"Galen."
Circe stopped when he was nearly upon her. Reluctantly, he too stopped.
"Circe."
Beneath the brim of her hat, her eyes were in shadow, and he found himself focusing on her mouth. Although she was only in her forties, deep creases framed it, and tiny lines etched her upper lip, signs of the damage done when she had destroyed her place of power.
"I don't believe I've seen you in months," she said. "Curious that I should see you today."
Galen didn't know why today should be significant.
"I keep late hours."
"Oh, yes. You have an important job for the Circle. Observing the universe outside. Reporting to them what you find. That must keep you very busy."
"I fill the time, as must we all."
"You will meet with them today, will you not? The Circle."
"Yes."
He met with them every week.
"You must feel quite honored."
"I do what they ask of me."
She crossed her arms, sliding her hands up under her sleeves.
"Tell me, when you stand there, before them, do you ever dream of one day being elected to that esteemed group?"
"No."
Galen's voice was too harsh, and he realized he must add something more.
"I could never do what they do."
He could never lie to those he was supposed to serve, could never send them into needless danger, could never present them with a gift that carried the seeds of destruction. The tech echoed his anger. Galen put the thoughts from his mind, pushed forward with his exercise. 264. Circe's lips stretched into a smile.
"It is unusual for a student of one of the Circle not to have ambitions to the Circle himself."
It was well known that Circe desired such a position. But it was odd that she would ask if he wanted the same. Whether he did or not, he was far too young to be considered.
"I have no such ambitions."
"Really. Of course I forget that Elric was not your true teacher. He merely took you in after your father died. Your line has never earned a place in the Circle. So I can understand why you might not feel fit for such a duty."
Galen refused to think of his parents. He had turned his back on those memories long ago.
"Certainly I am not fit for it."
"Your humility is refreshing."
"It is not humility. It is the truth."
Circe bowed her head, and the shadow of her hat fell over her face.
"Of course."
He took that as his opportunity to leave.
"Excuse me," he said, and continued down the narrow corridor.
He reached the dining hall and passed inside, the great room at the center of the hiding place providing only slight relief from the oppressive closeness. At this early hour, the gray hall was unoccupied. The dark wooden tables and chairs stood in long, silent ranks. In this one place, some care had been taken to relieve the austerity of the rest of the compound. The runes of the Code glowed from the walls, interspersed with arcane diagrams and technologically based artworks, and on the far wall shimmered a hologram of Wierden, founder of the Circle and the Code, and master of control. She stood with arms extended, her stiff, golden wings spread wide, as if in the middle of conjuring some incredible magic.
A familiar burned smell lingered in the air. As Galen crossed to the kitchen on the far side, he found new scorch marks on the walls, large fans of blackness forming a rough line between the rune for solidarity and the portrait of Wierden. The tech stirred inside him, its energy carrying the hint of chill, like a mild fever. Galen looked away and crossed his arms over his chest, uneasy. Fights between the mages were becoming a daily occurrence.
2,059. 4,108.
When they'd first entered the hiding place, they'd behaved as if they were holding an extended convocation, organizing group activities and lectures, trying to sustain the feeling of fellowship that got most of them through those thirty-five days every three years. Yet after the first few months, they were no longer able to fool themselves. They were trapped in this self-made prison, unable to establish their own places of power, to pursue their own desires. Group activities declined, resentments grew, fights shattered their fragile peace.
At the same time, the older mages who had destroyed their places were weakening, dying. During their first year in hiding, the mages had seen at least one each week to the other side. Now it was one every two or three weeks.
A sense of doom and desperation had settled over them. With the moderating influence of those more experienced steadily waning, their behavior became more erratic, more undisciplined. After nearly two years in hiding, the close quarters would probably have driven even non-mages into conflict. But for them, the situation was much more difficult.
Mages did not get along well with other mages, and for good reason: They were agents of chaos and destruction. They were quick to anger, quick to strike back. They had not been intended to live amongst one another, but to live amongst their victims. They had not been intended for cooperation, but for domination. It was their way to follow their own agendas, vendettas, whims. The Shadows' programming urged them constantly toward action, and although they could resist, resistance was growing increasingly difficult. More and more were reaching the limit of their control.
Galen sensed that, very soon, major violence would erupt. Perhaps they hid from the galaxy, but they could not hide from themselves. Galen kept away from the others as much as possible. For he, of them all, could not lose control. In the industrial-sized kitchen, he found some leftover meat and bread for a sandwich, and filled a mug with water. Back in the dining hall, he took his usual table against the wall and ate quickly. He preferred to come early for breakfast, and late for dinner. During the most popular times of the day, the large hall was filled with mages and food, argument and laughter, movement and magic.
Galen required stillness. Footsteps in the hallway outside broke the silence. Though they had grown slower, Galen recognized them immediately. Elric appeared in the doorway, approached him. Elric had once moved with strength and assurance, his posture erect, his gestures precisely controlled. Now his shoulders were bent forward like an old man's, his head hunched within the high collar of his plain black robe. Each step was made hesitantly, as if the floor beneath him might give way at any moment. Each movement seemed brittle, forced.
Galen could not see Elric without seeing the ghosts that accompanied him: the ghost of what he used to be, the ghost of who he'd been to Galen, of all they'd had together and lost. Galen looked down at his plate, continued the exercise, the calculations growing more difficult as the numbers increased.
32,783. 65,552.
Elric had arranged to meet him here for the monthly review of his progress. Though Galen was no longer Elric's student, still Elric supervised him for his first three years as a mage. Since entering the hiding place, they had exchanged words only to discuss his progress or his duties for the Circle. Yet Galen would have preferred eliminating even those contacts. He had petitioned the Circle for someone else to supervise him, but they had refused.
Elric pulled out the chair opposite him, braced a wrinkled, shaking hand on the table, and lowered himself slowly into the seat. He seemed weaker than ever.
Galen determined to end the meeting as quickly as possible. With a deep breath he met Elric's watery eyes, tensed face. Whether the tightness arose from effort or pain Galen could not tell, but it had been present since they'd arrived at this place. The tension deepened the furrows in his cheeks and forehead, and the three creases between his brows. At one time, those three frown lines of grave disappointment would have strengthened Galen's resolve to work harder, to train more. Now they simply seemed a testament to his failure, to all he had once wanted to be, and all he had instead become.
40,750. 81,485.
"I have little to add to the reports I've sent you," Galen said. "I have mastered the spells to conjure mist and wind. I continue to pursue Burell's research. My current focus is her data on the programming within each cell of the tech. In addition, I am carrying on with my translation of spells, organizing them into progressions. It has been three months since I have identified a new progression. While my work is still incomplete, I believe I may have found all the progressions that exist. With a single one-term spell at the base of each, that would make seven basic postulates, or basic powers."
Speaking of his progress was pointless. If he learned to conjure mist or wind, what good was it? Any improvement in his skills could bring no benefit to a galaxy outside his reach. Any research he did must be kept from the other mages, who lived in ignorance of the tech's true origin. He tried to think of anything he might have forgotten. The more complete his statement, the less discussion would be required.
"I shall keep looking, of course," he added. "But there is really nothing new to report."
Elric sat in silence.
Though his expression had not changed, Galen got the impression that something was different about him today. His eyes remained fixed on Galen. Galen did not know what Elric sought, and whatever it was, he did not want to give it. He didn't want any change to threaten the walls he had carefully constructed around himself. He only wanted the meeting to be routine, and brief, and to end, allowing him to continue with his life, such as it was.
If Elric followed his usual pattern, he would simply make a few comments, then dismiss Galen. Although Elric evaluated his progress, Elric no longer drove him to excel, not since they'd come here. Elric no longer seemed to have the energy for it, or the conviction. No wonder – Galen had proven himself unworthy.
At last Elric spoke.
"We could have the same brief, impersonal conversation we do every month, as you propose."
Elric's deep voice resonated through the empty room. With his skillfully modulated intonation, it was the one part of him that still carried its old power.
"I could review the reports you have sent me, point out the strengths and weaknesses in your progress, offer suggestions, and speculate on what you have kept from me. But today, I would like to do something different.
"It has been two years since you became a mage, and though a year still remains of your status as an initiate, you have far surpassed that level in your skill. Of the three weaknesses we have long focused on – presentation, originality, and control – only control remains a difficulty, and that is true for most of us. Your presentation has shown marked improvement. As for originality, you have discovered what your own work is, studying the tech and the powers placed within it, and you are making progress well beyond what any have learned in the past."
Galen lowered his gaze. Elric's praise cut more deeply than any criticism ever could. The tech's restless energy churned through him.
1,048,596.
"You have maintained control since we arrived in this place, which is more than I can say for many. Although I wish your methods were less - extreme, they have provided you mastery over your impulses."
Galen pressed his hands flat against the table.
2,097,173.
"You have become a skilled mage."
Galen forced himself to meet Elric's eyes, and with a low voice he bit out the words.
"Why are you saying these things?"
"It has not been my way to compliment, I..."
"I violated the Code," Galen said. "I committed... monstrous acts."
"The Circle..."
"I should have been flayed for what I'd done. I would have been, if the Circle had not wanted me for their weapon."
Elric straightened.
"The Circle is also to blame for what happened. If I had not lied to you, and the Circle had not lied to you, you would not have reacted as you did. So those deaths fall to me, and to the Circle, for our deceit. You were pushed beyond what any could be expected to endure."
The memory came – Alwyn's ship lifting him from the surface of Thenothk, and him reaching downward with his fury, the darkening spheres boiling out of him, covering building after building, crushing them to nothingness. In the racing, blazing heat of destruction, he had cared nothing for those he killed. He had never felt so alive. He exerted voice control, forced his tone to remain even.
"You taught me to make no excuses for my misdeeds."
"It is not an excuse. It is the truth. You have also done good, Galen. You have brought light. You are not a monster."
Galen stood, his chair grating against the floor.
"Is there anything further?" Elric's eyes narrowed.
"Your reaction demands it. I know you have little respect for my opinion, and I know that my lies have destroyed my ability to teach you, destroyed the bond between us. I realize now the time for a reconciliation between us will never come. Yet left to your own devices, you have retreated to safety, rather than pushing yourself to do more. Since no one else has seen fit to point this out to you, I must do it, though it will drive the wedge deeper between us."
Why was Elric pushing him? Why wouldn't Elric let him go?
"As part of your initiation, you were questioned about your identity and purpose. Mages examine these issues at each convocation, reevaluating who they are, revisiting the questions whose answers life constantly revises. Your behavior, however, indicates that you see no need to question yourself further.
"You have chosen to define yourself with a permanent, and very limiting, answer. You have decided that you are a monster, that you are your spell, the power of destruction. But I know you, and that is only one small piece of who you are. There are many other pieces: the one who wanted to heal, the one who took joy in Soom, the one who loved Isabelle, the one who created and invented, the one who wanted, above all, to understand. And even more beyond those, pieces that you have buried so deeply you aren't even aware they exist.
Pieces, I fear, that you will never recover. For a time your movement was outward. You were learning, trying new things. But since we left Soom, your movement has been only inward. While your studies advance, you, yourself, do not. In fact, you retreat. More each day. You kill yourself of bit by bit."