“Ordinary.”
North makes a skeptical little sound in his throat. “So there are rules, then? For this magic you can do?”
Though his voice is kind enough, the words he chooses are clear. “Why do you ask me questions if you believe I am lying to you?”
He hesitates. “It’s not that I think you’re lying. I just wonder if what you call magic is just science by another name.”
“I could show you the fireseed, speak the invocation, let you see the spell fail because of the sky-steel—would that convince you?”
North’s breath comes out in a long sigh. “I’ve offended you—I’m sorry.” I can hear him moving, a rustle of fabric on stone, and then without any warning at all, a dim blue glow illuminates his face.
I jerk back in surprise, my shoulder blades hitting the wall of the tunnel. “How …” My head spins, and not just from the presence of so much sky-steel inhibiting my powers. “You—you can use magic?” And use ithere, surrounded by the one thing that renders all magic inert.
North’s gaze flicks up, brow furrowed—then his eyes widen in surprise. “Magic? No—science, like I said. Technology, see?” He lifts his arm, showing me a round, glowing panel affixed to a bracelet. “It’s called a chrono—a chronometer. Everyone has them up in Alciel. In the cloudlands.”
My heart thuds against my ribs. “A power strong enough to work despite the sky-steel?”
“It’s notpower,” he says, “not like you mean it. It’s got a battery.”
“And what does the battery do?”
“It …” He lets out a soft huff, and sounds like he wants to laugh. “Well, it provides power to the light. It stores the power, then lets it out as needed.”
“It sounds very much like an instrument of magic to me,” I tell him, running my fingertips over the charms ringing the blade end of my spearstaff, each one as familiar to my touch as anything in this world.
“What are those?” he asks softly.
“These are my udjet,” I say, studying them by the blue glow of North’s light. “They are charms, my own instruments of magic. I do not think you would understand.”
“Do they represent elements?” North guesses. “Or maybe different gods you pray to? Or are they like the things in those pouches you wear, ingredients for different spells?”
“Magic requires a tranquil mind,” I say. “Harmony with your thoughts. To be that still, you must know who you are—all of you. A magician’s udjet … it’s an ancient word forsoul. They remind me of who I am.”
North smiles tentatively. “I like that.” He looks at the charms again, reaching out to indicate one of them. “Tell me about this one.”
“From a pilgrimage I made to Intisuyu, the sun lands, when I was a little girl.” It was just after I was called as the living divine, but I do not say this aloud. “I found the stone among the ruins, and Daoman, my … my guardian, had it polished and wrapped with silver to hang as a charm.”
“And this one? I think I can guess what this one’s about.”
I inspect the little gold figurine of a seated cat resting on his fingertips. “He has been my companion most of my life,” I say. “He is a part of who I am.”
“What about this one?” He moves his hand, reaching for the little sea-glass bottle, the figure of a tall-masted ship etched on the inside. I do not say to him that it is not done, touching a magician’s charms without an invitation. His interest warms me.
“I always used to dream of traveling,” I murmur. “My … friend, and I, we would tell each other stories of the lands across the ocean and make plans to go there.” I reach out to touch the little bottle as well, my fingertips a breath away from North’s.
Elkisa. I’m so sorry.
“You haven’t been yet?” he asks.
“Not yet,” I reply weakly.
He shifts his light to inspect the next of the charms, but his attention is caught by something beside me, and he blinks, then shifts to lean in closer to the wall.
“Whoa, look at this.” The movement of his hand shifts the way the glow of his bracelet lands on the stone, and tiny pinpricks of reflected light spring up and vanish as he tilts it to and fro. Then the light catches on a long seam in the rock. “Wait—this is cement?”
I blink at him, still trying to understand what he is asking.
North glances back at me. “This place—it’s man-made?”
