It would grow worse if I did nothing.
The headache I sported was also a side effect. Using Origin Magic was a lovely, lovely feeling in the flow of the moment—the absolute notion that I was doing what I was meant to do. But afterward under thousands of lines of “other code” wrapped in the world—especially in the broken one of the Third Layer—my brain was still trying to sort out what everything meant and to catalog where everything went.
At Excelsine, I hadn’t had any of this type of trouble. The excessive amount of magic and connections around me had made using magic effortless.
Painting helped me sort and wrap the data into images. Even if there were...side effects.
I headed toward my quarters, hood pulled low to block out the magic of the people and world around me, with my head bowed to let my nose bleed in some semblance of privacy.
I didn't get far before an official with a bright yellow insignia at the side of the wrap-around collar of his throat stepped into my path and clicked his heels together.
His bright pin stood out like a miniature sun on his black uniform. I liked to call the people dressed in such a way “the bees”—especially now when the yellow blur seemed to be in manic flight. Better than thinking of them in a far more sinister manner, like the Department enforcers with their silver pinned collars. I had no idea why the governments in the Third Layer had patterned themselves in a similar style to the Second Layer enforcers they hated.
“Council meeting, Miss Crown,” he said, clicking his heels together again. “They are waiting for you.”
Maybe it was just the current fashion trend. Delia would know.
“Miss Crown?”
“Yes, of course.” I subsumed the patterns beneath an even more blinding headache, pulled forth “survival mode” for my magic, and set off for the deepest cavern in the mountain. It was like trying to rope and ride a migraine without doing anything beneficial to taming it. But with each step, I buried a little bit more and brought myself back to “normal.”
The world wavered. Something in the distance—in my tower—exploded, and the man at my side jumped.
I shut my eyes and pulled myself together.
The massive stone doors creaked open. I gripped the hems on my sleeves, pushed the last of my magic behind the shield I was picturing in my mind, and stepped inside the cavern that housed the council of the Western Outlands.
Even with my safeguards in place, Kaine's presence had me on edge, and I peered cautiously through the dark sloping shadows. I reminded myself that Kaine wouldn't be able to breach such fortifications—not without access to the Second Layer justice magic wielded by the Department that allowed him to slip within the dark cracks.
Kaine was the bogeyman in the night.
But in the Third Layer, in the middle of Outlaw Territory, Kaine's magic would light up like a beacon.
Still, I checked deep in the darkest recesses for Stygian shifts and the edges of the shadows for curling claws.
I let my hood fall back as I approached the forum.
Council meetings had been occurring with increasing frequency, and at each gathering, more representatives assembled. I could see the Ophidians in the section they always inhabited, alongside scores of other Outlaw tribes. Frost Viper, the Ophidian I knew best, gave me a slow nod. The jeweled containers I had given her were shrunken and twinkling in the cuffs attached to the shells of her ears.
Amid the assembly, seated in five large chairs were the council heads of the Western Outlaw Territory.
“Origin Mage,” said the imposing and weathered woman of indeterminate years who always sat in the middle chair.
“Ren,” I corrected.
The woman tilted her head. “Origin Mage, we were just informed that you brought us another.”
“A boy named Liam, who just turned seventeen—”
“That's the fifth feral in half as many days,” the woman said.
I curled my fingers into fists. I thought of the last empty chamber. “I know.”
“The Department is using your magic to find and activate Awakenings.”
“And the Awakenings are getting worse,” the council member to her left added. “More children are carrying the tendrils of Origin Magic adjacent gifts.”
I felt the rebuke deep within my gut. “With such gifts, they will be powerful allies to you.”
“The Department will come for them.”
I stepped forward. “Not if we take Stavros out of the Department—”
Murmurs grew.
“You understand little of what you are saying,” the council member said sharply. “Although Enton Stavros is the power behind the Department, Second Layer citizens are the ones who give him his position. You underestimate what mages are capable of ignoring in their quest for security and abundance.”
“I understand what mages are capable of ignoring,” I said softly.
The woman looked at me, her expression sympathetic, but her jaw firm. “Your brother was but one victim. We have thousands in this room. And in this layer, there are millions. The Second Layer has been able to crush us since the Breaking. It has been seventy years since our world was devastated, the magic halved. And in that time, what has happened? The histories detail the truth. The Second Layer wants a man like Stavros in power.”
“I will fix this layer. The atrium test shows that it can be done. And the new city will be a success. What was once, can be again.” A hologram burst into the air above my palm—a replica of Aurum, The Golden City, that had been destroyed seventy years before. “And then the Second Layer will be forced to look upon you as an equal.”
The woman in the center silenced the murmurs and flares of excitement. “The atrium is an incredible achievement. And our scientists are excited about the new city’s progress. We understand your power. But understand, Origin Mage, that though justice and flame kindle in our breasts, we are survivors. We don't have the grand desires of some of our brethren in the other territories to own what once belonged to our ancestors. We seek to work with what we have, and to increase our abilities and lives each day in the small ways we can afford. We, too, want security and abundance, just like the Second Layer populace, but most here were born with neither. Finding abundance in a world of scarcity is a tale told to children to give them hope in an otherwise hopeless circumstance. And a way for those in power to blame us when we fail.”
“Your world can be fixed. I can fix it. Look—”
“Child.” There was a soft rebuke in the word, as the distinguished woman to her right leaned forward. “I near eighty with but half a cycle of moons to go. I remember the Breaking. I lived in the splendor of The Golden City, and only escaped its destruction due to the deathbed visit to my grandfather on the other side of the world the night before. I remember the grand promises of Flavel Valeris and the scientists who flocked around him. I remember his tests, so magnificent. So easy. His dedication to his craft was absolute—his promises for more were without artifice.”