Wake of the Ravager

“Why do you look so down?” Kala asked. “Your sandwich got cold.”

Calvin glanced down at the sandwich, which had stopped steaming in the morning air.

“The way Carem was killed bothers me,” Calvin said.

“How so?”

“Bolt of lightning from a clear sky, implies a high level Juntai warrior was hovering above Nadia at that exact moment. In addition, they destroyed Kurawe, despite having his Complacency aura up.

Calvin glanced over at Kurawe. “Would a normal bolt of lightning kill you?”

“Not unless it hit me directly.” He replied.

“See?” Calvin said, pointing at his summon.

Kala frowned.

“It’s not beyond the realm of possibility.” Nadia said. “If that mutant was born in Iletha, she’d be locked up and used to pry secrets out of traitors and dissidents.”

“I thought Iletha was already plenty good at prying secrets out of people’s heads.” Calvin said.

“There are some minds that can’t be cracked through magic, some techniques people can use to completely seal themselves off from any kind of reading. But…” Nadia held a finger up. “The girl’s mutation would bypass mental protections, since it’s physically interacting with the brain.”

“So you’re saying people in power would see him as an asset.” Calvin said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “How can I tell for certain if he’s still alive or not?”

“Other than seeing with your own eyes, there’s really no way to tell,” Kala said.

“Don’t you know?” Calvin asked with a raised brow.

Kala looked at him with a neutral stare, considering something. She took her purse off the bench beside her and set it beside her, manifesting her pipe with a twirl of her wrist.

“I don’t know. Let’s find out.” She said, pulling out an orange-ish paste from her purse and lighting it with the tip of her finger.

“Wazzat?”

“Calm mixed with sliver oil.” Kala said, pursing her lips around the pipe and inhaling. Little bubbles filled the oversized pipe with shifting movement, scattering the morning light and making the thing a living work of art. She exhaled, sending a whirling cloud of smoke above her head. “Calm dulls fear and allows objectivity. Sliver oil gets you fucked up. ”

“Here’s a question.” Ella said as Kala went through the process of activating her Seer Skill.

“What has this Carem guy done to us, personally? He poofed Nadia a couple times, but there’s a fairly long list of people who’ve done that. He might be a killer, but he’s either dead or locked up for the rest of his life. Why bother?”

“Because he knows things I can’t allow outside the royal family.” Nadia said.

“Who cares?”

Nadia clenched a dainty fist and waggled it in Ella’s direction.

“He did threaten to ‘do better next time’” Calvin said, making quotation marks as he spoke. Ella was half right, though. Calvin really didn’t care about Nadia getting poofed, nor did he care about Nadia’s secrets ending up in the wrong hands. As far as he was concerned, the entire Ilethan royal family was ‘the wrong hands’, so how much worse could it get?

Calvin wasn’t personally affected by any of it.

Kala, sitting across from Calvin, shivered, starting at her head and working its way down to her hips, catching Calvin’s attention.

“What’s up?” he asked, glancing at her.

Kala deliberately set her pipe aside, exhaling a trail of smoke onto the table.

The smoke formed a diorama above their meals. The grey clouds coalesced into a slight woman dressed in rags and missing a hand. She was strapped to a chair, surrounded by a smooth-walled cell.

“He’s still alive,” Kala said, bringing her pipe back to her mouth and idly nibbling on it.

“And obviously contained.” Ella said.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” Calvin said, studying the slowly dissipating image.

“One of the abilities of the Smoking Skill,” Kala said. “Comes in handy sometimes.”

Calvin tapped his fingers on the table, debating whether or not to pursue this stranger that had it out for him. He was obviously not going anywhere soon, but…

“You ever hear the tale of  Almende Cappa?” Calvin asked.

“The crime lord?” Kala asked with a frown.

“Yeah. The man died in his old age surrounded by family and friends. Very unusual for a crime lord. When his son was asked why that was the case, he said it was because his father had no enemies.”

“Because he killed them all.” Nadia said, nodding.

“Right.” Calvin pointed at the stick figure strapped to the chair. “That right there is an enemy. Don’t matter how pitiful his situation is now, there’s no guarantee it’ll stay that way. I already tried to kill him once, and half-measures will only burn us. Now or later, I’m gonna have to kill him.”

Calvin glanced at Nadia.

“And loyalty is a two way street. According to Kurawe you haven’t plotted against me in weeks, and I think that should be rewarded.”

Nadia blushed.

“So yeah, I’m going to go kill someone in cold blood, because it’s going to save us a lot of trouble down the road.”

“Need any help?” Ella asked.

“Nah, I need this to be as unrelated to us as possible.”

So far as the Juntai were aware, Calvin was a summoner.

This was the reason he’d avoided using other forms of magic in public.

“My feet are like weird misshapen hands.” Kala said, putting her foot on the table and inspecting it closely. “That’s so strange.”

“Actually, could you keep an eye on Kala for an hour or two?”

***

After breakfast, Calvin wandered off to another side of the city, ducked into a cramped space between two buildings, then triggered his mutation.

One of the Guys.

Calvin’s breath hissed through his teeth as he took on the average form of the people nearby, his bones stretching and grinding against each other. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it was definitely uncomfortable.

He was in a commercial area, so the population within a hundred feet was mostly young laborers. In a matter of seconds, Calvin’s height raised by an inch and a half, his skin tint became more orange-ish brown to match the others.

In ten seconds, there was just another laborer standing there, loosening the belt on his chest.

Calvin had debated leaving his components behind, but that idea had eventually been scrapped. If they were to catch him and inspect them closely, they’d be able to tell they belonged to Calvin, but if that happened, Calvin had bigger problems to deal with anyway.

It was best to have more tools at his disposal.

He’d swapped out his typical leather belt for a sewn canvas shoulder strap, to blend in with typical Juntai dress.

When Calvin stepped back out into the street and returned to the main thoroughfare, no one spared him a second glance, having gone from foreigner to a perfect specimen of Juntai masculinity. The only thing off about him was that he wasn’t wearing any copper.

It was unusual, but not too unusual.

Calvin reminded himself to speak in nothing but Juntai from here on out and headed for the palace.

He pictured two ways of getting into the palace without permission, and they both had their drawbacks.

He could fill the Complacency component with juice, and walk right past the guards, or use Heart of the Swarm to sneak into the palace as a hundred and sixty pounds of wasp.

Oh, third way, Calvin realized. Alternatively, he could form a ring of Nadia’s around the palace in heart of the swarm mode, then dismiss them to teleport directly into the center of the ring.

But without eyes inside the palace, he had no idea whether he would land in the middle of people, or get bisected by a wall.

Can that even happen?

I dunno. We’d have to experiment by getting partially perforated by something. you up for it?

Not right now.

The downside of walking in with Complacency was that they would remember him sneaking in, and possibly raise the alarm when they realized that they should rationally care about strangers walking into the palace.

On the other hand, insects were individually tiny, but  Calvin’s weight in insects was literally millions of bugs. That would get noticed, and even if he gave them their own complacency auras, they would still be remembered.

Calvin was beginning to consider some kind of elaborate tunnel-digging scheme featuring a crystal lattice with a spinner’s ability to slice up matter when movement caught his attention.

A large group of dignitaries and their followers were heading for the gate, their elaborate head-dresses and proud walk screaming that they expected to march right through the gate.

Sometimes the simplest answer is the easiest one, Calvin thought, heading for them while he activated Complacency.

Multi Gradual Split.

46/47 bent remaining.

Calvin joined the very back of the procession, walking quietly in the blind spot of the man in front of him. To all appearances, Calvin was just the last in a long line of servants.

The guards waved the procession through, not even bothering to look at him.

If it had just been Calvin being ignored as he brazenly walked in alone, the guard might have noticed something suspicious in their memories, but when he was playing a role they expected in a large group of others, he was unmemorable.

The stairs leading up to the palace were worked stone until they got to the gaping hole in the side of the enormous humming construction.

The transition was stark as the outsight light cut off, replaced with pale white light emanating from the ceiling. The floor under Calvin’s bare feet changed from stone to mirror-smooth steel, and the constant humming faded into the background, becoming part of the very air.

Alright, Calvin thought, breaking away from the procession as they marched somewhere or other. the Complacency aura offered a lot of protection, but people still remembered his behavior, so he limited his contact with people as much as possible.

If I was trying to hide my ill-gotten mutant, where would I put him? Calvin thought, glancing around.

The entire building seemed to be built like a gigantic wheel, with straight spokes heading for the center of the building and curved paths that would circle around the circumference.

Calvin glanced down the center path and saw the enormous glass filled with crackling lightning that lived at the center of the palace, directly below the floating flywheel that adorned the palace’s ceiling.

If nothing else, these are some good ideas for things to do with my wizard tower, Calvin thought.

“First time in the palace?” A voice asked behind him, nearly causing Calvin to jump.

“Third, but still getting lost,” Calvin said, turning to face the man. He came face to face with a grey haired man at least four inches taller than him, with a dour expression.

An awkward silence passed between them.

“Do you…not recognize me?”

Shit, shit shit! Calvin’s cover was blown as soon as it started out.

Honesty is the best policy. Lying will just get you tangled up and make him suspicious.

“No sir,” Calvin admitted.

“Hah,” The old man grunted. “I’m not terribly surprised. It’s been a long while since I was in the spotlight. I’m the Diocese of Force. Put’er there.” he said, holding out a hand.

Calvin fell to his knees like he’d seen servants doing before, putting his head down.

“Forgive my impertinence!” Calvin said into the floor, adopting the role as the most effective way to get rid of the man.

“Knock it off with that shit. It gets irritating after the millionth time.” The Diocese of Force growled. Calvin obliged, climbing to his feet.

“Don’t leave me looking like an idiot with his hand out,” The Diocese said, his hand still extended.

“I couldn’t-“

“That’s an order,” The Diocese said, his tone gravelly, as bits of lighting began to lick up the sides of his arms with a harsh crackling sound.

Is he going to try to shock me? Calvin thought, his mind recalling the charred corpse that had been left in the center of the crater in the street. The only answer he got from his instincts was ‘maybe.’

Calvin extended his hand, prepared to cut of the conductivity of the man’s bracers in a second. The Diocese took his hand and shook it.

The man’s palm felt like rough stone against Calvin’s, and he clamped down on Calvin’s hand with enough force to make Calvin’s bones creak. Calvin responded in kind, but couldn’t quite match the Diocese.

“That’s a lot of Strength for your age,” he said appraisingly, eyeing Calvin’s hand without letting go, extending the handshake into a test of endurance.

“What do you do here?” the Diocese asked, his grip growing stronger.

“What?”

“You heard me. What do you do here? I haven’t seen your face before, so I’m wondering if perhaps you’re a spy. Some kind of rebel perhaps? Or turned by Iletha?” The diocese tilted his head, studying Calvin. “I had trouble noticing you at first, so either you’re under some kind of spell, or you’re just naturally boring. So which is it?”

“I’m a translator,” Calvin said, thinking as fast as he could through the pain in his hand. “Since the establishment of a trade route to Gadvera, the Diocese of trade wanted someone gifted with languages at hand to facilitate smooth negotiations with more foreigners, so he made the position of  Translator. I’ve been learning Gadveran and Ilethan since I was young by studying the writings of –“

“So,” The Diocese of Force said, releasing Calvin’s hand. “You are boring.”

“My apologies.” Calvin said, bowing.

“No, it’s a reasonable measure. Let me show you where the clerk’s office is. Follow me.”

Don’t. Follow him.

Obviously.

“I was instructed to –“

“Ignore a Diocese’s orders?” The old warrior asked. “Follow me right now.”

Godsdamnit. Calvin put his head down and followed after the aged warrior. They went about a third of the way down one of the ‘spokes’ of the palace before taking a sharp left and stoppe din front of a metal door. The Diocese held his hand to it, and a bit of crackling energy flew out of the studs above his palm, prompting the door to slide open.

The open portal revealed a steel staircase leading deeper into the bowels of the palace.

“Here we are,” the old man said, heading down the stairs.

At least it’s well-lit, Calvin thought, following behind the aged warrior, keeping mental track of his progress through the palace, hairs raising as he realized they had gone below ground level. Calvin was about sixty percent sure this was a trap.

They finally made it to the bottom of the stairs, where a brightly lit hallway was spread out in front of them, with several identical steel doors on either side of the hall in a drab grey.

“Second to last door on the left,” The Diocese of Force said, pointing down the hall. “The people there will take care of your paperwork and show you where you need to be.”

“My thanks, Diocese,” Calvin said, nodding gratefully as he passed by the old man.

“It’s my job to keep things running smoothly,” Force said with a shrug.

Calvin had taken three steps when he heard the heavy steel door at the bottom of the stairs hiss closed. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted the Diocese still standing there in front of the closed door, regarding him thoughtfully.

Godsdamnit. Calvin’s exit was cut off, but he couldn’t show any sign of nerves. He didn’t know the act was up yet.

“Before I go, can you translate something for me, Mr. Translator?” Force asked.

“Of course,” Calvin said, bowing.

“Tell me,” The Diocese said, switching to Gadveran. “What does, ‘The Diocese of Trade doesn’t have the authority to create new government positions,’ Mean in our tongue?”

Fuck me.

Macronomicon

This is one of my worst chapter names.

Enjoy!