures looked striking in their gilded frames amidst the deep crimson of the walls. He noticed something else on one of the tables next to the windows and came closer. A clatter of copper coins with a hole in the middle of each were arranged in tidy stacks of twos and threes, held together by strings. He picked up one such stack and wondered out loud, ¡°And these are¡­?¡± Oscar obliged, not looking around, ¡°Tokens, I presume. Rather drab looking, no? I have four.¡± ¡°Four?¡± He examined the table but couldn¡¯t see any sets of more than three. First come, first serve, I guess? ¡°And what are they for?¡± The boy sighed theatrically enough for Cillian to hear. ¡°Do I look like an instructor to you? All will be answered, I¡¯m sure.¡± Yet you already have the answers, don¡¯t you? Clearly, not everyone had suffered difficulties in obtaining information about the academy. He slipped the string in his pocket and turned around, intent on venturing outside and exploring the place while he had a chance, but stopped as a somewhat peculiar thought crossed his mind ¨C consideration for a fellow classmate. Peculiar, because it¡¯d been a while. Didn¡¯t Eamon complain that they¡¯d have to wake up ¡°bleedin¡¯ early¡±, and he hated doing that? Cillian felt sure the boy had. Admittedly, he¡¯d talked an awful lot about a rake-load of things. Should I make a good friendly gesture? He¡¯s on the same floor as me, so one of the sets has to be meant for him. After a brief mulling over, he did just that ¨C located the folder with golden strokes artfully tracing ¡°Eamon O¡¯Leary¡± on the dark leather surface and dropped another trio of tokens inside. All under the watchful eyes of Oscar, who appeared a touch disapproving. Cillian wasn¡¯t even sure if he liked Eamon, but, at the very least, the boy was an easy company, and it cost him nothing to help. He also hoped that in the future gestures like this would start coming naturally, without him having to think long and hard every time. Alright, mission accomplished. Before leaving, Cillian carefully inspected the surroundings one last time, confirming he hadn¡¯t missed anything else. When nothing stood out, he nodded his thanks to the sitting fella, buttoned up his jacket, and headed toward the stairs.
Halfway down the flight leading to the ground level, Cillian halted, looked back at the unlit communal area on the second floor, shrugged, and went to check out the table there. A single four-token string still sat untouched. He exchanged it for his old one. That¡¯s better. The boy smiled and resumed the descent.
Crisp air enveloped Cillian once he stepped outside. The skywalker was hovering almost directly overhead, which left him disoriented for an instant, as the object¡¯s position and brightness, or lack thereof, didn¡¯t belong together. Something¡¯s wrong, his mind tried to tell him, but the boy closed his eyes and shut it up swiftly. Nothing¡¯s wrong, eejit. It¡¯s not Lua, is all. Indeed. He hadn¡¯t paid much attention last night, but it appeared the walker in this place simply didn¡¯t move. Which made sense, now that he thought of it. Why would it? The area was small enough for the spotlights to reach everywhere all at once. Not that Cillian could see the effect on the settlement proper since the walls stood in the way. Speaking of the walls. Same as their colleagues surrounding the town, they featured a tower at every corner, likely manned around the clock, but no battlements. Potentially interesting, though he wouldn¡¯t risk climbing anything on the first day. His eyes swept back to the structures inside the perimeter. The building he¡¯d just exited was a simple limestone box with a semicircular bulge in the middle where the communal areas were. Barred windows spread down the wings on either side of it, and a mansard roof completed the boring ensemble. Disappointing. The structure across was even more uninspired ¨C nothing but a large hangar with lots of condenser fans and exhaust pipes sticking out from all surfaces. To his left stretched the main building of the entire establishment. The entire settlement, even. It stood perpendicular to both the dormitory and the hangar, protecting the Heaven side of the rectangular yard. Aren¡¯t corpos supposed to be obsessed with appearances above everything else? The architects of this place hadn¡¯t gotten the memo, apparently, since even the heart of the academy presented a bland sight. As Cillian neared the double doors leading inside, he recalled that the majority of the facilities were supposed to be situated underground. And Foerstner likely didn¡¯t feel the need to show off as everyone in the entire town worked for the company and lived here to support the manufactu¨C err, the education of chevaliers in the first place. Aye, that must be it. In the echoing atrium he promptly ran into his good friend Shauna, who appeared a wee harried. The cailin scowled at him. ¡°There is no one here!¡± Aether, why does she always have to yell at me? ¡°And that¡¯s my fault how exactly?¡± She opened her mouth to voice some inane reason, no doubt, but he carried on, ¡°After you left, Oscar mentioned something about all the instructors and the headmaster being away. Know anything about it?¡± The girl blinked, then smacked her forehead. ¡°Forgot about that.¡± Puffing out the air in mirth at her expression turned out to be a mistake because she noticed and instantly rounded on him again, ¡°And why are you here?¡± Cillian eyed the interior. ¡°Just having a tour.¡± He attempted a calming tone as if talking to a quarrelsome cat. ¡°Well, you can return to the dormitory; there¡¯s no one and nothing around. All doors are closed.¡± ¡°I¡¯d like to take a gander anyway.¡± Shauna scoffed. ¡°Suit yourself, tarhead. I¡¯m going back.¡± He gave her his most unimpressed look and proceeded deeper. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt yourself on the way out, kitty, the doors are heavy.¡± ¡°What?¡± When he only waved without looking back, she cursed him and stormed off. Blindin¡¯ nutty or not, the girl had been correct, Cillian quickly discovered. There were labels identifying various sections as ¡°Classrooms¡±, ¡°Auditorium¡±, and ¡°Underground¡±, but no way to get in. The areas containing the instructors¡¯ quarters and offices on the second and third floors were similarly shut. He grew bored and cut his exploration short without going to the top. The only semi-interesting thing he¡¯d found was a blackboard decorating the wall to the left of the wide stairs on the ground level. ¡°Schedule,¡± the heading read. And even that was bereft of contents. Back outside wasn¡¯t much better. Next to the side entrance, which had welcomed them just a few hours prior, sat another hangar, smaller and with only a handful of ventilation yokes. Add a water tower, a nondescript house near the far-right corner of the main building, a shed next to it, and that was it ¨C the entirety of the proud Foerstner Chevalier Preparatory Academy. What was on the surface, in any case. Somewhat disenchanted, Cillian returned to the dormitory, where some activity was finally happening. Sounds were coming from the dining hall, even though the doors remained closed, and the light on the second floor was on. Still no people in sight, but merry laughter spilled from above. Oscar and Shauna had been joined by half a dozen other individuals, with everyone occupying sofas, armchairs, and cushions while coalescing around the pair. Only Sorcha stood apart, studying her copy of the rules of conduct. Cillian walked up behind her and asked, ¡°Anything noteworthy?¡± Sorcha jerked forward, then looked at him with a grimace. ¡°Personal space, dandy!¡± Great job, mucker. Cillian raised an apologetic hand. ¡°Sorry, just wanted to know if there¡¯s anything worthwhile.¡± ¡°Do you not have your own?¡± She pointedly eyed the folder in his other hand. ¡°Aye. But no way I¡¯m reading all this,¡± he nodded at the stack of papers in her arms, ¡°if all it says is that we should do things that are good and not do things that are not so good.¡± The girl smiled. ¡°I believe most regulations say something of that so¨C¡± ¡°Sorcha!¡± came a loud and by now regrettably familiar voice. She grimaced, ignored the caller, and continued, ¡°And just so happens, no, there isn¡¯t anything worthwhile. No one should have any problems following the rules unless they are a complete barba¨C¡± ¡°Oi! Don¡¯t ignore me!¡± Cillian sighed. Sorcha sighed with him, muttering, ¡°Speaking of barbarians.¡± She glanced at the shouting girl with palpable disdain. ¡°Oh, Shauna? Sorry, didn¡¯t see you there, took you for a banshee. Have you already forgotten where your room is? Need a hand finding it?¡± All around, people erupted in poorly suppressed laughter. ¡°You can stick your hand in a boiler,¡± Shauna spat. ¡°I wish to know what your ring is.¡± ¡°What do you think? You are the only one here who graduated Foerstner primary yet still ended up a second-ringer. I¡¯d say no one could predict it, but I don¡¯t like lying.¡± ¡°Sorcha,¡± Aoife admonished from one of the cushions. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Niss take you, you rancid witch,¡± Shauna hissed, a wee bit red now, then stuck her finger at Cillian. ¡°And you are one to laugh, tarhead!¡± ¡°Me?¡± Cillian pointed at himself. ¡°I wasn¡¯t even laughing.¡± Admittedly, he¡¯d been grinning widely. ¡°Right, I suppose I should show solidarity with the fellow ¡®second-ringer¡¯. And I would if I knew what the fuss was about. What¡¯s a¨C?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not your fellow, eejit! It¡¯s a mistake! One I will correct once the staff actually gets here.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, Shauna, seems like a big mistake to make.¡± It was one of the boys, Cillian thought his name was Lorcan, who said that. ¡°You didn¡¯t do as well as you¡¯d hoped on the finals, everyone knows that, so maybe they simply judged you unworthy.¡± ¡°Who cares about the finals? I got in, so I must be the third.¡± ¡°Personally, I find it hilarious,¡± Oscar chimed in with a big, happy smile. ¡°All that posturing and for what? To run around in the dark howling at the empty offices?¡± Aoife, who crept behind the couch while the boy was talking, smacked him on the back of the head lightly. ¡°Don¡¯t be a bully, Oscar. It might be a mistake, in which case it would be corrected. And if it is not, then Shauna needs our support, not ridicule.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need anyone¡¯s support; I¡¯m not a damsel!¡± ¡°About the rings,¡± Cillian tried once again. ¡°What are they for? I can guess the purpose of tokens, I¡¯ve heard some talk about them, but¨C¡± ¡°Aye, tokens, what I was about to ask,¡± a large, thickset fella unapologetically cut him off, ¡°How come you have four, Oscar? Did you take one from another set?¡± Oscar looked at him flatly. ¡°It¡¯s called getting up early; maybe you should try it.¡± ¡°I was plenty early,¡± the boy protested in his rumbling voice. It was kind of pleasant, actually. ¡°I was the first one. At least, I was the one who turned on the lights. There weren¡¯t any fours there, only twos and threes.¡± ¡°There weren¡¯t?¡± Oscar asked, sounding surprised. Cillian didn¡¯t look at him and, instead, walked up behind Aoife, stopping at an arm¡¯s length this time. She glanced at him questioningly. ¡°So what¡¯s with the rings?¡± he asked her quietly while the discussion about who¡¯d taken the four-token string from the second floor was gathering steam. ¡°Do you know?¡± She made a so-so gesture. ¡°A more fitting name would be something like ¡®priority order¡¯, I suppose. The ring determines your standing relative to the others but only in a general sense since there are just three of them. The greater the number, the better.¡±This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°I¡¯ve surmised as much. Shouldn¡¯t it be the other way around though?¡± ¡°I think it¡¯s supposed to represent the walls of Lua. Hiding behind three walls is better than hiding behind one ¨C that sort of thing. And I wouldn¡¯t worry about that.¡± Aoife pointed at the ¡°Year 1 Ranking¡± line in her chronicle. ¡°This is what actually matters. As for the rest, they will gather us today to explain the details.¡± ¡°Mhm, that¡¯d be grand. Feels like everyone here knows way more than me. Thank you, Aoife.¡± He nodded to her and turned to retreat to his room. Rings and tokens and rankings. With Foerstner, nothing was ever straightforward. He should¡¯ve known. On the way back to the wing leading to his accommodations, Cillian could feel someone¡¯s sharp gaze following him, and he felt pretty sure he knew who it was but didn¡¯t pay the attention much mind. Even if the boy had correctly deduced that it was Cillian who¡¯d taken the tokens, what would he do about it? No one had forbidden them to take anything from another floor. He could just claim ignorance. After all, it was first come, first serve, wasn¡¯t it?
Breakfast turned out to be disappointing as well. Is this an educational or a penal institution? The bars, the glum buildings, the simple food ¨C what¡¯s with all that? Cillian had been hoping Foerstner would splash some serious scions on their future chevaliers, but it was not to be, apparently. Even their rooms were very plain. So far, the only bright speck amidst the dullness was the elegant communal areas. He wondered how his counterparts who were more accustomed to luxury would cope with the environment. Although, maybe that was the whole point. Teach them to subsist on less. Here he was, standing with a tray filled with eggs, thin slices of de-aethered meat, dried tomatoes, and a salad consisting of greens, greens, and more greens. It was like he¡¯d never left school. What would it take to get meat from normal animals, some fresh vegetables, and a couple of fruits? Become the headmaster? He knew that food production was very challenging and expensive ¨C most of the potentially edible things in the world being tainted with aether saw to that ¨C but still, he was a future chevalier, damn it, and a growing boy to boot. Cillian had been the very first to enter the dining hall, and, when he had, a poster proclaiming ¡°1 meal = 1 token¡± briefly made him worried, but a nice lady manning the counter had explained that it only concerned evening meals ¨C breakfast and lunch would always be provided for free ¨C and that they didn¡¯t have to worry about it until week five anyway. Maybe they would be able to buy better food, too. Now he was facing a dilemma of where to sit. Three big wooden tables stretched across the entire length of the chamber side by side, offering half a hundred available seats, at a glance. 2 floors, each with 2 wings, and 6 pairs of doors opposite one another in every wing makes¡­ 48 students in total. Seems about right. They all had to sit together like one big happy family then. He chose the table closest to the side windows and a spot on it right down the middle. This way, he would be neither in the center nor on the fringes. His own thoughts made him cringe. Aether, why do I keep thinking so strategically about crap like this? It¡¯s not that complicated. Just act natural, tool. Soon the hall began filling up with people, some arriving in ones and twos, others ¨C in big companies. Before long Cillian had neighbors both left and right. He ate slowly and listened with half an ear, looking for familiar faces. Aoife, Sorcha, and an unknown girl had seated themselves at the central table and were preoccupied with a lively conversation, while Oscar was waiting in line and talking to a large fella. Maybe measurements for some had been less precise than others, Cillian mused, eyeing the way the boy¡¯s muscled back and shoulders tested the stretchability of his dress shirt and vest. Shauna was ambling toward the table nearest the entrance, looking down at the porcelain plates on her tray with disdain. She would be quite lovely if not for her constant displeased grimace. Eamon was still nowhere to be found. Someone tapped him on the shoulder. ¡°And what about you?¡± ¡°Hm?¡± Cillian glanced to the right and saw a boy looking at him with an expectant expression. ¡°Sorry, did you ask something? Kind of lost in thought.¡± ¡°Aye, I get you, a lot to take in. We,¡± his neighbor gestured at the nearby faces, ¡°have been talking about the rings and tokens and so on. What¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°Right. I¡¯m Cillian Shea.¡± ¡°My name¡¯s Patrick. So, what ring are you?¡± ¡°Second.¡± ¡°Same as me then,¡± the fella smiled broadly. ¡°Seems we are in the minority. You figured what it means yet?¡± ¡°I told you what it means,¡± said the girl across from him. ¡°Preferential treatment.¡± ¡°You¡¯re just repeating what you heard on the train,¡± the boy waved her off. ¡°Saying ¡®preferential treatment¡¯ is only marginally less obscure than saying ¡®ring¡¯. Preferential treatment for what exactly? I don¡¯t see anyone getting better meals than me or not having to stand in line. Do you?¡± ¡°You know I don¡¯t.¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°But clearly it¡¯s going to be important. Otherwise, why have it? And right in our chronicles at that.¡± The cailin then inclined her head at Cillian. ¡°I¡¯m Nuala; Patrick here is not keen on introducing me, looks like.¡± He was about to nod in return when a cheerful voice called out to him. ¡°Hey, Cillian!¡± Eamon dropped on the bench next to Nuala, a steaming cup of tea as his sole company. ¡°Eamon,¡± he greeted back, eying the noticeable absence of any food on the tray. ¡°You¡¯re not eating?¡± The boy grimaced. ¡°Don¡¯t feel like it; me stomach is in knots. Happens sometimes when I¡¯m nervous.¡± His sour look rapidly morphed into a smiling one when he spotted who was sitting at his shoulder. ¡°Good morning! Eamon O¡¯Leary, at your service.¡± He gave a bow, which came out awkward yet did nothing to deter him. ¡°But people also call me ¡®the charming one¡¯. Or ¡®the dazzling one¡¯. Depends on the circumstances.¡± Nuala huffed a quiet laugh. ¡°Or they do, do they?¡± ¡°Indeed.¡± ¡°Surround yourself with liars much?¡± ¡°Alas,¡± Eamon glanced up at the ceiling and affected a forlorn look, ¡°they see this honest face and always try to swindle me. Such is the burden of those pure of soul, I¡¯m afraid.¡± He grinned and shuffled closer to her. ¡°But you have me at a disadvantage, m¡¯lady. You are¡­?¡± ¡°Nuala Rafferty. No one calls me charming or dazzling, sad to say.¡± He peered at her with narrowed eyes. ¡°Are you a liar too? There¡¯s no way. Even a rotfang would feel your allure. Cillian, quick, call the lady dazzling.¡± Munching on the meat as he was, Cillian could only blink in surprise. He slowly finished chewing, swallowed, took a sip of water, and swallowed that too. All the while the company kept staring at him. He turned to regard the girl carefully up and down. ¡°Umm, I suppose you are? Dazzling, I mean.¡± Eamon sniggered. ¡°Why, thank you. I¡¯ll gladly accept a compliment given with such conviction,¡± Nuala commented with a wry smile. ¡°Sorry.¡± Cillian scratched at his forehead. ¡°I don¡¯t really know you. And compliments aren¡¯t my forte.¡± ¡°No need. Thoughtful compliments are much better.¡± She glanced at Eamon meaningfully. ¡°Hey!¡± the boy protested. ¡°My compliments are always thoughtful too!¡± ¡°Oh really? My ¡®allure¡¯? What does it even mean?¡± ¡°And what ring are you?¡± Patrick interjected, attempting to steer the conversation back on track and eying Eamon a wee sourly for some reason. ¡°Ring?¡± ¡°Aye, that¡¯s what I said.¡± ¡°You haven¡¯t checked yet?¡± Cillian asked. ¡°There¡¯s a folder with your name in the communal area.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± Eamon looked puzzled. ¡°Nah, I haven¡¯t seen nothing. To be fair, I didn¡¯t look, went down straight away. What¡¯s in there, and what¡¯s a ring?¡± Patrick opened his mouth to answer, but a rumble of approaching vehicles made him pause. Everyone turned to look. Behind the windows giving a view into the yard, several trucks were raising a dust haze on their way to the main building. Once they stopped, people began spilling out of the open beds and closed cabins. Armed and armored people, to be precise. Cillian approached one of the windows to observe closer, and he wasn¡¯t the only one. There you are, instructors, hello! And some security personnel, too. The groups could be easily distinguished from one another by their attires. The guards were dressed in tough-looking black jackets and pants, overlaid with lighter slabs of carapace of an unknown beast to cover the vital areas. On the other hand, the chevaliers, who were clearly in charge, wore much heavier protection. Not a full armor enclosing every hairsbreadth in steel, like in the painting, but an assortment of solid pieces tightly strapped on top of the gambesons. No two chevaliers looked the same though. One was practically gleaming in the yet muted skylight, on account of every single part of his armor being made from polished metal. The cuirass ¨C the chest piece ¨C even appeared forged from bronze. Another chevalier, who briefly glanced at the curious faces behind the glass, had almost no metal on her at all. Instead, everything from the vambraces and pauldrons to the greaves shielding her lower legs and even the battle skirt, composed of overlapping horizontal bands that went all around but left a narrow opening at the front, was fabricated from some scaly hide. Big scales, in color and texture resembling chestnuts, to Cillian¡¯s mind. There was also a man at the back, sporting a tea-green cape, of all things, which was gently undulating in the wind. The one element that united everyone present was the fact they all wore burgundy neckerchiefs or scarves, speaking to their affiliation. Even those chevaliers who carried neck protection still had them on top. Idly, Cillian noted the difference between Foerstner security personnel in Lua, including the ones who¡¯d chaperoned the students on the way here, and those currently in his line of sight. It seemed that, away from the general public, the company put much more stock in practicality than showboating. Rugged jackets as opposed to flamboyant coats, heavy-duty boots rather than tall ones which were currently in fashion, and the complete absence of any hats ¨C all contributed to the impression. Although, the lack of headwear might be due to their recent open-air truck ride. None of the arrivals mingled. Most instructors marched toward the main building, with only a couple heading somewhere behind it, while the enforcers went any which way. One man set out straight to the dormitory. ¡°It was nice knowing you,¡± Eamon said from Cillian¡¯s right, making him jolt in surprise. ¡°What?¡± ¡°There¡¯s a dangerous-looking fella carrying a rifle on the way here. And is that blood on his jacket and hands?¡± The boy practically mashed his face against the glass. Cillian peered closer too. ¡°Sure looks it.¡± The security operative entered the dining hall, and everyone looked up expectantly, but he only froze at the doors and began counting the students. Silence stretched for a while, interrupted only by the clinking of cutlery. Eventually, he proclaimed, ¡°47 in total. One is missing.¡± Aoife rose and spoke up, ¡°Moira is in her room; she doesn¡¯t eat breakfast.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need to know that. You¡¯ll relay the information to her.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± she replied even though that hadn¡¯t sounded like a question. ¡°The headmaster calls for a general assembly in the auditorium at 8 o¡¯clock. Go through the main doors and turn left. Everyone should be dressed in uniform, including these.¡± He casually untied the neckerchief with his bloody right hand. ¡°One minute early is too late, understood? And in the meantime, don¡¯t go anywhere. There are matters currently happening outside that you have no business witnessing.¡± Not staying to see if there were any questions, the man spun around and began marching away. ¡°Will there be classes today?¡± a boy from Cillian¡¯s table called out. There was no reply, only the sound of the doors swinging shut. They watched the guard stalk back to one of the trucks. ¡°Cheerful fella,¡± Eamon commented while the transports reversed and disappeared back through the main gates. Cillian checked his pocket watch ¨C 07:35 ¨C and asked, ¡°What did he mean by ¡®matters outside¡¯? Nothing¡¯s happening.¡± Both boys returned to the table. ¡°Who knows. I get the inkling it¡¯s all deliberate, you feel me?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± Nuala asked. She hadn¡¯t bothered to stand or even pause her eating, it seemed, as her plate was now completely devoid of food. ¡°I mean all of it.¡± Eamon gestured around. ¡°No greetings yesterday, some mysterious rings you mentioned before, and now this arrival,¡° he nodded at the windows, ¡°suspiciously timed so we could see it. There might be a perfectly ordinary explanation for all that, but the bloody man with a firearm paying us a visit? Why not some ordinary staffer, hm? Cheap theatrics, I say. All of it.¡± ¡°For what purpose?¡± Patrick challenged. ¡°None of it made much of an impression.¡± ¡°Why yer asking me? I ain¡¯t the one who came up with it.¡± ¡°They¡¯ll tell us soon enough, I reckon. For now, we can at least put one myth to rest,¡± Cillian said. ¡°Which is?¡± Eamon raised his eyebrows. ¡°That all academy instructors are August chevaliers. There was a single fella wearing a mask, and I¡¯m pretty sure he only had two leaves etched on his left cheek.¡± ¡°Hadn¡¯t our mutual friend from the train already disillusioned us, manky culchies?¡± ¡°Aye. Not that I put much faith into his words.¡± ¡°Fair.¡± Eamon drank the rest of his lukewarm tea in two gulps and stood up. ¡°Anyway. M¡¯lady,¡± he bowed low to Nuala, ¡°I hope to see you again soon, otherwise¨C¡± ¡°We are in the same academy,¡± she remarked. ¡°¨Cotherwise I fear I¡¯d languish in despair for all eternity. Now that I got but a glimpse of your beauty¨C¡± ¡°Where are you going? It¡¯s still too early,¡± Cillian asked while Nuala mumbled something unintelligible. Eamon rolled his eyes. ¡°No one appreciates me refined manners. Fine. I just want to check out that folder you told me about. Also,¡± the boy gestured at his clothing, which was decidedly not their issued uniform, ¡°need to change. And, Kil, you aren¡¯t wearing the necker either.¡± That said, he twirled around and was gone in a blink. Eamon O¡¯Leary, cailini and fellas. Coming and going like a storm. ¡°Name¡¯s Cillian,¡± he grumbled, hurrying to finish his meal. ¡°You¡¯re friends?¡± Nuala inquired. ¡°Hm? No, no, we met on the train.¡± He turned to look at the yard again. ¡°Although, we¡¯ve already been in one scuffle together. I suppose it counts for something.¡± ¡°Scuffle?¡± ¡°You two came to blows?¡± Nuala and Patrick asked at the same time. But Cillian had already stuffed his mouth full of scrambled eggs and could only shrug in response. Friends. After so long, the notion inspired uncertainty rather than delight. Would he even be able to build lasting friendships, the way he was now? ¡°Just a minor one,¡± once swallowed, he clarified, seeing that his neighbors¡¯ curious faces weren¡¯t going away. ¡°And not with each other. Doesn¡¯t matter. I don¡¯t even recall what provoked it, that¡¯s how stupid it was.¡± A lot of the students were now heading for the doors. Before the pair could ask him any more questions, Cillian, too, rose to his feet. ¡°I¡¯ll see you in the auditorium, I guess. It was nice meeting you both. Eamon had the right idea though; need to get my attire in order.¡± He gave a polite nod, brought his tray to the scullery window, and ambled out of the hall. Well, nothing to it but try, I suppose. And Eamon seems like a fine option, Cillian mused on his way to the third floor. A couple of boys all but flew past him up the staircase. He watched them disappear. Aye. Not friends yet, but we¡¯ll see.
The auditorium turned out to be way more spacious than their measly half a hundred people warranted. Cillian and Eamon sat at one of the top rows straight down the middle, both properly dressed now. The former had not only put on the neckerchief but also exchanged his own boots for a pair of provided dress shoes. They were fiercely uncomfortable. ¡°You reckon that¡¯s the headmaster?¡± Eamon pointed at a grey-haired man standing at the center of the stage. ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like one to me, but what do I know. He seems tired.¡± In fact, all of the instructors appeared to be in various states of fatigue, and only three had taken time to swap their armor for normal clothing. Far to the left of the centerpiece fella, stood a woman in a dark brown dress with sleeves barely reaching the middle of her upper arms ¨C nothing unusual. Apart from the fact that the dress itself was cut into pieces. One piece for each shoulder, one figure-hugging piece going down from below her breasts all the way to the pelvis, and the final one for the skirt. The three parts covering the torso didn¡¯t quite meet, leaving an area where the woman¡¯s white blouse was peeking through ¨C wide at the chest level and narrowing down as it extended toward her neck. The two other instructors not dressed in armor flanked the woman. Both were men. The trio were also the only ones wearing hats ¨C fedoras all. However, the woman¡¯s one was, again, more fashionable as it sported a slightly off-center crown and a brim that was curving down a lot ¨C not in the middle but above her right eyebrow ¨C giving the hat an asymmetrical, skewed look. The attire succeeded in pulling eyes away from her face but did nothing to mask the woman¡¯s overall exhaustion. It was in the way her shoulders slouched, Cillian supposed. ¡°By the by,¡± Eamon fetched his string of tokens from a pocket, ¡°you know what these are for? I saw the ring mentioned in the logbook yoke but nothing about coins with holes in them. I thought maybe these were the rings, but I¡¯m 1, not 3.¡± ¡°Logbook¡­ I like it. The proper name is ¡®Chronicle¡¯ though. And the coins are tokens. I only know that for 1 token we can buy dinner, that¡¯s it. Local currency, I reckon. And I¡¯m a second-ringer myself.¡± ¡°Aether. Rings, tokens, chronicles ¨C why does it have to be so complicated?¡± ¡°My thoughts exactly.¡± ¡°Alright, settle down!¡± boomed a powerful voice, cutting through any and all conversations. A man, his appearance befitting the delivery, swiftly climbed to the stage and took a spot next to the grey-haired fella. The new arrival looked to be in his sixties and was entirely bold, but vitality radiated from his every movement and gesture. ¡°Everyone here? Good. Let us get through the agenda on the double.¡± The doors were pushed shut to punctuate the statement. ¡°My name is Donnacha Gorman, and I¡¯m the headmaster of Foerstner Chevalier Preparatory Academy. I¡¯m also an August chevalier myself. Every single instructor here is of the Noble rank with years of experience in the field. Niall Zweber,¡± he tapped the man beside him on the shoulder, ¡°is my deputy. I do apologize for our appearance, we were engaged in some rather important and bloody matters until very recently.¡± He did look disheveled ¨C the long sleeves of his dress shirt were carelessly rolled up, and the neckerchief lay limply around his neck, untied. ¡°These two gentlemen and the lady,¡± headmaster Gorman gestured to his right, ¡°are instructors Rian Thalacker, Mairead Gehler, and Tiernan O¡¯Rourke. Down below are Aisling Haertel and Rory Gehler. And at the doors is Callum Hipke. You will meet the rest later. The proper forms of address are ¡®sir¡¯ and ¡®ma¡¯am¡¯. ¡®Instructor¡¯ is also acceptable. ¡°On behalf of the academy, I welcome you all. Your hard climb to the top begins now. You have questions, no doubt, and I will answer some of them. Others ¨C you will have to find the answers on your own.¡± Muffled noise came from outside the auditorium ¨C some stomping and rattling of metal ¨C but the man ignored it. ¡°First, you do not get graded in the traditional sense. We maintain internal rankings, but you will rarely see them. All I can say is that hard work gets rewarded, and it¡¯s not all about results.¡± The fella at the doors ¨C instructor Hipke ¨C cracked them open and stuck his head through the gap. ¡°Second, we have two forms of currency here ¨C tokens and stones. You should all have some tokens by now. They can be used for mundane things like meals, cleaning your gear, mending clothes, more frequent correspondence with Lua ¨C the like. Obviously, you don¡¯t have to pay for most of it, and, in fact, the main goal is to give you no choice but to learn how to handle these simple but vital tasks on your own. To that end, tokens can also be used for less mundane acquisitions. Examples include buying extra hours and ammunition for the ranges, renting restricted books from the repository, and buying supplementary equipment for competitions.¡± He gave them a somewhat predatory smile. ¡°You will get a chance to figure out what I mean by the latter soon enough.¡± Callum Hipke shut the doors again and gave the headmaster a crisp nod. ¡°As for the stones, well, all you have to know for now is that the tokens are meant for items available in a more or less boundless supply, while the stones are for limited commodities. It¡¯ll become clear later. The next point is¨C¡± Deputy Zweber leaned in to whisper in the man¡¯s ear. ¡°Right. Thank you, Niall,¡± he said in a normal volume. ¡°I forgot to mention that you are free to trade the tokens between each other. How you set prices is up to you, we are not going to regulate it, got it?¡± Not waiting for an acknowledgment, he moved on, ¡°Now, onto the matter number three. To spend tokens you have to first earn them. The handouts you received earlier are a one-off. You earn tokens by completing assignments, which can vary from simple written tests on various subjects and general chores to hands-on missions, sometimes lasting several days. Nothing too dangerous ¨C believe me, we are very aware that you lot are barely adults ¨C at least until you have any genuine skills to contribute. ¡°Which brings me to the rings. Speaking frankly, your ring directly affects your earnings. That is, the higher your ring is, the more tokens and stones you can make.¡± He left the statement hanging for a few heartbeats. Umm, what does that mean? Cillian exchanged uncertain glances with Eamon. ¡°Potentially. The exact formula is a secret, but you can think of it like this: ¡°Completing assignments equates tokens, but how you complete them is often up to you. Some of them are strictly individual, but most practical ones have to be fulfilled in groups of predetermined sizes. There is always a base reward for completion, which is used as the starting point. Then, in the formula, the average ring of the group members is used as a multiplier.¡± The man paused to let that sink in. ¡°Of course, it¡¯s not quite as simple as that since there are always things like out-of-control circumstances, impeding injuries, bonus rewards for exceptional performance, and other additional factors to consider, but I hope the general implications are clear to you all.¡± Oh you gotta be kidding me. Cillian grimaced. ¡°I imagine some of you might think it¡¯s unfair. After all, why hand an edge to those who already enjoy the advantage of better prior education and closer ties to the company? And the answer is simple: such is life. Our families and backgrounds make us inherently unequal. Like it or not, this is how things work.¡± The man swept his intense gaze over the gathered faces. ¡°There are only 14 first and second-ringers in this entire cohort. But don¡¯t fret, it¡¯s not all bad for you. I was of the first ring myself back in the day. And, like I said, every assignment, no matter tedious or exciting, offers extra rewards for exceeding expectations. Which means there¡¯s no reason for those of a higher ring to not consider you if they think that your contribution would offset any losses caused by the decreased average ring.¡° He clapped once, which served as the signal for the doors to be opened. ¡°It¡¯s all secondary, regardless. Work hard, follow our instructions, and you will succeed. As for what you have to aspire toward¡­¡± The heavy wooden barriers swung open, and both Cillian and Eamon leaned forward with interest. ¡°Follow me and don¡¯t rush,¡± came a muted voice from the corridor. First through the doorway marched a chevalier ¨C that nobleman with the mask ¨C who proceeded to join his colleagues waiting below the stage. The three of them spread out to stand next to the seats of the lowest row ¨C the one the students had been warned not to occupy ¨C as if preparing to shield the audience. What followed next was a procession of platform carts, each clearing the bumpy threshold with a rattle and then rolling in ponderously. Every cart was being propelled by a single individual, but Cillian didn¡¯t even notice them at first, his attention was directed squarely at the cargo. ¡°Second-years,¡± Eamon muttered. Huh? Cillian glanced at the faces of the new arrivals. Aren¡¯t they supposed to be already gone? But it had to be them, he reckoned, as all three looked young, which was visible even beneath all the grime covering their faces. Dirt was literally falling off them as they strained to push the cages deeper inside. Well, the one at the front wasn¡¯t really a cage but a giant glass ball. And inside sat a creature that he could only describe as a lump of green slime. An enormous eyeball swirled to look at them from that lump, seemingly straight at Cillian. He blinked in surprise. The eye blinked too, albeit slowly, as if savoring every wee bit of the motion. The reaction among the students was mixed ¨C someone laughed nervously while a fella on the second row cursed loudly and pressed himself deeper into the seat. Aye, that would surely help. The advance stopped, and the doors were pushed closed once again. The beast¡¯s semisolid shell sparkled in the warm light, but he got a distinctive impression that it was supposed to be glowing too but wasn¡¯t. Then a single tentacle began emerging from the body. Cillian watched in fascination as the appendage grew and grew, green droplets splashing down, while the main mass was shrinking. He didn¡¯t know the species but surmised that the overall volume had to remain constant. The tentacle reached the glass, and the featureless stump separated into three ¡°fingers¡±, which immediately stuck to the smooth surface as if sucked in by a pump. ¡°A brave choice,¡± Cillian commented. ¡°Craic, innit?¡± Eamon looked down at the scene with glee. The student next to the cart, a girl, who was clearly the companion¡¯s master, smiled gently at the creature. Chevaliers almost always preferred either majestic or terrifying beasts. The slime was just disgusting. Although captivating at the same time, Cillian had to admit. He forced his gaze sideways. The creature in the middle was housed in an actual cage. This one he was familiar with. A mongrel. That was, a single individual of the species known as mongrelfolk. One of several species that resembled humans. Or, in this particular case, leprechauns ¨C stocky little men from folklore. The heavily muscled, to the point of being comical, creature appeared to be sulking while sitting flat on its arse and scrutinizing the floor. At least, its main head was angled down. The creature¡¯s second head was pointed toward the audience, but its eyes were closed, the mind behind them sleeping. Not a surprise, considering it was the head of an infant. The dichotomy between the dominant neckless head with the face of an old bearded drunkard and the much smaller secondary head on a short yet powerful neck was fiercely unsettling. Clearly, not to Cillian alone if the tense silence among the first-years was any indication. The reason for the mongrel¡¯s glum mood was pretty obvious ¨C it was bleeding. Hard to say from where though since the brown rags that passed for its clothes were stained with red all over. Cillian could hear the main head¡¯s labored breathing, now that he concentrated on it. He imagined that if you looked at the creature from its right side only, it would appear almost entirely human since both the infant head and the enormous crab-like claw that served as its left arm would be out of sight. The other appendages seemed human enough, discounting the somewhat swollen right hand and both feet. Whereas the first two companions were disgusting and unsettling, respectively, the final one was just pure banality. Yet another rougarou. A miniaturized version of the one he¡¯d seen at the graduation ceremony, only without armor. It, too, appeared injured. In fact, there was an entire chunk missing from its rocky shoulder as if someone had taken a bite out of it. It had to have been a mighty jaw indeed. The companion stood proudly, glaring at them and caring neither about the large hole nor a series of smaller ones littering the edges of its moss-covered torso. The strangest part was how silent all three of the beasts were. The eye kept blinking, the sedate action sharply contrasting with the tentacle¡¯s haphazard dance along the glass. The mongrel kept breathing. And the rougarou kept imitating a statue. Apart from the wheezing of air, no sounds escaped the freak show in front of them. The masters themselves were in a better physical shape. Marginally. The rightmost student, a boy, was grimacing and had his arm in a sling. And he had to push the big cage with one arm. Ouch. The fella in the middle sported a bandaged head. Only the girl wasn¡¯t visibly harmed. And all three of them looked like they¡¯d been mud-wrestling with wild boars for hours and had blood on their gambesons and armor to show for it. ¡°These are the ones least injured among the, as of this moment, second-year students,¡± headmaster Gorman proclaimed with a proud smile. ¡°We¡¯ve just returned from the end-of-the-year competition. The competition finalizing the sorting order for selecting assignment posts. The competition determining whether they would spend the entirety of the next year on the border with rotfangs or get a chance to go on an expedition into one of the many lost cities. That competition.¡± The man gestured at the trio of human-monster pairs at his feet. ¡°They did well. Most of the students did. Unfortunately, there can only ever be one winner, and there is always a very real chance of failure, in which case you don¡¯t get to transition to the second year at all.¡± All of a sudden, he jumped down from the stage, landing right next to the mongrel, fetched a dagger from the holster on his belt, and began rattling the bars with it. The companion¡¯s master scowled but said nothing. ¡°Come on, you mopey piece of niss-shit, wake up!¡± The old head growled and shook side to side, still not looking up, then the beast lifted its right arm and swatted at the cage as if trying to get rid of an annoying bug. But headmaster Gorman proved to be an insistent pest. He transitioned to pushing and pulling the cart rapidly back and forth while keeping up the barrage of insults. ¡°Useless lump of meat, you almost got your master killed today, didn¡¯t you? Wake UP!¡± In all likelihood, the companion couldn¡¯t understand anything. Resembling a human or not, it was still a young beast, if a somewhat tamed one. But it clearly didn¡¯t care for being disturbed and rattled ¨C its one proper hand curled into a fist, and its growls were rapidly growing in volume. Then, like a hammer blow, the man drove the flat of his boot into the cage, and the mongrel finally snapped its main head up with a ferocious snarl, and, at the same time, the infant woke up and wailed. Heaven! Cillian covered his ears, the same as everyone else. The hell is he doing?! With speed that belied its ungainly body, the companion moved to its knees, mashed its big head against the bars, and stuck the arm out as far as it would go, trying to reach for the offender, while its claw began banging on the metal, too big to do the same. The infant carried on wailing. Headmaster Gorman only smiled in satisfaction and calmly gestured for his colleagues to start rolling the cages away. They all watched in silence as the mongrel kept trying to claw its way to the man all the way out the doors, while the eye in the slime spun and darted around in clear agitation inside its shell, the tentacle nowhere to be found. The rougarou remained still. Once the doors clicked closed, muffling both the snarling and the horrible yowling, he climbed back to the stage. At their bewildered looks, the man shrugged. ¡°The lad should¡¯ve done it himself long ago. It¡¯s no good for a mongrel to act all dejected and broken, not after a fight. But youngsters like you are often too soft.¡± He sighed and cleared his throat. ¡°Anyway. What awaits them now is a couple of weeks in isolation to put themselves back together, both the masters and the companions. It¡¯s an important part of forming a bond, so don¡¯t bother the seniors if you happen to see them. And, as for you, dear newbies,¡± a predatory smile found its way back to his face, ¡°you are a long way off something as exciting as this. For you, it will be hard, often dreary work week in, week out before you even get a sniff of your own companion. Because, as of right now, you¡¯re nowhere near ready.¡± He invited the trio of non-armored instructors to join him at the center of the stage with a wave. ¡°Instructors Thalacker, Gehler, and O¡¯Rourke will take it from here. And I will meet you again tomorrow.¡± With that, he whispered something to his deputy, and they both began striding away. ¡°Isn¡¯t tomorrow Sunday?¡± Eamon muttered. Once near the doors though, the headmaster halted, faced the audience again, and stated, ¡°Welcome to your new lives, boys and girls! Now prove to the company, prove to me that you deserve to become chevaliers. Remember, I will be watching.¡± The doors swung shut for the umpteenth time behind the duo. Everyone¡¯s way too dramatic in here, Cillian thought while eyeing the other students¡¯ reactions. Some of them appeared utterly unfazed. ¡°Alright,¡± the woman ¨C instructor Gehler, was it? ¨C spoke up, ¡°that¡¯s enough excitement for today. It¡¯s time for you to get familiar with the place. We,¡± she gestured at herself and her colleagues, ¡°will take you on a tour.¡±