Magic Collapse: Secrets Beyond the Skies, #1

Contents

For Sam

Stow Away

Year 1901 of Arthenia's founding:

Garrick despised the surrounding magic. The bustle of the docks hummed with magic. The catch of the day flew into barrels, some rolled down the dock towards the market, others stacked up on the dock. Lesser mages cast more spells. Ropes moved on their own towards the dock. He watched the ropes twine around the cleats, then pulled the last ship of the evening into the dock. Lesser mages followed the rolling barrels.

The best time to sneak onto the ship would be after this bustle, when they offloaded the cargo from Mar-Sal, but before the night watch showed up. When the weary crew would be in a hurry to stretch their legs. Stretch their legs right to the bars and brothels, that is. His jealousy raged as he watched a talented mage lift much of the cargo into the air. He swallowed that rage and tried to comfort himself with the ironic thought of using one of his dad's ships to make his escape. Garrick waited behind a crate while the mages from the last ship worked efficiently. They brought barrels of fish on board as they took the cargo off. The work went fast, but something felt off. This should have been completed before he'd arrived. Something had slowed them down.

The group of mages finished with their task of unloading and walked his way. Sulking behind the crates looked suspicious, so he grabbed a broom, pulled his hat down to shade his face, and started sweeping the docks. The three mages approached. Garrick briefly pulled his hat up for a better look. Was that Tom and Marcel? They'd grown a lot since he'd played with them as kids. Well, so had he. He didn't know the third mage in the group.

Tom, the tallest of the trio, took the lead. These trips take so long, especially this time of year, when the island is so far from Mar-Sal.

The unknown mage dropped his bag on the dock. Yeah, why don't we just extend the portal network to Ro-Tawgh, then no more need for ships.

Marcel said, Won't work, not over that distance. It'd take an army of mages to power the stones for one trip. He struggled to position the bag over the other mage's shoulder.

Tom ignored Garrick. No hint that he saw him as he walked closer. Looks like we have an expert in the group. If you're so smart, why are you down here with us and not up at some fancy school running the place? He cast a spell. The heavy bag floated off the mage's shoulder.

Thanks Tom. The unknown mage laughed. Could be we just don't want an open door between them and our backyard.

Garrick, for a moment, wished he could be that mage. To laugh with his friends like they were kids again, before it was apparent that he would never cast a spell. That was when his mom left him, and the beatings had begun. He swept wildly at the dock.

Tom said, What, you think we are worried about an invasion from them? We have magic, they don't.

Garrick moved to the side and kept his head down, and did his best to look like he belonged. The group ignored him as he'd hoped. Everyone always did. Well, almost always. The group of mages walked by, and Garrick repositioned himself to catch the rest of the conversation. Tom slowed down and turned back.

Marcel asked, Are you sure they don't have magic? Did you see that show? Guy knocked off those jugs using that metal stick from across the room! Made one hell of a bang.

Yeah, and that carriage drove around in circles. Without a horse pulling it!

Tom turned back to the group. Was just fake, probably a guy behind a curtain and rope pulling the carriage. He glanced at Garrick, but said nothing.

Garrick held his breath until the group stepped off the dock. Their skin had bronzed much darker, his remained a lighter shade. Tom was darker than he was! Mar-Sal, the main port city of Ro-Tawgh, had lots of sunshine. Good to remember, his complexion would darken like theirs had. He wasn't of the fairest complexion, likely because of his mixed blood, which many attributed to his lack of magic. The theory had many holes in it. Plenty of magicless or weak mages were born throughout the kingdom, but the stigma stuck, and Garrick despised it. He couldn't wait to leave. The desert country of Ro-Tawgh seemed more inviting every day.

He wiped the wetness from his lips and winced. Blood from his wound dripped to the dock. He fetched the already blood-soaked rag from his pocket and held it up to his split lip. The fat lip had broken open again. He felt the tender bruised tissue of his cheek and it hurt like hell. After he was sure his lip had stopped bleeding, he put the rag back in his pocket. He knew how to handle bumps and bruises and was grateful that's all this was. The pain he felt settled into resolve and he went about his task. He looked back to the group leaving the dock and crept along with the cargo they'd left on the dock. The second shift would be here soon to clear the docks, so he had to move swiftly.

The ship waited for him, and he took another glance to make sure no one was heading this way. Music played from bars, the sound carried across the bay, Garrick was counting on the dock workers being entertained. He'd paid the girls at the bars with gold he'd stolen from his dad and promised them more.

He readied himself to climb the rope. The rope sagged when he put his weight on in. He was almost in the water and hugged the rope tighter. The climb should have been easy, but between his care to climb swiftly and quietly, and his bruises, he was exhausted. Up at the top, he rolled over the ship's railing and hit the deck hard on his bruised ribs. He choked the yelp of pain down and bit his lip to prevent anymore screams of pain; This caused it to trickle a few drops of blood.

He snuck up to the captain's cabin wall and around to the ocean side, out of sight of the dock workers. There he would wait until night to slip into the hold. He could hear the second shift footsteps on the dock below and settled in, keeping his profile low. His plan was simple; stay out of sight long enough for the ship to set sail. That should be easy. The crews were all lazy and relaxed at the port. This ship, the newly commissioned Arcturus, while his father's, had a crew list he didn't know. So, they shouldn't know him either. While Stowaways were uncommon, the rumor was the captain would allow one or two, at least when leaving the port, and if they carried their weight. He only worried if they would expect him to cast spells. But he couldn't remain here any longer. Those coming from the southern islands usually cost a hefty price, but this was a one-way trip. If they found him too soon after setting sail, the ship would turn around and he would be responsible for the extra cost and, worse, face his dad again.

Never Enough

Robyn swung the sword hard into her bedpost and then swung again. She stopped to smirk a little at the chipped pieces that had splintered from the frame. If only she could swing the sword into her problems as easily, but smashing up the lavish bed frame and making it imperfect made her feel better. Perfection everywhere, ugh. The thought took her smile away.

Footsteps stormed from the hallway, echoing off the glass. She waved her hands in a few circles, sending light to the bedpost, rushing the spell a little, speeding the splintered pieces of wood back to their rightful place and mending the bedpost like it was never broken. Mostly like it had never been broken. A sharp eye would see the imperfections. She admired the slight glow running along the scratches. She stopped the spell when the banging on her door started, and one remaining wood chip fell to the floor and the light faded away. Robyn stashed the sword behind the door and turned back into her room, where the scarred lines on the bedpost faded away. She stood between the bedpost and the doorway.

Her mother, Margaret Anne Shaw, barged into Robyn's bedroom and inquired, What was that magic? You're supposed to be getting ready for dinner. She peered around the room and frowned when she saw the wood chip on the floor. Margaret approached Robyn, eying the bedpost.

Robyn said, I'm well aware, Mother, the magic was nothing. I was just tidying the room. She made a motion of pecking over the already pristine room, making tiny meaningless adjustments. Anything to draw her mother's attention away from the bedpost.

Margaret picked over Robyn's blouse and eyed her riding slacks. You're not wearing that, I hope.

One glance at her mother's deep red evening dress with floral print told her everything. As she pulled away from her mother, Robyn said, No, mother, I was just changing.

Walking into the closet, Margaret hummed taking the lead; then took a formal dress, holding it up over Robyn briefly before placing it on the bed. A blue evening dress that was only last week far too inappropriate to wear to the university. Here, wear this. I think he will love it.

Robyn replied, Who will love it?

Opening the lavish jewelry chest, Margaret plucked over the gems inside. Your uncle is guiding a royal lord around. They will dine with us. She rummaged in the box until collecting an expensive diamond necklace and matching earrings, placing them both on the bed along with the dress; then ran her hands over the slightly splintered wood grains that Robyn had been destroying. Her mouth tightened. I do hope you would come to your senses.

You're not setting me up with a pompous lord from off-island. This is all because I looked into the police training program. Robyn flopped on the bed, pushing the dress and jewels away from her.

You had best be on your best behavior tonight, get changed quickly. And please don't prance around about your career choices. We will discuss that on another day.

Well, give me some privacy and I'll get changed.

Her mother stopped at the door and said, I mean it. Best behavior, mind your tongue, and don't make the family look ungrateful. She looked behind the door and grabbed the sword. Seriously, a sword in this house? How many times have I told you to leave your training swords outside? Why couldn't you pick a proper school activity like dancing or art? She drew out that last word, letting the r roll off her tongue. With a final scolding look back at Robyn, she took off down the hallway with the sword tucked under her arm.

Mother. Robyn closed the door behind her, then discarded the dress and looked for an appropriate dress for such a formal dinner. Why couldn't her mother bother to inform Robyn of the schedule beforehand? Robyn considered a black dress that would annoy her mother for sure. She settled on a green dress that reminded her of spring. It was also the most composed one yet. She caught herself wondering who the lord was and shook her head at that thought. Best not to go down the path her mother wishes. What's wrong with getting a proper education followed by an actual career, anyway? I know she loves art and made it her career, but why does she have to push it on me?

Robyn returned the necklace but kept the earrings, then rummaged in her drawers until she found it buried under all the jewels. She opened the little box and pulled out the small, slightly off-color crystal. Not ugly by any standard, but very subpar to the other jewels. She knew it would bother her mother. But her mother couldn't say anything. While no one believed the other parts of the story, no one disputed that the family heirloom was the reason for their family's position in society. She ran her finger over the ancient royal crest. That crest had not been used for at least five hundred years, but this amulet was much older.. She grabbed a chain from a necklace and strung the heirloom on the chain. Wearing this will surely give her mother a fit. She checked herself in the mirror and gave her shoulder-length brown hair three quick passes over with the brush.

Five fine dishes waited for each on the table. Steam still rose from the plates, and no one had lifted a fork. Robyn saw that her mother wasn't kidding, not that she was the sort to kid. Fish from Fennall, beef from the Oplana, roots from Trasia seasoned to perfection, chowder, and bread from Anburn. Even pasta from Shiaphia. Favorite dishes from all five flying islands of Arthenia prepared on a separate dish. Her mother was really showing off. There was a lord sitting next to her uncle, and of course, the only seat open at the table was across from him. Surely her mother's doing so that the lord would supposedly get lost in her green eyes or something. She did the customary slight bow and sat down across from him.

The lord politely acknowledged her entrance and looked to say more.

She looked over at her uncle and said, Greetings, uncle. He'd aged, showing gray hair, not dyed like her mother’s. Had it really been that long since she'd seen him last?

He asked, Is that my grandpa's old award? while he motioned to her neck. He perked up and leaned in to inspect and smiled.

Robyn's mother tried to interject.

Robyn answered her uncle, Yes, it is. He gave it to me as a gift a few years back. Do you believe the stories?

He laughed. Those old wild tails, making the islands float like they weren't always floating. No, those are just fairy tales. There's no doubt our family did a great service to the kingdom as some point to earn that, but no, it wasn't making the islands fly.

Robyn's mother spoke up, her words cutting through the air. Really, that old thing should be in a museum. She caught herself and continued in a calmer voice. Lord Blackwell, have you been down to the gallery? We are having a showing next week, and we have many original pieces. She motioned to the magical piece on the wall that showed the trees' fall colors waving as if a slight breeze blew through the painting.

This one here is one of my own.

Robyn frowned at the piece and at the sorceress, who stood entranced next to it. A waste of magic and magical talent.

The lord, oblivious to the tension or eager for the change of conversation, looked at the art hanging on the wall. It's amazing, the detail and colors. It's a treasure. My fiancée would love something like this, but I'm certain it's out of price range.

Robyn sighed in relief, and her mother slumped twice in disappointment. Robyn quickly finished dinner and politely excused herself. Her mother had found a new goal and was trying to get the lord to purchase the art right off her own dining room wall but didn't acknowledge Robyn as she left. Robyn smiled warmly at her uncle.

Back in her room, Robyn changed back into a pair of riding slacks. Slacks were so much more functional; rarely did she actually go horseback riding, but they were good for sword fighting. She dug out a hidden fencing sword from her room. Not the same heft as her short sword, but it will do. The length was also short, her practice sword when she'd started. Her mother had approved of the hobby back then and said it was good for a woman to be strong. Robyn would have to get on her mom's good side again to get her short sword back. She went out into the backyard to find a secluded place to practice her form.

Mother, why must you control my life so? Who dictates what career you should pursue? Robyn whipped her sword through the air and thought about that poor sorceress, likely depleting all her magic to keep a simple painting alive. That poor woman likely cooks by hand, washes dishes by hand. The sorceress, exhausted from her day's work, would have no magical energy left for herself. It wasn't right and her mother judged her. Robyn practiced her warmup routine, seeking a peace in the familiar steps that wouldn't come. Steps on the tile neared. Who was out there? She stiffened her stance and cast a spell of light. The bright light from her spell blinded the lord. She brought up her sword in a defensive stance.

He countered the spell, breaking up the light source, but the damage had been done and he spent a moment blinking his eyes.

Why had she done that?

I meant no harm sneaking up on you, young lady. Lord Blackwell took a stance and drew his sword.

Robyn frowned at those last two words. You fence? Robyn asked.

He smiled and performed a few warm moves she was familiar with. On occasion. When I'm not purchasing art.

Robyn struck first. I'm not a young lady.

He dodged and countered, his steps sure. My mistake, you old hag.

Robyn parried his attack. I'm not that either.

Of course. Lord Blackwell picked up the pace. Robyn struggled with her shorter blade, and he scored a point. She shook it off and started anew. During an over extension, her blade broke, and the lord scored another point.

Robyn picked up the broken piece of the sword. She considered mending it with magic, but it would never hold. She looked back at her mother's mansion. Where had her mother hidden her sword? She turned back towards the lord and bowed gracefully in her defeat.

You are very talented, Robyn. I am fortunate that tonight you were using a practice sword.

Robyn composed herself and wished for a rematch, but she settled for politely wishing the lord a happy evening and excused herself. She took the remains of her practice sword and tossed them in the bin on her way back to her room.

One More Chance

Leonin ignored the surrounding whispers. He dug into the schoolbook, trying to drown out his surroundings. He'd started sitting in the back row of the class because he couldn't stand people staring at the back of his head. The classroom had rows of desks, desks currently full of fellow students, that now thought Leonin was a joke. The professor upfront lectured them on the inner workings of teleportation, ignored the harassment they dealt towards him. He had tried paying attention, but even sitting in the back row, fellow classmates would still turn around and whisper or mock him. It was embarrassing, so instead of watching the professor, he kept his head down and hoped the harassment would blow over. Even this course, which went over the complex network of transportation that Arthenia relied on, even here, they harassed Leonin. Didn't they care about their education enough to give him a reprieve? Such an important topic, but the rumors and whispers followed him everywhere. Leonin opened the course book. 'Advanced Theory in Teleportation'.

Arthenia, the northern land of magic, is the only kingdom that has magic. The four main islands Shiapia, Oplana, Trasia and Anburn circle the northern pole. The magic teleportation gates connect them, allowing trade. Fennall is the only true island resting in the Eastern Ocean, but that was still a stretch. The island did not fly, but it still moved, making trade with the southern lands seasonal. The gates allow transportation, trade, and communication between the islands of Arthenia, but did not reach beyond the kingdom's realm.

This was all beginner stuff. Why does every book start with the same fluff? He skipped ahead to the chapter on the teleportation gates.

The stones to make teleportation gates are extracted from the royal quarry. Each stone is then split into two identical sized stones. There is a bond that continues to exist between these pairs of stones. Allowing the transportation between one stone and the other. The distance between the stones and