Oathkeeper
	
(Schooled in Magic XX)
	
Christopher G. Nuttall

	

	

	

Oathkeeper
This is a work of fiction. All concepts, characters and events portrayed in this book are used fictitiously and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 Christopher G. Nuttall
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purpose of review, without the permission of the publisher and copyright owner.
First Edition, July 2020
Cover art by Brad Fraunfelter
Published in the United States of America.

Contents
Prologue I
Prologue II
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen (Emily1)
Chapter Fifteen (Emily2)
Chapter Sixteen (Emily1)
Chapter Seventeen (Emily1)
Chapter Eighteen (Emily2)
Chapter Nineteen (Emily1)
Chapter Twenty (Emily2)
Chapter Twenty-One (Emily1)
Chapter Twenty-Two (Emily2)
Chapter Twenty-Three (Emily2)
Chapter Twenty-Four (Emily2)
Chapter Twenty-Five (Emily1)
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Afterword
Appendix: The Blighted Lands
Author’s Note
About the author

Prologue I

Emily dreams.
She knows she is dreaming, although she isn’t sure how. The dreams are a blur of visions, of things that happened and things that didn’t happen and things that happened, but happened differently. She sees faces - Alassa, Frieda, Jade, Cat - in places they’d never been, doing things they’d never done. The dreams are so confusing that she can barely follow the thread, if indeed there is one. And every time she wakes, the dreams are gone.
In her dream, she is a firstie again, in a class she shouldn’t have taken. Not yet. She sees herself - and Jade, and Cat, and Aloha - running through the valleys and mountains, trying to escape the orcs. Sergeant Harkin leads them, bellowing encouragement as he fights to buy them time. She sees an orcish blade slice through his neck...
She wakes, tears stinging her cheeks. It didn’t go that way!
And then she dreams again. The orcs are surrounding them, closing in... each a shambling parody of the worst of humanity. She wants to run, but there is nowhere to go... Jade is dead, Cat is dead, Aloha is dead... Alassa is dead. Alassa wasn’t there... the alternates buzz through her dreams, each bringing new horrors. She dies, the last of the team to fall. The orcs take them, doing unspeakable things before they finally die; the orcs hand them over to Shadye, who takes her power and uses it himself. Whitehall falls, the wards shatter, walls cracking like eggshells. And a new monster is born. 
But it didn’t go that way!
She tries to focus, tries to break out of the nightmare.  It didn’t go that way! She tries to recall what really happened, how they escaped from the orcs... some memories are missing, her imagination trying to fill in the gaps and failing. Others... she twists, crying out in her sleep. The dreams haunt her, mock her. Nothing is real. Everything is real. All is real, and nothing is real...
They were on a forced march. She remembers that much, although it’s hard to be sure. Not in the dream. And they were attacked by Shadye’s minions. And she escaped and...
The alternates surge forward, driving her memories - the real memories - away. She dies, and wishes she lives. She lives, and wishes she died. Her friends die, time and time again; her tutors and mentors curse her name, curse her for what she brought to their walls. She lives long enough to see everything broken, to see a dark and hungry god unleashed upon the land. She watches, helplessly, as a nightmare moves north, killing everyone brave enough to stand against it. Brave or coward, it matters not. They die. The world dies.
But it didn’t go that way!
The memories surface, briefly. She made a deal. She made a promise. And she sworn an oath to the Unseelie. And she saved her friends. And...

Emily wakes to a bed drenched in sweat. The dream overshadows her mind. She isn’t sure if she is awake, or if she still dreams. The waking world seems a fragile place, weak and frail compared to the realm of nightmares. She fears she is losing her mind; she fears she is trapped forever within the dream. She blinks...

... The alarm rings...

... And the dream is gone.

Prologue II

The chamber would have horrified any normal man, Rangka knew. It would have horrified him, in the half-forgotten days before he’d embraced necromancy. It was a barren cave, the walls unmarred by paintings or runes or anything else that would have marked it as the home of an intelligent creature. Servants scurried about, trying not to catch his bright red eyes. They knew he could kill them - or worse - on a whim. There was no point in being loyal if one knew it would never - could never - be recognized, let alone rewarded. Their master was mad.
Rangka knew it to be true. He was mad. He was the oldest necromancer known to live, a feat he couldn’t have managed if he hadn’t kept some grip on reality, but he felt the madness howling at the back of his mind. It didn’t bother him, even though he knew - on some level - that it should. The person he’d been - the name he’d abandoned long ago - would have been horrified to know what he’d become. That didn’t bother him either. The person he’d been was dead and gone.
Power throbbed through the air, his awareness reaching out to encompass the approaching armies trudging their way through the ashy mud. Neither of his prospective allies had come alone, knowing - as well as he did - that the rewards of treachery could be great indeed. Thousands of orcs, creatures raised from the depths... and, behind them, slave-soldiers bound to their master’s will. He drew his awareness back, slightly, as the other two necromancers made their shambling way through the caves, their mere presence sending Rangka’s servants fleeing for their lives. A single necromancer was a nightmare beyond comprehension. Three in one spot heralded the end of all things. Reality itself seemed to hang on a knife edge as the necromancers faced each other. The only thing keeping them from trying to kill each other was the certain knowledge that the first two to fight would be the losers. And yet... the chamber hummed with tension. Being together, being so close, felt unnatural. It was the one thing, Rangka acknowledged privately, that the necromancers had in common with their enemies. They should not be together.
He wanted to reach out with a spell to soothe their tempers, to make them listen to him, but he knew such subtle magics were beyond him. He’d paid a price for his power, a price he hadn’t realized until it was too late. He had immensely destructive spells at his fingertips - power burned through his veins, threatening to burst out and consume everything if he lost his grip - but he could no longer cast the simple spells of his childhood. They were beyond him, despite his power. He could no longer shape the spellwork... and besides, the others wouldn’t be affected. They were creatures of magic now, not men. They couldn’t be manipulated through magical means.
Rangka braced himself, trying to shape his arguments. Cold logic told him they should work together, against the common foe, but logic and reason had no control over them. He found the idea of sharing the risk and the reward difficult to comprehend, even though - again - logic told him there would be enough rewards for everyone. It wouldn’t last, he knew. They would battle their enemies until they were victorious, then battle each other until there was only one, standing in the midst of a dead world. A dark god, a power beyond imagination... a hungry creature that would eventually - inevitably - starve.
No! He refused to think about their fate. It could not be true.
He looked from one to the other. Bersuit was a hooded man, his skin blackened and burnt by fires. He was the most human of the necromancers, yet - perhaps - one of the most dangerous. His body looked humanoid, to the naked eye. Rangka could sense things writhing under the cloak, things that defied even his senses. Gerombolan was a walking skeleton wrapped in blue fire. His red eyes were the only hint he so much as had a face. It wasn’t clear how he walked. And Rangka himself was a rotting corpse, animated only by his magic. He’d long since ceased to care.
“Dua Kepala is dead,” Rangka said, curtly.
“Good.” Bersuit’s voice was as cracked as his soul, a rasping screech that would have deafened a normal man. “His lands will be ours.”
“And so is Shadye,” Rangka said. “They were both killed by the same person. A sorceress called Emily.”
“The Necromancer’s Bane.” Gerombolan’s voice was utterly inhuman. “They say she is our doom.”
“She has killed two of the most powerful of us, in less than seven years,” Rangka said. It was hard to measure time in the Blighted Lands.  “They’re dead and gone.”
“And so their lands are ours,” Bersuit hissed. His armies were already laying claim to Shadye’s former territories, doing their level best to avoid the Inverse Shadow. “So what?”
Rangka stared at the hooded man. “How long until she comes for us?”
“She will not kill me,” Gerombolan said. “I am beyond death.”
“Shadye thought the same,” Rangka reminded him. “He was wrong.”
He understood, better than he cared to admit. Necromancers died all the time. A sorcerer who was unable to handle the sudden burst of power would be destroyed by it; a newborn necromancer, a beacon of power to those with eyes to see, could be killed by an older necromancer before he had a chance to establish a power base, seizing lands and human livestock to make something of himself. And even the older necromancers weren’t that old. The Blighted Lands were a constantly-shifting morass of endless scrabbling, wars and treacherous backstabbing. They were penned in, held prisoner by the terrain and the ever-watchful guards. There was nowhere to go. Shadye had attacked Whitehall and Dua Kepala had crossed the Desert of Death; neither had returned alive.
“How long will it be,” he repeated, “before she comes for us?”
The words hung in the air. It was hard to believe a lone girl could defeat one necromancer, let alone two. The stories he’d heard credited her with killing ten necromancers - or a hundred, or a thousand - and he knew that wasn’t true, but neither Shadye nor Dua Kepala had survived their wars. Rangka had heard enough to believe there was some truth to the story. It was a rare magician who took on a necromancer and lived to tell the tale. A lone girl killing two - or more - necromancers was difficult to believe. And yet it had happened.
“We will end her, if she comes,” Gerombolan said. “She will feed us...”
“If we survive long enough,” Rangka said. “We cannot let her come to us.”
He pointed towards the walls - and the distant mountains beyond. “We must fight now, before she comes for us. We must get over the mountains and ravage the lands beyond.”
Gerombolan made a hissing sound. “And how do you intend to achieve this... wonder?”
“By working together, we can break through the mountains,” Rangka said. “If we combine our powers, and our forces, we can break into the lands beyond. And then there would be no stopping us.”
He saw it, a vision on the verge of becoming reality. The Allied Lands had been lucky. They could hide beyond high mountains, impassable oceans and passes guarded by a network of fortresses and walls. They couldn’t match the necromantic forces in hand-to-hand combat, or sheer power, but they could slow them down immensely. If the mountains were to be destroyed, or merely weakened, the armies could advance through the rubble, an endless wave of blood-maddened orcs and monsters and slaves...
His rotting mouth fell open in a smile. It was going to be glorious.
He spoke on, telling his allies his plans...
... All the while, preparing to betray them the moment they outlived their usefulness.

Chapter One

“I have grown to hate mirrors,” Emily said.
She stood in the spellchamber, eying the mirror warily. It was the only object within the chamber, a large freestanding mirror big enough to show her body from tip to toe. There were no magics surrounding it, nothing suggesting it was enchanted - or a gateway to another realm - but she didn’t feel any better as her image looked back at her. She looked... tired and worn. The dreams she couldn’t remember had disturbed her more than she cared to admit.
She rubbed her eyes, feeling them narrow as she studied her reflection. Was her hair a little darker? Were her eyes a little harder? Her bearing a little straighter? Eleven months of apprenticeship, eleven months of everything from magic study to tests that were disguised missions, had changed her in ways she was only beginning to appreciate. Void was a good teacher. He knew things she’d never even known existed. And yet, she was slowly starting to realize he also had his own agenda. The missions she’d carried out on his behalf had served a greater purpose. She just wished she knew what it was.
Forget it, for the moment, she thought. Right now, you need to stay focused.
She studied her reflection thoughtfully. She hadn’t changed that much, had she? It was hard to be sure. Void had kept her hopping, practicing magic daily. She’d grown used to being his student. And yet... she rested her hands on her hips, studying herself in the mirror. The black apprentice robe was strikingly simplistic, nothing more than a shapeless black dress. Void had given her very clear orders not to wear anything else, even hairpins or the snake-bracelet. She’d let her hair fall down her back and left the transfigured snake in her bedroom. He wouldn’t have told her to wear as little as possible if he hadn’t had a good reason.
“Emily.” Void stepped into the room, his face calm and composed. “Are you ready?”
Emily turned to face him, clasping her hands behind her back. Void was inhumanly tall, easily a head taller than herself. His face was oddly timeless, framed by dark hair that seemed to have grown a little longer in the past few months. It was hard to remember, at times, that he was literally old enough to be her great-grandfather. And yet... she could sense his power bristling around him like a thunderstorm. He wasn’t making any attempt to mask himself. No magician her age had such a presence.
“I think so,” she said. They’d gone over the spellwork time and time again, assessing each and every section of the bilocation spell. It was easy to see, now, why so few magicians risked casting it, even when it would have come in handy. Being in two places at once wasn’t as simple as it sounded. “Are you?”
“I’m not the one who has to cast the spell,” Void said. He moved past her, peering suspiciously into the mirror. “If you want to back out, now is the time.”
Emily shook her head. She understood the risks. The books he’d given her to read had discussed them in graphic detail. They’d even included illustrations that - Void had told her - were surprisingly close to reality. But she also knew she couldn’t step back now. Mastering magic - and using it - had become her cause. She wanted - needed - to keep going until she reached the top. The very serious possibility that there was no top didn’t deter her.
And yet, she reflected as Void paced around the mirror, such power came with a price. It was harder and harder to remember, sometimes, that there was an outside world. The missions he’d sent her on, over the past few months, had felt like distractions from her real work. The ever-growing pile of letters from her friends - and others - rested on her desk, largely unopened. It was hard to keep track of what was happening with them. She had to force herself, sometimes, to go outside. Even meeting her friends in person was difficult. 
She yawned, suddenly. The dreams she couldn’t remember haunted the back of her mind, tormenting her. She’d wondered if they were a sending, a subtle attack from one of her enemies, but it was hard to imagine a spell that could reach through the wards. Void’s tower was practically invulnerable, even to a magician who operated on the same level. Emily had lived in the tower for months and yet she knew she hadn’t even come close to learning all its secrets. It was bigger on the inside, with chambers and lairs she barely knew existed. She wondered, at times, what might be within the structure that she didn’t even imagine existed.
Void glanced at her. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” Emily unclasped her hands, steadying herself. “I’m ready.”
“Stand in front of the mirror,” Void instructed, as if he hadn’t gone over the details time and time again. It was a measure of how dangerous the spell could be, if the casting went wrong, that he’d practically nagged her into memorizing each and every detail. It was so out of character for him to nag her that she’d studied the spell and all its variants extensively. “Make sure your entire body is reflected in the mirror.”
Emily stepped forward until she was standing right in front of the mirror. Her reflection gazed back. Emily studied herself again, silently grateful she couldn’t see any differences. The reflection was a reflection, not an alternate vision of herself. Her other self was dead, or trapped on the wrong side of the dimensional barriers. She’d studied every book she could find on mirror magic and none of them had gone any further than shaping a pocket world on the other side of the mirror. The meeting with alternate timelines was - apparently - unprecedented. It was unlikely she’d meet her other self here.
She looked up and down, from tip to toe. She was encompassed within the mirror. The wall behind her looked utterly bare, sensibly so. There’d be nothing and no one else to be caught up within the spell. Void had said it was possible to cast the spell with a smaller mirror, or no mirror at all, but it was better to start small. Emily’s lips twitched. It was rather like learning to juggle and starting with knives and daggers, rather than chainsaws. The danger was only minimized in comparison. It didn’t go away.
“Start the spell when you’re ready.” Void’s voice was very quiet. He’d masked his power so thoroughly she couldn’t sense his presence. It was hard to remember he was there, though he’d told her - time and time again - not to consider trying the spell without him. “Or step back, if you’re not up to it.”
Emily lifted her head and looked into her reflection’s eyes. Magic sparkled through her, pervading every cell of her body. She’d grown more and more used to thinking of it as a part of her, as much her as her arms and legs. It was a danger as well as a boon, Void had cautioned, but... it was hard to believe it could be dangerous. And yet, she knew it. The danger of forgetting how she did things - and then losing the ability to improve upon her spells - was very real. And if she fell into that trap, she’d peak. She’d never get any better.
The spell glimmered in her mind, a remarkably complex piece of magic. She’d seen the spellwork back in her first year, but... she hadn’t been able to follow it, let alone cast it. Now... she could see how the different sections interacted, how they worked together to create a duplicate of herself. No, not a duplicate. Two minds in one body. One body in two minds. A balance between the two... she kept her eyes open, focused on the mirror, as she gingerly brought the spell to life. The magic surged. She felt as if she were caught in a hurricane, as if she were being shoved and yanked to one side... her head spun, unable to cope with the sudden shift in sensation. She felt...
She stumbled, the magic sparkling out of existence. “Blast!”
“Calm,” Void advised. “I didn’t expect you to get it on your first try.”
Emily felt her cheeks flush, even though she knew he was right. She’d done more, in a few brief seconds, than many other magicians would ever do. It would be a long time before she matched Void, before she was a Lone Power in her own right, but she was already well ahead of many others. She scowled at the thought, reminding herself not to get too conceited. She’d met too many magicians who thought having magic made them little gods to want to go the same way herself. They’d thought...
“I know.” Emily put the thought out of her head. She knew better. She wasn’t going to go that way. “I wanted to impress you.”
“You already have.” Void sounded surprisingly warm, and she felt a thrill of pride. “But you have to proceed at your own pace. There’s nothing to be gained by trying to go too fast.”
Emily nodded as she looked back at her reflection. “I’m going to try again.”
“Then try,” Void said. “Once more. Just once.”
Do or do not, there is no try, Emily thought. She had a feeling Void would not have approved of Yoda, if they’d met. Sometimes you try as hard as you can and still fail.
She took a long breath, then lifted her head and started the spell again. This time, the surge of magic felt stronger, more focused. She felt something pulling at her, but also pushing at her... she was being pulled in two directions at once. She wanted to resist, to fight the feeling even though she knew that trying would be the worst thing she could do. She had to give into the sensation, somehow keeping control while giving up control... a year ago, she wouldn’t have had the discipline to make the spell work. She wouldn’t even have been able to believe two contradictory things at once.
A thoroughly unpleasant - and indescribable - sensation ran through her. She stumbled to the side, her legs quivering. The world was dark. Her eyes were closed... when had she closed them? She opened them... and found herself staring into her own face. The mirror... no, not the mirror. Her counterpart... her head spun as she realized she was staring into her own face, her true face. She’d split herself into two bodies...
“Do I...?”
She stopped. Her voice sounded odd in her ears. Both sets of ears. Of course... she didn’t normally hear herself talk, not as if she was a different person. She’d read something about it somewhere, although she couldn’t remember details. Alassa had joked that people who fell in love with the sound of their voices did so because they couldn’t hear themselves...
“Incredible,” she - they - said, as one. It was hard to disentangle themselves completely. They were the same person. “Do I really look like that?”
Her perspective shifted. She was looking at herself. Her other self. She could see Void standing by the wall, watching them with thoughtful eyes. She understood, suddenly, why he’d insisted she wore as little as possible. It might have been safer to be naked, the first time she’d tried the spell. But she couldn’t have done that, not in front of him. Or anyone, really. She felt her thoughts starting to fracture... her perspective shifted again, until she was looking away from Void. It felt weird, as if she was in two places at once... she was in two places at once, one mind in two bodies. She looked down and saw her other self look down too. They hadn’t split completely, then. They were still intermingled at a very primal level.
“Good,” Void said. His voice was suddenly hard and commanding. “And now, turn away from each other.”
Emily tried to turn, but it was hard. Invisible ropes seemed to be holding her firmly in place, keeping her and her other self looking at each other. She felt her mind switch bodies time and time again, Void blinking in and out of view with each shift. It felt odd, so odd... wrong, yet not painful. She found herself taking a step towards herself... her head spun as she struggled to stay still, to stay in two places at once. Her vision blurred, very slightly, as she forced herself to turn. It felt as if she were doing something fundamentally wrong...
“Emily...”
She looked at Void. “What?”
Her master seemed surprised, his eyes going wide as Emily’s legs buckled and she fell to the ground. He hadn’t said anything. It hadn't been his voice. Emily felt her vision start to blur again, growing worse with every passing second. Her other self... she was suddenly in the other body, staring at herself on the floor. She couldn’t follow what was happening, she couldn’t understand it, and...
“Emily...”
The voice echoed through her mind. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. And yet, she felt her thoughts start to fragment. She was in two places - no, many places. She was already on the floor, yet it came up and hit her... darkness swallowed her, pain surging through her body. And...
Void’s face came into view, hazily. “Emily?”
“I...” Emily swallowed hard. Her head hurt. Her memories... she felt a twinge of pain as she realized she’d literally been in two places at once. It hurt to even think about what had happened and yet she had no choice. “What happened?”
“You didn’t disentangle yourself correctly.” Void helped her to sit up, then conjured a glass of water from the air and held it out to her. “You split your body into two, but you didn’t quite manage to split your mind.”
Emily sipped the water, gingerly. It tasted pure, so pure it was practically tasteless. “It felt... wrong.”
“It does, yes.” Void sounded pensive for a long moment. “Even trying can feel like committing suicide. The trick is to maintain your mental integrity while tearing it in two.”
He smiled, humorlessly. “And if you can grasp the contradiction,” he added, “you’ll be one step closer to making it work.”
“I’ll try,” Emily said. Her memories felt weird, as if she’d collapsed and watched herself collapse... as if she had two sets of memories. She supposed she had, in a sense. “I thought I heard someone calling my name.”
Void frowned. “You might have imagined it,” he said, slowly. “Your thoughts were being split in two. You could have been thinking to yourself, hearing your own thoughts.”
... Maybe.” Emily wasn’t so sure. The voice hadn’t been hers. What did her thoughts sound like anyway? She knew how to recognize someone else, by their mental voice, but... what would her own thoughts sound like? She thought she’d know her own thoughts. And yet, it had been oddly familiar. “I don’t know.”
She passed him the glass, which sparkled into nothingness as soon as he took it, and tried to stand. Her legs felt weak. Void held out a hand, allowing her to lean on him as she stumbled to her feet. The mirror was a pile of shattered glass, lying on the floor. Emily winced, despite herself. The Heart’s Eye mirrors had also shattered, when they’d broken contact with the alternate dimension...
“No more magic until you’ve had some sleep,” Void said, firmly. If he noticed the way her mind was wandering, he said nothing. “Go back to your room and rest. Eat dinner in bed, if you don’t feel up to joining me. Or sleep. We can go through the spell tomorrow before we try again.”
“Yes, sir,” Emily said. She was suddenly very aware of her own fatigue. Her body felt weak and worn. Her magic felt as if she’d pushed it right to the limit. The concept seemed so simple, but turning it into reality had nearly killed her. She felt a stab of pain in her head and shuddered, trying not to be sick. The simplest concept could be the hardest to make real. “How long did it take you to master the spell?”
Void gave her a sidelong look. “I’d say it isn’t a spell one can ever truly master,” he said. “It depends on your ability to control magic, true, but also your ability to... separate your thoughts and then merge yourself back together. My old master made crude jokes to ensure I got the point. I couldn’t afford to think of myself as two people or reintegration would become impossible. You’ll have the same problem.”
“I see, I think.” Emily wasn’t sure that was true. “And what happens if something happens to me? I mean, to one of me?”
“It depends on the spell.” Void shook his head. “Go get some rest. We’ll discuss it later, when you’ve had time to consider what happened and then try again. And don’t try it without me. You cannot afford to be alone if something goes wrong.”
Emily nodded. “I understand.”
“See that you do,” Void said. “Do you need help to get back to your room?”
“No,” Emily said. She thought she could walk to her room before she collapsed. “I can make it on my own.”
“That’s what they all said,” Void told her. She remembered, suddenly, that he’d had students before her. “And they were all wrong.”

Chapter Two

“My Lady?”
Emily sat up in bed. Silent was standing by the door, her expression as bland and unreadable as always. Emily felt an odd little twinge. The maid might have been with her for six months, doing everything from laying out her clothes to serving her food, but their relationship had never progressed beyond strictly formal. Emily had tried to befriend her, as she’d befriended so many others, yet Silent seemed all too aware of the gulf between them. They could never be equals, never...
“Yes?” Emily’s voice sounded raspy, even in her own ears. “What time is it?”
“Dinnertime,” Silent said. “Should I bring you a tray?”
“Yes, please,” Emily said. She’d slept, but she didn’t feel particularly rested. The dreams had pervaded her mind, mocking her. And yet, she couldn’t remember. “I’ll come into the living room.”
She glanced at the clock as she drew back the covers and clambered out of bed. It was late evening, although time in general was largely meaningless inside the tower. Void seemed to keep his own hours, sometimes keeping her busy late into the night and allowing her to sleep in the following day. She wondered, sometimes, how the maids coped with a master who never stuck to a regular schedule. She supposed they followed a rota so there’d be someone ready to carry out their master’s orders at all hours of the day.
And they’re well paid for their time, she mused. She’d made sure of that months ago. They can each go home after a year or so with a good reference and a nice nest egg.
She splashed water on her face, then walked into the living room. A tray of food awaited her, held within a suspension spell. Silent dropped a curtsey, then left the room. Emily felt her stomach rumble as she popped the spell, then started to eat. Void’s menu still struck her as surprisingly plebeian for one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world. She wondered, sometimes, if he was sending her a message. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t enjoy delicacies that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a king’s table.
Maybe he just doesn’t care, she thought, as she ate the stew. Someone - Silent, probably - had put a pile of letters on the table. He doesn’t need to demand validation from everyone else.
She snorted at the thought. She’d visited enough royal courts - and aristocratic castles - to know that half of kingship was putting on a display of power. The king must have a table groaning with food, even if it meant going into debt; the king must wear the finest clothes and carry the finest weapons and hire the finest blades... she rolled her eyes at the sheer absurdity. Void didn’t need anyone else to acknowledge his power. Kings and princes - and merchants - did. She couldn’t help wondering how many of the aristocrats really liked their food. She’d never really been impressed by what passed for luxury foodstuffs on the Nameless World.
The price is probably the driving factor, she told herself. And the idea is to prove you can afford it.
Emily pushed the plate to one side, then reached for the pile of letters. A small note lay on the top, inviting her to the workshop when she was rested. She put it to one side and sorted the letters, separating notes from her friends from missives from strangers. The latter were never very interesting, ranging from requests for patronage to marriage proposals from men she’d never met. She wondered, idly, if the young men were being pressured into approaching her by their families. She’d yet to read a proposal that wasn’t cringingly formal and so impersonal it might as well have been written by a robot.
She smiled as she started reading the letters from her friends. Caleb updated her on work at Heart’s Eye, inviting her to visit when she had a moment. Alassa and Jade were busy rebuilding Zangaria, putting the kingdom back together as they raised their daughter. Emily felt a twinge of guilt for not visiting, even though she knew they were very busy. It would be nice to see her namesake again. And Frieda had invited her to the winter solstice in Dragon’s Den. Emily scowled, wondering where the time had gone. It felt like years since she’d seen her friends.
You knew you’d be alone for much of your apprenticeship, she reminded herself, as she stood and headed for the door. But you don’t have to be alone for all of it.
She felt the tower’s wards shift as she made her way down the stairs. The building felt odd, as if it wasn’t quite real. The corridors changed regularly, but never when she was watching. She marveled at the sheer level of magic that had gone into building the tower, a tower passed down from master to student in a chain that led all the way back to the pre-imperial days. Void had hinted she might inherit it when he died. She hoped that day was a long time away.
“Emily,” Void called, as she reached the workshop. “Come on in.”
Emily stepped into the massive chamber, feeling oddly out of place. It looked like a strange combination of a carpenter’s shop, a blacksmith’s forge and an enchanter’s lair. Stacks of wood, metal and rare potions ingredients were piled against the walls or resting on wooden tables, each one scarred by countless failed experiments. The wards seemed to draw back, isolating the chamber from the rest of the tower. They wouldn’t interfere with any of the experiments, for better or worse. Emily felt uncomfortably naked, even though she was wearing her robe. The wards that had protected her, as a new student, simply didn’t exist here. A single mistake could kill her.
“Tell me something,” Void said. He didn’t look up from his work. “Do you remember how to make and enchant wands?”
“I know the theory,” Emily said. She’d never been that good with practical handcraft, from needlework to carpentry. Her friends might have started learning practically from birth, but she’d never so much as touched a needle until she’d gone to Whitehall. “You carve a strip of wood, sand it down and infuse it with a piece of spellwork...”
“It’s a little more complex than that,” Void said. His eyes rested on the wand in his hands, turning it over and over. “But you have the basic idea.”
He looked up at her, putting the wand to one side. “Someday, you will have to explain to me why your world neglects the basic skills.”
Emily shrugged. She had no idea how to put it into words. Earth believed adulthood didn’t start until one became an adult. The Nameless World couldn’t allow its kids to be kids. They had to work from the moment they could walk, learning to fight or working in the fields or... she shook her head. There was no way to explain the sheer gulf between the two worlds. Or how unwise it was to assume that the good times would last forever.
“There are magicians who believe you get different results, depending on what material you use for the wand,” Void said. “And others who argue you get the best results from wands you make yourself. What do you think?”
“I don’t think I know enough to have an opinion,” Emily said. “I was always under the impression that wands and staffs were quite limited.”
“Oh, they are.” Void smiled at her. “But they have their uses, as you know.”
He waved her to a chair, then picked up the wand. “We do know that certain materials carry magic better than others,” he said. “We don’t know why. We also know that trying to make a wand can end badly, alas. It’s more a case of carving the wand. Why might that be?”
Emily hesitated. “Because the wand would still be a solid piece of wood,” she guessed. “If you were gluing pieces of wood together, it wouldn’t be solid.”
“That’s the basic theory,” Void agreed. “It might even be true. And yet, there are ways to make wands that work... for a short period of time.”
He waved a hand at the piles of wood. “I want you to produce four wands for me,” he told her. “Use any material you like.”
Emily stood. “What for? I mean, what are we going to do with the wands?”
“Brew potions,” Void said. “But first, prepare the wands.”
He watched, his eyes unblinking, as Emily found a piece of wood and started to carve it into a wand. She’d never liked woodwork, even though she had to admit it was neat to create something herself. The students - mostly the boys - had spent years mastering the art, even before they’d come into their magic. They’d been surprised to note how many holes there were in her education, although they’d blamed it on her supposed father. One couldn’t expect a Lone Power to have a conventional approach to childrearing. 
Emily tested the wand gingerly, then put it to one side and started carving the second. They looked crude and unfinished, but she knew the only thing that mattered was the wand’s ability to conduct and host magic. She reminded herself, sharply, she didn’t want to do too good of a job. Getting too used to using a focus - any kind of focus - would hamper her magical development beyond repair. Very few magicians used wands regularly. It was almost always a sign of weak magic.
“Good, good,” Void said, when she’d produced all four wands. “What do you make of them?”
“They’re ready to host the spellwork,” Emily said. “What sort of spellwork do you want me to use?”
“Nothing, yet.” Void waved a hand at a table. A cauldron sat on top. “Give me a moment to heat the brew.”
Emily watched as Void used a firelighter, rather than magic, to ignite the flame. “You want to brew a potion with wands?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Void said. “You’ve used wands in brewing before, have you not?”
“Only a couple of times,” Emily said. “It was never encouraged.”
“No.” Void glanced at her, sharply. “There are two significant dangers involving wands in alchemical work. The first lies in accidentally triggering a surge of magic that will, in turn, trigger an explosion. The second lies in altering the potion beyond repair, without being entirely sure what you did. And, of course, it’s quite easy to lose the ability to brew properly if you come to rely on wands. That’s why we won’t be doing this that often.”
He looked back at the cauldron. Pink smoke was starting to rise. “Done properly, one can use this technique to help mundanes brew potions,” he said. “But it requires a considerable commitment from a magician.”
Emily nodded, slowly. “Because someone has to prepare and charge the wands.”
“Yes.” Void produced a set of parchments and held them out to her. “Prepare the wands, as directed. And then put them in the cauldron.”
“Understood,” Emily said. She scanned the parchments quickly, then went to work. The instructions were deceptively simple. On one hand, she had to insert the spellwork into the wands; on the other, she had to avoid even a tiny fragment of magic leaking out. It wasn’t anything like as easy as it sounded. “If I couldn’t sense magic, this would be impossible.”
“Yes,” Void agreed. His eyes never left her as she worked on the wands. “There are ways to help a mundane sense magic, as you know. But not, I’m afraid, to channel magic.”
Unless they owned a battery of magic, Emily thought, as she finished preparing the wands. But even then, they’d have to get the battery charged somehow.
She considered it, thoughtfully. Theoretically, one could use a nexus point to charge a battery. Practically, she wasn’t sure anyone would let her try. The risk of accidentally causing an explosion would be far too high. She could do it at Heart’s Eye, but there would be hundreds of lives at risk if something went wrong... she put the last of the wands on the table, then walked around to peer into the cauldron. The liquid looked like melted candyfloss, with a sickly-sweet smell that made her stomach heave. She’d never smelled anything like it.
“The wands have to be charged, then used in a particular order,” Void said. “Place them within the liquid.”
Emily tensed as she picked up the first wand and lowered it into the brew. Alchemy had never been her strongest subject, if only because it was dangerously unpredictable. It was governed by laws that never quite made sense, directed by factors neither she nor the alchemical masters truly understood. There were times when even a well-understood potion would go wrong, either fizzling out or exploding with disconcerting force. She resisted the urge to jump backwards the moment the wand touched the liquid. The magic field surrounding the cauldron shifted...
“Good,” Void said. “Now the second, if you please.”
Emily felt sweat trickling down her back as she inserted the second wand into the liquid. The potion started to bubble, the magic field changing time and time again. There was no time to hesitate, not now. She inserted the third wand, then the fourth. The magic field seemed to steady, then - suddenly - grew vastly more powerful. Emily threw herself back, rolling over in midair as the potion exploded. Pieces of debris crashed down around her, droplets of hot liquid striking her back. She gritted her teeth against the pain, muttering a spell to cool the droplets down. The experiment had failed.
“It could have been worse,” Void opined. He seemed unmoved by the devastation. She wasn’t sure he’d so much as raised a shield to protect himself. “It proves that something was working.”
“Something,” Emily repeated. “What went wrong?”
“I think there was a tiny leak of magic,” Void said. He cocked his head, thoughtfully. “But I may be wrong.”
Emily frowned. “What were we trying to brew?”
“One of the more complex potions,” Void said, vaguely. “One that only a master can brew, without wands. It’s quite rare, as you will understand.”
“And what does it do?” Emily knew she sounded like a brat, but she couldn’t help herself. “What is it for?”
“Work it out.” Void gave her a stern look. “And, while you’re considering it, tell me why I didn’t tell you.”
“Because you thought my preconceptions would interfere with the spell,” Emily said. “The spellwork wouldn’t be so... so generalized?”
“In a way,” Void agreed. “It’s not safe to cast spells, or brew potions, without knowing what you’re trying to do. It does, however, give you insight into how certain levels of magic actually work.”
“At the risk of being hurt, or hurting someone else,” Emily said. The idea of discarding a safety precaution that had been drilled into her years ago didn’t sit well with her. Alchemy could be incredibly dangerous. “It doesn’t always make sense.”
“No,” Void agreed. “There’s a lot we don’t understand about how magic works. A lot of things that should be possible, but aren’t. And a lot of things that shouldn’t be possible...”
Including magic itself, Emily thought. She’d been a magician for over six years and she still had problems, sometimes, believing it was real. Why are some of the hardest things so easy and some of the easiest things so hard?
Void turned away. “Give the mess time to cool, then clear it up,” he said. “And then you can go back to bed.”
“After a shower,” Emily said. Her back still ached. She hoped the liquid had burned through all the magic before it hit her. “I...”
She paused. “Can I make a request?”
“You can ask for anything you like,” Void said. “I make no promises about actually giving it to you.”
“No,” Emily agreed. She couldn’t expect him to promise her anything without knowing what it was. “Frieda invited me to Dragon’s Den, next week. Can I go?”
“You mean... you want to take a different day off?” Void smiled, wryly. “How terrible. I’m sure Jan will be very upset.”
Emily blushed. Her relationship with Jan was... slow. It simply wasn’t easy for them to coordinate their days off, let alone meet up somewhere they both knew. It was a long-distance relationship in the truest possible sense. And Void hadn’t been too eager to make the relationship any easier for either of them. She’d always had the feeling he wasn’t keen on her having any kind of relationship during her apprenticeship. 
“I haven’t seen Frieda for months,” Emily said. “And I’m sure Jan will understand.”
“If you say so.” Void didn’t seem convinced. “Of course, I’ll be working you very hard over the next few days. You may want to spend the day in bed instead.”
“I won’t have a chance to see her for a while,” Emily reminded him. She felt another pang of guilt. They’d both been very busy, but... she should have made the time. It wasn’t as if she’d need to spend hours in transit to reach Whitehall. An hour or two out of her apprenticeship wouldn’t have made any difference. “She’ll be ramping up to take her exams before going into sixth year.”
“Then she should probably spend the day in bed,” Void commented. He shook his head. “Go, if you wish. I’m sure I’ll find something to do around the tower.”
Emily blinked, then realized she was being teased. “I’m sure you’ll need the time to devise an even harder test for me.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Void said. “You might just get it.”

Chapter Three

Emily...

Emily doubled over as the teleport field snapped out of existence. Her vision blurred, as if she’d been hit with a blinding curse or a confusion hex. For a moment, she wasn’t sure where she was. The cold struck her like a physical blow, despite the cloak she’d donned and charmed before leaving the tower. She forced herself to straighten, unsure of what had just happened. She’d heard someone calling her name... hadn’t she? She wasn’t sure if she’d heard anything or simply imagined it. Nothing should have been able to touch her in the teleport field.
She rubbed her forehead as she stumbled off the teleport pad and peered down at Dragon’s Den. The town was covered by a layer of snow, the grimy streets and rough houses looking almost charming in their white overcoat. A dozen children were playing just outside the town, running between the boundary markers and the edge of the forest. Emily felt a twinge of envy as she started to walk into the town, half-wishing she’d grown up there. It wouldn’t have been easy or safe, but... she might have had friends. She might have had a family that cared. She might...
There’s no point in thinking about what might have been, she told herself, as the cold started to ooze through her cloak. You just have to make do with what you have.
She chanted a pair of warming spells as she kept moving, heading down the street towards the inn. Students from Whitehall thronged the streets, laughing and joking as they enjoyed a day away from school. She spotted a line of upper-class students outside a tailor, clearly hoping the school robes could be sewn into something a little more individualistic. Emily smiled, remembering when Alassa and Imaiqah had taken her to look for clothes. She hadn’t really enjoyed the shopping, but she’d enjoyed spending time with her friends. And she still had the dresses in her trunk. She hadn’t been able to bear the thought of giving them away.
Frieda was waiting for her outside the inn, looking surprisingly comfortable in the cold winter air. Emily frowned, then remembered that Frieda had been born in the Cairngorms, where it wasn’t unknown for villages to be cut off or suffocated under the snow. The winter wasn’t that cold, not for her. Emily ran forward, giving her friend a hug. Frieda seemed to have grown taller in the last few months. She was nearly Emily’s height.
“Emily,” Frieda said. “You’re looking pale. Are you alright?”
“I think it’s the cold.” Emily pushed open the door, leading the way into the inn. The heat was a welcome change. “How are you?”
“You look as if you haven’t slept for a week,” Frieda said, sternly. “Is he keeping you awake?”
“I haven’t been sleeping very well,” Emily confessed, as the innkeeper’s daughter directed them to a table near the fire. “How about you?”
“I’ve been working too hard,” Frieda said. “Do you know, this is the first time I’ve been to Dragon’s Den for a month?”
Emily raised her eyebrows. “Hoban didn’t come to see you?”
“He’s off on another dig,” Frieda said. “Apparently, they dug up something dangerous and want it buried again. Or something like that. The letter they sent him wasn’t that clear.”
“Ouch,” Emily said. “Are you still going with him this summer?”
“If I pass my exams,” Frieda said. “If not... I’ll have to spend the summer revising instead.”
“Good luck,” Emily said. She let out a breath as the landlord’s daughter returned with a pair of menus. “My treat. I insist.”
“As long as you let me do something for you later,” Frieda said. “Can I order a burger and chips? Or is that too expensive?”
“Order it,” Emily said. It still amused her that burgers - and a few other dishes she’d imported - were regarded as high-class fare. She ordered a curry, then sat back in her chair. “I can pay.”
“I’ll pay next time,” Frieda said, firmly. “Now, are you being worked to death or not?”
“I’m working hard,” Emily said. “But I’m not being worked to death.”
“You look wretched,” Frieda said. “Did he black your eyes? Because you look like a raccoon.”
“I just haven’t been sleeping well,” Emily said. “Bad dreams.”
Frieda looked sympathetic. “I know the feeling,” she said. “Do more exercise before you go to bed?”
Emily shook her head. “How are you coping in fifth year? How are you getting on with your charges?”
“I’m trying to teach them all the things you taught me,” Frieda said, slowly. “It seems to be working.”
She kept talking, outlining everything that had happened to her since she started her fifth year at Whitehall. It sounded less eventful than Emily’s fifth year, although Frieda was smart enough to understand that wasn’t a bad thing. Whitehall had nearly collapsed in on itself two years ago, then thrown Emily into the past to meet Lord Whitehall. Emily felt an odd little twang as she thought about the ancient magician, the man who really had done everything - almost everything - the legends said he’d done...
“Emily!”
Emily blinked. Her food was in front of her. She stared at it blankly, then looked up at Frieda. Her friend was watching her, concerned. Emily thought fast, trying to understand what had happened. She’d zoned out, just for a moment. She’d zoned out and .. and what? Something was nagging at her mind, but it seemed to fade into nothingness every time she reached for it. It didn’t feel wrong - it didn’t feel as if she was under attack - and yet, she couldn’t place it either. What was wrong?
“Emily?” Frieda sounded concerned. “Are you alright?”
“Yes.” Emily reached for her fork. “I’m fine.”
“You looked as if you were about to fall into your food,” Frieda said. “Are you sure you’re...”
“I’m fine,” Emily said, a little sharper than she’d intended. “I’ve just not been sleeping well.”
“We could find a room in the town, if you don’t want to go to your house,” Frieda said. “And you could have a nap.”
Emily had to laugh, even as she shook her head. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I just need some food and a rest.”
Frieda didn’t seem convinced. “Emily, you’re asleep on your feet,” she said. “I kicked you twice and you didn’t even react.”
“I felt nothing,” Emily said. She didn’t feel any pain, not even a dull ache. “Are you sure you didn’t kick the chair leg?”
“I’m sure.” Frieda pointed to Emily’s plate. “Eat.”
Emily forced herself to dig in. The food tasted good - the inn wouldn’t have lasted long, in Dragon’s Den, if the food wasn’t - but she found it hard to eat. Her vision seemed to be blurring, again and again. She blinked, feeling dizzy. Frieda’s eyes followed her, filled with concern. Emily knew she should be concerned, but it was hard to muster the energy to care. The blurriness seemed to creep up on her, only to jump away when she concentrated. Her fork slipped from her hand and fell to the floor.
“I think I need to have a word with your master,” Frieda said. “He’s working you to death.”
“I’m fine,” Emily insisted. She had no idea what Void would say, if Frieda questioned his teaching skills, but she doubted it would be polite. He’d be within his rights to send her back to Whitehall with a flea in her ear. Or worse. “I’ve been drained before.”
“I’ve never known you to be this drained, even last summer,” Frieda said. “Let me talk to him. Let me tell him...”
“I’m fine,” Emily repeated. “It isn’t his fault.”
“You have to tell him you’re reaching the limit of what you can do,” Frieda insisted. “He’s not going to disown you for reaching your limits, let alone kick you out. You don’t have to finish your apprenticeship in a year or two. Jade nearly killed himself trying...”
“I’m fine!” Emily felt her vision blur, again. “I’m fine.”
“I think I’d better get you home,” Frieda said. She summoned the landlord’s daughter and ordered her to collect the dishes. “I’ll take you to Whitehall. We can go through the portals there.”
“I can teleport,” Emily insisted. She knew it was a bad idea, but she didn’t want Frieda babying her. “I know how to teleport.”
“And if you teleport right now, you’ll probably jump right into a mountain,” Frieda said, bluntly. She paid for the dinner, heedless of Emily’s protests, then helped Emily to stand. “Are you sure you’re not being drained?”
Emily didn’t have the strength to object as Frieda cast a handful of detection charms. Her wards twitched uncomfortably, pushing back against the spells. She knew she should feel annoyed at the presumption, but... it was growing increasingly hard to focus. Her legs felt wobbly, as if she was on the verge of collapse. Frieda led her outside, back into the cold. It slapped her face, but failed to rouse her. She wondered, suddenly, if she was drunk. She might have drunk something alcoholic without noticing...
The thought terrified her. She loathed alcohol. She’d seen the demon drink make monsters out of men and women alike. Her mother had been well on the way to drinking herself to death before Emily had been yanked into the Nameless World. Emily knew what booze could do. And yet, she also knew she hadn’t drunk any alcohol. Void didn’t allow it in his tower, although... she supposed it was possible the maids had some alcohol in their rooms. They wouldn’t have been fool enough to serve it to her though, or to their master. Void would have killed them. Literally.
She looked from side to side, her head suddenly very heavy. The town seemed to split in two, as if there were a second town overlaying the first. The first town appeared unchanged, just as she remembered; the second was an alien realm, lined with strange buildings and streets that went in directions no human mind could comprehend. She shuddered as she saw things moving in the corner of her eye, somehow never quite there when she looked directly at them. There were things she knew no human should ever see, yet... voices were whispering, voices calling her name. And she listened.
“Emily!” Frieda was shaking her. “Emily, wake up!”
Emily started. They were on the outskirts of town, heading towards Whitehall... she had no clear memory of how they’d gotten there. They’d walked... they had to have walked. Right? She wasn’t sure. They were walking towards the teleport pad, even though they didn’t need to use them when teleporting out of the town. The kids she’d seen earlier were gone. They’d left a handful of weird-looking snowmen behind. She blinked hard, unsure what was real and what wasn’t. It felt as if everything was real. The thicket ahead of them was both a small corpse of trees and a gateway to something greater. She could feel it.
“Emily,” Frieda said. She seemed... translucent somehow, as if she were part of only one world. Her voice sounded panicked, but... “Emily, we have to go back!”
“Go where?” Emily tried to focus, but it was hard. She felt as if she were drifting outside her body, watching from above as she stumbled forward. “I can’t...”
Frieda caught her arm and yanked her around. Emily looked back at the town - both towns. A series of visions assailed her mind. Dragons flew overhead, unseen and unremarked; creatures that looked like children, until she saw their eyes, whispered nasty secrets as they looked back at her. She couldn’t hear them, but... she recoiled as she saw the snowmen growing into monsters that threatened the other town. Frieda said something Emily didn’t hear. The world was changing around her. She found herself stumbling towards the woods, towards something that waited for her. Frieda grabbed her arm again, but her grip felt as insubstantial as fog. Emily didn’t have to shrug her off. She just kept walking.
“Emily!” Frieda got in front of her as they reached the edge of the woods. She raised a hand, as if she intended to slap Emily. “Emily! Wake up!”
Her eyes went wide with surprise as she started to change. Emily watched, feeling nothing, as Frieda’s legs became wood, her arms becoming branches, her face... Emily knew, at some level, that she should be horrified, but she felt nothing. It was... natural, something that should happen. She walked past Frieda and deeper into the woods, knowing - on some level - that she was walking into an alien realm. The thicket had never been that big, if she recalled correctly, but she felt as if she’d been walking for hours, travelling for miles. Wild magic blossomed around her as she found the path, walking on and on and on...
Visions flared around her, each strange and different. She was a helpless slave, held captive by a monster. She was a servant, a soldier, a teacher, a mother... the visions tore at her mind, reminding her of what she could have been. A surge of feelings ran through her as she held her child in her arms, tears dripping from her eyes - a moment later - as the child vanished back into nothingness. She didn’t have a child. She’d never had a child. And yet, for a moment, the child had been real. She wanted to scream and rage at the visions, but it was pointless. The visions weren’t real.
The path came to a stop. Emily stopped too, staring into a lake of crystalline water. The moon hung low, seemingly close enough to touch. Wild magic boiled through the air, spinning around without ever touching her. She felt, in a strange sense, as if she’d come home. The water glowed, calling to her. She almost reached for it, intending to take a sip, before it dawned on her that taking anything from the alien realm would be a very bad idea. She might never make it home.
A light darted on the far side of the lake. And another. And another... she watched as a cluster of tiny fairies materialized, a swarm of glowing creatures gliding towards her. She sucked in her breath, awareness suddenly returning as she remembered exactly where she was. The fairies were the Unseelie - or so the Grandmaster had called them - and she’d made a deal with them... coldness ran down her spine as she remembered what she’d promised. Anything, anything at all. She raised her head and saw... herself, standing on the far side of the lake. She knew, without knowing how she knew, that all times were one inside the wood. If she chose to break her word, her past self would be killed and... everything she’d done would simply be erased from reality. It would never have happened at all. 
She found herself on her knees as the tiny shapes danced in front of her. She’d felt their power, six years ago, but she hadn’t really understood just how powerful they truly were. It was hard to believe they were in hiding, hard to believe humanity could do anything to them. And yet, she knew it to be true. They were in hiding... they’d made her promise to keep their secret, as well as everything else. She had to force herself to look at them as their power beat on the air. Up close, they were somehow... wrong.
They’re not human, she reminded herself. She had never claimed to be a social expert, but she understood that all humans had things in common. These creatures were not remotely human. Whatever they look like, they’re not human. They don’t think like us.
“Emily.” The swarm spoke as one, their voices harmonizing into a single hypnotic sound that chilled her to the bone. “We have called you here. You have always been here.”
Emily bit her lip, hard. The pain helped her to remain focused. She looked beyond them, at her past self. The older - younger - Emily wasn’t moving, caught in a timeless moment. She couldn’t see her, Emily recalled. She hadn’t seen her future self when she’d stumbled into the Unseelie Court. Perhaps, from her other self’s point of view, the oath hadn’t been made. Not yet. And if she refused to keep it, the oath would never be made at all.
She swallowed, hard, as the implications dawned on her. She’d always assumed she’d die if she refused to keep the oath - and promised herself that she’d accept death if the demands were too onerous - but she saw now it was worse than that, far worse. If her past self died here, killed to keep their secret, the entire timeline would unravel. She couldn’t even begin to calculate the scale of the disaster. How many things rested - had rested - upon her? They had her over a barrel. Whatever the price, she’d have to pay it. There was no choice.
The voices hummed in unison. “You will complete your oath. Now.”
Emily swallowed. Her mouth was very dry. Her voice, when she finally managed to speak, felt tinny, as if she were shouting inside an immense cathedral. “What do you want from me?”
There was a long, chilling pause. “Seek out the Heart of All Things, in the Castle at the End of the Land,” the voices said. They rose and fell together. “And reignite the Eternal Flame!”

Chapter Four

Emily felt as if she were a puppet dangling on weak strings. Her legs felt like jelly. If she hadn’t been on her knees, she was sure she would have lost her balance and tumbled into the lake. She had a feeling, although she had no idea how, that falling into the water would kill her. The lake wasn’t real. Her surroundings weren’t real. Everything she saw was... perhaps... an illusion, something her mortal mind could comprehend. The swarm of tiny flying humanoids in front of her might be nothing more than the tip of the iceberg, a hint of something far greater...
She bit her lip again, tasting blood. “The Eternal Flame?”
“The Eternal Flame,” the voices echoed. “You will reignite the Eternal Flame.”
Emily’s mind raced. She’d never heard of the Eternal Flame, not in any context that made sense. The Heart of All Things? The Castle at the End of the Land? She thought she recalled a reference to the latter, but she couldn’t remember where and when she’d heard it. She concentrated, but her memory refused to oblige her. It had been a vague reference, something that hadn’t made much of an impression on her at the time. 
“I don’t know what you mean,” she managed. “What do you want me to do?”
The voices broke apart into a discordant racket, all the little creatures talking at once. Emily tried to follow the argument, but it was incomprehensible. They didn’t seem in agreement about anything beyond the basics. They hadn’t been keen on making the deal with her in the first place, she recalled suddenly. They’d thought twice about doing it at the time... she swallowed hard, wondering precisely what they wanted her to do. They could have killed her past self in an instant if they’d wanted to. 
“Reignite the Eternal Flame,” the voices said. “Reignite the Eternal Flame.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, trying to plead with them. “I can do it, but I don’t know what you want me to do.”
Emily gritted her teeth as the voices broke apart again, bombarding her with an endless series of statements that made absolutely no sense. She felt her heart sink, convincing her that she’d have to make her excuses to Void and do... and do what? She had no idea where to go, much less what they wanted her to do. Reignite the Eternal Flame? Where was the Eternal Flame? What was it? She felt the wild magic grow stronger as the little creatures started to glide away. They were leaving, throwing her back out...
“Wait!” Her voice sounded weak, even to her. “I need you to listen.”
“Listen, listen,” the voices echoed.
“I need to tell my master something,” Emily said. “Can I tell him the truth?”
“You may, you may,” the voices sang. “Reignite the Eternal Flame!”
The world spun. Emily squeezed her eyes shut, the ground trembling under her knees. The cold struck her again... she realized, suddenly, that she was on her knees in the midst of a snowdrift. It hadn’t been there a moment ago. Snow was falling... she stumbled to her feet, hastily wrapping her cloak around her body. The temperature was dropping rapidly...
She cursed and started to run. Frieda! Her friend had been turned into a tree! Emily couldn’t believe she’d been so unconcerned, even if she’d been in the grip of powerful - and wild - magic. The Unseelie had been calling to her... no wonder she’d been having bad dreams. She wondered, numbly, why they hadn’t simply yanked her to them. They had the power. But then, being slightly disconnected from time - at least as humans understood it - must bring its disadvantages. They’d known what they'd wanted when she’d come to them. They hadn’t needed to bring her to them ahead of time. She rubbed her forehead as she continued to run through the woods, slipping and sliding as she crashed through the ice. Where was Frieda...?
“Emily!” Frieda stood at the edge of the thicket, looking confused. “What happened to you?”
“Frieda!” Emily gave her friend a hug. “What happened to you?”
Frieda gave her an odd look. “You stumbled into the forest,” she said. “And then you came out.”
“You were turned into a tree!” Emily had heard strange tales about wild magic, but she’d never seen it in action. “I saw...”
She shook her head. “It’s a long story,” she said. She could feel the oath at the back of her head, pushing her onwards. It felt like a geas, one she couldn’t dispel. She’d have to complete her mission if she wanted it gone. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah.” Frieda eyed her, suspiciously. “Are you feeling better?”
“I think so.” Emily rubbed her eyes. The visions of the other town and its alien denizens were gone. “But I think I’d better go.”
“What happened?” Frieda caught her arm. “Emily, you’re behaving like a madwoman.”
“I’m not sure if I can tell you,” Emily said. The geas didn’t seem to care, but it was hard to be sure. Oaths were tricky things. The Grandmaster hadn’t forced her to break the oath deliberately, when he’d peeked into her mind. “I...”
She swallowed hard and outlined the story, half-expecting the geas to tighten around her mind and freeze her tongue. But nothing happened. Frieda listened carefully, her eyes going wide as Emily described - in vague terms - the deal she’d made six years ago. It felt odd to say it out loud, after keeping it to herself for so long. She’d practically forgotten the oath had ever been made. She wondered, sourly, if the Unseelie had done it deliberately. She’d had her mind read, several times. The searchers might have learnt the truth without her ever breaking the oath.
The Grandmaster had no interest in starting a fight, she thought. But other people would have felt differently.
“You made a deal with the other folk,” Frieda said. “With the awful folk...”
“I had no choice,” Emily said. “If I’d died there...”
“It’ll bite you,” Frieda predicted. “Where I grew up... everyone knows that bargaining with the other folk is asking for trouble.”
Emily pulled her cloak around her as the snow kept falling. “I had no choice,” she repeated, quietly. “What have you heard?”
“Bad stories,” Frieda said. “They’re not called the awful folk for nothing.”
She lowered her voice, even though the wild magic was gone. “Children snatched from their cradles, bundles of sticks left in return. Men turned into animals, women mazed into... there’s a myth, back home, that magicians are descended from changelings, from creatures left behind when the babies are stolen. There are places no one will go, for fear of never coming out again. Entire villages, vanished into the night. I...”
Her voice grew quiet as she remembered something from the past. “My father’s hometown was destroyed, shortly after I was born,” she added. “They said the villagers had angered the awful folk.”
Emily frowned. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” Frieda looked pained. “No one ever went anywhere near the village after it died. Not even me.”
She looked at Emily. “You have to be careful,” she said. “Really.”
“I will be.” Emily looked towards the distant mountains. “Do you want me to teleport you back to the school?”
“You were dead on your feet, only minutes ago,” Frieda pointed out. “I’ll walk back when the snow stops, I think. You can teleport home and do... do whatever you have to do.”
“Sergeant Miles used to say that walking through a blizzard was dangerous,” Emily said, dryly. Lady Barb had said the same thing, only with much more profanity. “You’re sure?”
Frieda smiled. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “But really, you should rest before you teleport anywhere.”
“I’ll be fine,” Emily assured her. She felt strange. Her magic felt refreshed, as if it were just the work of a moment to teleport right around the globe, and yet... she felt the geas prodding her, urging her not to waste time. She hadn’t felt so jumpy since she’d drunk an energy potion for the first time. “Take care of yourself.”
“I’ll be here when you need me,” Frieda said. She gave Emily a hug, then stepped back. “And watch your back.”
Emily nodded, feeling a twinge of guilt. She’d intended to watch the winter rituals, even though she couldn’t partake. They’d always meant more to Frieda than they had to any of her other friends. But... she raised a hand, then closed her eyes and carefully cast the teleport spell. This time, everything worked perfectly. She opened her eyes to see the tower rising in front of her. The heat melted the snow on her cloak, turning it to water. Emily took it off, then headed for the tower. The wards welcomed her home. She rubbed her forehead, wondering precisely what time it was. Teleport lag was never easy to overcome.
“Lady Emily.” Silent curtseyed as she entered the tower. “You’re home early.”
Emily blinked in surprise. Silent rarely showed any interest in her comings and goings. And yet, the maid was always there to greet her when she returned home. Emily guessed the tower had something to do with it. Silent’s job was looking after Emily... she put the thought aside as the geas poked at her, reminding her she had to talk to Void. She reached out with her mind as she took off the cloak and passed it to Silent, asking them where to find Void. He was in the living room...
“My Lady,” Silent said. “I...”
“Later,” Emily said. The geas wouldn’t let her do anything else. She felt as antsy as a fly on a griddle. “We’ll talk later.”
She hurried up the stairs, hoping the tower wouldn’t start to play games. It - or Void - had tested her by rearranging the corridors on short notice, forcing her to realize she was trapped and needed to manipulate her surroundings to get out. She thought she felt something watching her, as if the tower were considering doing just that before thinking better of it. She frowned as she stopped outside the living room, then opened the door. Void sat in an armchair, facing the sofa. Master Lucknow - and Jan - were sitting on the sofa. Emily was astonished. She’d never known Void to have guests before.
“Emily.” Void sounded oddly displeased, although it didn’t seem to be directed at Emily herself. “Take a seat.”
“Thank you, sir,” Emily said. 
She sat, trying not to fidget like a little girl. The geas itched at the back of her mind, demanding she insist he drop everything and attend to her. She met Jan’s eyes and noted he looked bored, even though there were sorcerers who’d sell their souls - literally - for a look inside Void’s tower. She wondered, suddenly, why Master Lucknow had brought him. Had he hoped Jan would spend time with Emily? Or... or what? It was rare, vanishingly rare, for one magician to visit another without calling ahead. Void would have all the justification he’d need to tell them both to go away. Or simply pretend he wasn’t in residence.
The maids wouldn’t have opened the door without permission from their master, Emily thought. They probably have orders never to allow anyone into the tower when he isn’t there.
She twitched, uncomfortably, as Master Lucknow spoke about reports from the borderlands and other warning signs. Emily could barely hear him as the itching grew worse, as if a swarm of midges had somehow gotten under her dress... the thought somehow made it even worse, nearly unbearable. She found herself shifting from side to side, grinding her teeth together to keep her mouth from opening. She simply couldn’t keep still.
“Emily.” Void’s voice was cold. “Come with me.”
Emily felt herself blush - again - as she followed him into the next room. Her heart sank as he closed the door, a privacy ward slamming into place. Void might be very understanding and tolerant when they were alone, treating her as close to an equal as possible, but he couldn’t show her anything like that kind of tolerance when they had company. She felt as if she were in trouble, even though she had an excuse. Void had every reason to be angry at her - and no way to know what was really bothering her.
“Emily.” Void met her eyes, evenly, and pointed her to a chair. “I assume you have an explanation for acting like a child?”
“Yes,” Emily managed as she sank into the chair. “I... I need to start from the beginning.”
She watched him as she gabbled out the whole story, starting with the battle in the mountains six years ago. Void didn’t seem surprised, either by the encounter with the Unseelie or the oath she’d sworn to them. She wondered, suddenly, just how much the Grandmaster had told him. No one else knew what had happened. She’d thought the Grandmaster had kept it to himself...
“They want me to reignite the Eternal Flame.” Emily struggled to remember what had been said, in that dreamlike world. “Seek out the Heart of All Things, in the Castle at the End of the Land. And reignite the Eternal Flame.”
Void started to laugh, humorlessly. “Is that what they want you to do?”
Emily blinked. “What’s so funny?”
“A very strange coincidence,” Void said. He started to pace the room, his previous irritation gone. “What do you think the Eternal Flame might be? Something you’ve reignited in the past.”
Understanding clicked. Emily kicked herself, mentally, for not seeing it earlier. “A nexus point.”
“Yes.” Void turned to face her. “A nexus point in the heart of the Blighted Lands, with an extremely powerful and dangerous necromancer sitting on top of it and several more within a few days walking distance.”
“... Oh.”
“Yes.” Void chuckled. “The Castle at the End of the Land was built on top of the nexus point, centuries ago. No one knows who built the castle, or why. Like Whitehall” - he winked at her - “there are aspects of history that have been lost in the mists of time. The nexus point died well before the first necromancer infested the castle, snuffed out... well, that was before my time. I don’t believe anyone knows what happened to it.”
Emily shivered. “The nexus point at Heart’s Eye was used to carry out experiments,” she said, slowly. She didn’t want to remember just how far those experiments had gone. “What were they doing at the Castle at the End of the Land?”
“We don’t know,” Void said. “The Blighted Lands are littered with old buildings and structures, some dating back well before recorded history. The necromancers have moved into them like hermit crabs, turning them into fortresses...”
“And then losing them to other necromancers,” Emily said. For all their power, necromancers didn’t last very long. Shadye had been a necromancer for fifteen years - or so most sources agreed - and he’d been counted as one of the older ones. “What about the Heart of All Things?”
“I don’t know,” Void said. “It could be connected to the nexus point. A number of old structures are, as you know better than me. Or it could be something else, something that was never written down... I’ve never heard the name. It could be anything.”
“They wouldn’t ask me to do the impossible,” Emily said. “Would they?”
Void said nothing for a long moment. “Many years ago, there was an up and coming sorceress who was destined for great things. Everyone knew it, particularly her. One of her superiors, fearing the competition, tricked her into swearing an oath that could never be completed. She had to give up her career and devote herself to trying to complete the oath.”
Emily blanched. “I thought that was impossible.”
“You can’t force someone to swear an oath,” Void said. “But you can trick someone, if you’re careful. It’s been done.”
“How?” Emily wanted to stand and pace herself. “I thought it couldn’t be done.”
“There was a magician-thief who once signed a contract obligating him to move a painting from one room to another,” Void explained. “Unfortunately for him, the rooms were actually several hundred miles apart.”
“I see.” Emily shook her head. “And... what happened?”
“Oh, he had to complete the oath,” Void said. “It didn’t go well.”
He grinned. “It may, or it may not, be a coincidence that they demanded you repay your oath today,” he said. “Do you know why Master Lucknow came here?”
“No,” Emily said. She couldn’t help asking the next question. “Every time I asked if someone could visit, you said no. I thought you didn’t like guests.”
“I don’t.” Void turned away, his voice lowering slightly. “He wouldn’t have come if he hadn’t felt it was urgent. I wouldn’t have let him in if he were given to exaggeration.”
He smiled. It didn’t touch his eyes. “And Emily... he came to see you.”
“Me?” Emily shook her head. “Why me?”
“I’ll let him tell you,” Void said. He reached for the door, then stopped. “Do try and look like you’ve been chastised. I have a reputation to keep.”
Emily had to smile. “Yes, sir.”

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