A boy and my own death.
A future I don’t care about and another I shouldn’t be able to see.
Maybe I asked the question wrong?As I shimmer back towards the dorms, that thought works to calm the roaring swell of panic. Maybe my inability to ask the right questions has finally done me a kindness. Maybe this scrambled missive is just the future’s way of telling me to stop messing with forbidden power.
Maybe, hopefully, please.I spend the rest of the night cursing my rash decision, trying to make sense of the mess of colors, feelings, and sights. Could all the death I saw be a metaphor of some kind? Ora riddle? Or a test? What if open questions don’t elicit the kind of visions I’ve been taught to interpret? What if they require a whole different set of skills I don’t possess?
Gods, Raya, how could you be so stupid.It suddenly occurs to me just how little I know about the spell I so recklessly cast. We’ve always been prohibited from asking open questions, so Professor Lyons never took the time to explain what the resulting visions would look like; the discussion begins withdon’t do itand ends withbecause most Indigos aren’t powerful enough to weather them unscathed.
But I’m not most Indigos—everyone made that plenty clear from the moment I set foot in the castle. They made me believe that Iwaspowerful enough to do this, and if nothing else, I was certainly desperate enough to try.
Well then,try, Ray. It’s Akari’s voice that spurs me to act. That’s what she’d say if I confessed to this blunder, and she’d be absolutely right. I may have made this decision recklessly, but it would be more reckless to not even give the magic a chance. What I lack in this moment isn’t power, it’s knowledge. I need to learn how to decipher the madness instead of dismissing it out of hand.
The archives. In an instant, I’ve lurched out of bed and set to dressing. If there are answers to be found, that’s where they’ll be.
“Is there a reason you’re banging around at the ass crack of dawn?” Akari grumbles, blinking up at me with bleary eyes.
“Not a good one. Go back to sleep.”
“You go back to sleep.” She tosses a pillow at my head. “Class doesn’t start for hours.”
“Yeah, well, you were right—I need to focus on my questions.” I feed her a half-truth in lieu of a lie. “I want to sneak in some reading.”
“Then sneak quieter next time.” Her face disappears beneath the covers. “And don’t sneak too hard.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I slip out of the room before she wakes enough to notice the guilt in my voice and the crime in my expression, the devil on my shoulder whispering,fate-touched, fate-touched. Akari went to great lengths to stop me wrecking my future, only forme to go to even greater lengths to cast a spell I don’t fully understand. When she finds out what I did, she’s going to read me for riot, and I don’t need the future’s help to know that shewillfind out. The least I can do is make sense of my vision before that happens—that way, maybe it’ll feel like less of a betrayal.
The Academy archives command their very own wing in the castle, three whole floors filled with a veritable oasis of books, papers, scrolls, ledgers, and guides. These shadowed halls contain everything there is to know about magic—new, old, outdated, and banned. The real question now is: where do I start looking?
In which book will I find the answers I need?My first instinct is to reach for the power in my blood, ask the future.
Except you can’t. In place of the vision I expect, my mind meets only silence, as though my color has drained itself dull.
We don’t ask open questions because it’s impossible to predict which subsequent questions the future will consider a repeat.I’ve lost track of how many times Professor Lyons has issued us that warning, spelling out the risk so clearly the words rang like crystal.An open question jeopardizes our relationship with the fates. It’s too big of a risk for too small of a reward—that’s why the practice is forbidden.
The full weight of what I’ve done turns my mouth bitter. A part of me had hoped that he was overplaying the danger, steering us away from the old technique in favor of the new method the Council likes. I didn’t truly believe that I’d be one of the unlucky few who lose the ability to askeverything. The big stuff, yes, obviously, but not these minor, inconsequential asks.
Too late to worry about that now. . . I shimmer towards the stacks that house the Indigo collection, trying not to let the panic eat right through my skin. The fates have ignored some of my questions before; it’s not terribly common, but sometimes, no matter how hard or how perfectly you ask, a vision simply won’t appear—usually when the answer encompasses too many unmade choices. That’s yet another reason why open questions are considered bad form for an accomplished seer: they can only show you the broader strokes, they don’t shed light on the finer details. And though the question I justaskedshouldlead to an outcome that is solid and clear, the silence doesn’t necessarily mean that I’ve lost the ability to cast for good. The future could just be trying to teach me a lesson.
Consider that lesson well and truly learned. I start scanning the shelves for any book that might prove promising. An archivist could direct my search more effectively, but it’s too early in the day for one to be on duty, and they all know me by name and color, so if I do ask for help, they’ll wonder why I’m not using my regular tricks. That, plus the fact that I’m sniffing around a forbidden magic, would almost certainly arouse suspicion, and that’s one risk more than I’m willing to take. So instead, I guess, plucking out the titles that seem most likely to fit.A Variable Magic . . . Harnessing the Future . . . On Premonition. . . By the time I settle on a book to start with, there’s a hefty stack of literature gathered at my feet.
The Evolution of Indigo Techniques Through the Ages.As I crack open the lengthy tome, I once againinstinctively reach for my magic, imploring the future to take pity and narrow down my search.On what page will I find the information I’m looking for?
The nothing I receive back is even frostier the second time.
One ignored question I could rationalize away as a fluke, but two? In the space of a few minutes? That feels more like a sign. And it’s not pointing in a great direction.
The old-fashioned way it is. I start flipping through the musty pages. It’s almost funny, really. I’ve spent so long being told that I’m bad at using my power, I never fully realized how dependent I’ve grown on the future for the little things. The mundane, day-to-day questions that don’t impress Professor Lyons but help me get through the week.
Nothing more mundane than having to search a book cover to cover for an answer that isn’t there . . .It takes me a full bell to discount the first lot of books I gathered, then another to round up a new set of options and make the barest hint of a find.
A Future Worth Seeing: An Indigo’s Guide to Preserving Their Relationship with the Fates, by Eldrick Fernay.The spine on this behemoth is thick with dust and worn through with age, the vellum inside curling at the edges. Doesn’t get much use, clearly. Then again, why wouldit? For generations now, the only rule that mattered forpreserving our relationship with the fateswas to avoid asking open questions altogether. Reading up on the whys wasn’t time well spent.
An open question is a question so vast it forces the fates to reveal the threads of destiny.
The relevant chapter opens exactly as I expect.
But owing to their distinct distaste for repeat premonitions, the fates are then—
