MagigenesisCH 2ThoseWhoAreMine Pt1

CH 2  Those who are mine (Part 1) REV OCT 11
(Minor revisions since the chat- Thank you to chatterbox reviewers for numerous suggestions.)

The smell of their magic was the same:  an acrid perfume like a just struck match, a heavy sweetness like cherry blossoms on the wind, mixed with the more earthy smell of childhood sweat. They were perhaps nine or ten years old, all curls and giggles, trying on their femininity by swapping lip gloss in various flavors.

He wanted to touch them. 

Instead, He stuffed his ungloved hands deep into the pockets of his mid-length ivory jacket, and curled his fingers around the small mirror decorated with a pegasus in flight.  He let his fingers play over the platinum folds of the cool wing feathers, silently counting them. He regained perspective. Not just any child would do.  He must find the right child. 

It was a new generation and he could no longer pluck them from their homes and schools with impunity as he had almost three centuries ago.  One of the girls, a frail twig of a child, raised her dark eyes to his with a defiance and forthrightness that was both refreshing and alarming in one so young.  He was suddenly aware of her magic in a way that was infinitely more intimate.  Sexta, he thought immediately. Her magic cascaded over him with the sweet stickiness of hot fudge over cool ice cream, undulating in soft waves of power and he knew her magical element was Water, but not pure stream Water.  It was the deep churning Waters of an underground river or geyser that promised secret reservoirs of power.  He could have invaded her mind though those eyes and sucked every thought from her.  He could have given her thoughts that would sear her tender mind, and broken her sticklike body, but he reminded himself, now was not the time for such play. Later, he promised himself.  Later he would teach her to offer the accolades due him, and the game would be sweeter for the waiting. He was patient. More than two thousand years had taught him patience.

He broke the eye contact and she, completely unaware of the danger, turned back to holding court with her giggling friends.  Even at this young age, he thought, her talent makes her queen of her realm, gathering those of her circle. She ran the lip gloss over her tiny pink lips, first the top and then the bottom and pursed them together like a kiss.  His naked fingers tightened around the pegasus mirror, as he caught the sweet scent of banana: such a mundane scent to be mixed with the gurgling waters of her magic.

As she turned and ran for the swingset, another child, a golden-haired angel magically caught the tube as the dark one tossed it to her.  He felt the sharp spark of the blonde’s summoning.  And he knew that her element was Fire—like Valeriana he thought wistfully. It was no sorcery. The girl had not yet learned to control her element. It was just an exertion of power, a small use of talent, and yet, the smell of scorched cherry blossoms hung in the air, and heat still radiated around her like a desert mirage.  She tossed her blonde mane and pranced through the other girls, scattering them as she rushed to join her friend.  She gave him the impression of a high-strung and unflown filly.  He would be the one to fly her first, he thought, his own magic boiling in hot viscous waves of passion. Even so young, power plays were evident as some lesser power reluctantly gave up her swing to the blonde. Sparks of Fire danced along the ground as she pumped,  higher and higher. The brunette laughed and pushed hard running under her friend’s swing.  He admired their daring as the blonde leaped clear.  For a moment, the swing was free and he, knowing children, expected a shuffle for it, but none of the others contested the dominance of the two Sextae.  The brunette claimed the swing as the blonde crouched where she had landed, her magic ablaze.  They were friends: blonde and brunette, Fire and Water, a team, evidenced by their unconscious choreography.  Their essence suffused the playground. 

He would Awaken them to all that magic could be—he would control their Magigenesis.  But not yet.  He had urgent business in Duriel right now.  These two could wait.  The Council of Five could not.  The time of the Conversion of Elements was quickly approaching, and he would not wait another four hundred years for dominion.  Certainly not for the sake of playing with children no matter how pleasant the thought might be.  Watching the girls play, Sigerdlic’s body was suffused with blood and magic. They were  two buds tightly closed, awaiting his tutelage...soon...

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“Consul?”  A hand touched his shoulder and even through the brocade of the coat and material of the suit Sigerdlic felt the presence of the teacher.  He sucked in his breath, and dragged his eyes from the play of the Antemagenae. The woman who touched him knew nothing of his thoughts.  He was too careful and she was too stupid.

To have touched him at all, even through the fabric, told him she was only slightly less naïve than the children who were her charges.  She yanked back her hand as if suddenly realizing her rudeness in touching him.  Too much time among the Mundanes, he surmised.  She did have at least a minimal amount of sense to lower her eyes and avoid meeting the gaze of her better as he turned to her. She was as young as Karoline, and not half so bright. He wondered if they hired anyone of worth in this office.  The entire school was an exercise in mediocrity. It seemed impossible that this facility was the foundation for Duriel’s finest young Sorceri. He waited for her greeting and her reason for interrupting him, but she seemed to have been struck dumb.

She folded her hands in the Salu-manuum, finally acknowledging his magical superiority and dipped in a half-hearted curtsy-like gesture. The motion was awkward from disuse and only the bare minimum of respect that his Consul station earned him from her. “Good morning—sir—Sorcerer—Altissimus—“ She stood for a moment tongue-tied, but he did not excuse her stammering or attempt to put her at ease.

She silently stripped off one of her gloves. He supposed she was apologizing for her earlier blunder in touching him by offering her bare right hand as well as the unshielded buzz of her magic.  She did not bow her head, nor did she expose the back of her neck.  She did not kneel before him. Only one hand was bared and slightly raised.  He looked at her naked hand with mild interest. She was young for a teacher, but in control of her magic, not young enough for his tastes.  His own hands were ungloved since he didn’t often have intimate contact with Antemagenae, at least not officially. Certain professionals were required to wear gloves to shield against an accidental skin to skin contact with their unAwakened charges.  A simple touch could become much more intimate than was socially acceptable between a child and an adult, but she was, for all her youth, Awakened.

He might have found her offer tempting if her magic were anything remarkable.  However, she was only a lower level Quinta, hardly worth his notice, and the polite gesture of apology was just that: a polite gesture that meant nothing to her. She wasn’t really expecting him to take what she so freely offered; magic was no longer exchanged in public apologies at least not for something as trivial as her sin.  He longed for the days gone by, when a master Sorcerer could take an underling’s power with impunity,  to demonstrate superiority or to punish an apprentice by literally sucking the magic from his body with only a touch of skin to skin, and magic to magic.  It was a painful, but temporary condition, which chastised, but did not cause lasting harm to the lesser Sorcerer. Now such methods were only used as a last resort to help a Sorcerer in distress control his magic, and even then the magic had to be truly large and out of control to warrant such action:  an ancient ritual of supremacy reduced to a teacher’s aide. 

He put his reminiscing behind him. Such thoughts would only detract from his goal and this was not the only magic bastardized by the Rift.  Much of such great magic invoked by touch or gaze alone had been lost.  Sorceri were more civilized now.  They kept to their own bodies, at least in polite company, mores the pity.

To rebuke her in the old way, as he wished, would draw too much attention. Instead, the Consul simply brushed his aura against hers in polite acknowledgement of her apology as she expected.  “Nihil est.”

The Quinta relaxed as he took his hands from the dominant position above hers.

He returned her deficient greeting with his own, instructing her by example, acknowledging her power level, five, and her status, aid to the teacher of children. “Salve, Quinta, Submagistra liberorum.”

“Thank you,” she said.  “I didn’t know you were a magic sensor, Consul.”

“Your magic level is on file,” he said blandly, and it was, although she was correct that he had read her level of magic directly from her.  However, he wasn’t a magic sensor.  He was so much more.  “Nonetheless,” he continued, “if you go about touching people you had better expect to let loose more secrets than you wish to share.”

She blushed, her pale ears coloring around the various gems that decorated the lobes. All contained reservoirs of magic. “I did apologize,” she protested.

“So you did.  Let’s put it behind us.”

“You won’t tell Magus Magister?” she said half question, half hope. 

“No child, I will not tell Jonathan of your breech of protocol,” he said. Indeed, the less contact he had with Jonathan, the better. It pained him to hear the man referred to as a teacher of magic at all, much less as the Director of this particular school. The Consul acknowledged him as Sextus, but that was all.

His attention strayed momentarily back to the two girls, remembering their magic for future reference.  He could still feel the baby play of power between them, sweet and heady.  He smiled.  He would have them both. The thought of their Magigenesis excited him.  His inner magic stirred in anticipation.

“Thank you, Consul.”  The Aide turned away, walking into the Administration building and expecting him to follow her as if he were Quartus. He controlled his ire as she continued speaking. “We didn’t expect you so early. I don’t believe the budget committee has arrived yet.  The meeting isn’t until 9:00 and Sextissima Karoline was called out on an emergency.”

“Emergency?”  A stab of anger shot through him.  How dare Karoline keep him waiting!  What could be so important that she would keep him waiting?  She did not bow and scrape to these pompous bureaucrats.  She was his creature.  His and his alone.

“I have come specifically to meet with Karoline,” the Consul said evenly.  He continued without waiting for an answer.  “Hers is not the only program requesting additional funding from the Quinque Consulem.” he added to keep up the pretense that he was simply here to attend the budget meeting as an emissary of the Council of Five.

“I understand, but her absence couldn’t be helped.  There were two magical incidents last night which warranted observation and documentation.”

This news gained his attention.  “Someone new?” he asked blandly.
       
“No.  The girl has seen auras since she was four, but this was her first magical event of note.  The Bureau listed it as probable Manifestation.”  He dismissed her and the further explanation.  For this, girl child Karoline would not have kept him waiting.

“And the other?”

“Sexual expression.”

He nodded.  It was not uncommon to expend magical energy in a moment of passion.    Again, no reason that he could see, why Karoline would keep him waiting.  “Was the sexual expression a Manifestation as well?” he asked.
 
“I don’t know.  Magnus Magister has the paperwork, along with the budget meeting agenda,” the Quinta said.  “He isn’t here either—a Bureau of Magigenesis matter.”

He hid his annoyance with the stage smile that had gotten him the position of Consul in the first place, and would one day soon facilitate his ascending to the rank of Regaltissimus. “I won’t need Jonathan,” he said.  Indeed, he would never have need of the drooling idiot. The sycophant had no idea how to teach Antemageni to be strong.  He would have pampered them all into sniveling Mundanes if The Quinque Consulem did not forbid it.

Jonathan had lived too long in the Mundane world and garnered a whole plethora of useless psychobabble that would never--could never--be applied to Sorceri.    Nonetheless, Jonathan had aspired to a place of power as Director of the Bureau of Magigenesis, and for the time being, Jonathan would have to be endured.  Mentally though, Sigerdlic added him to his rather long list of people that required elimination; this incompetent was quickly gaining a place on the list too with her inane babble.  It was a fortunate thing for the Quinta that he wasn’t required to work with her daily.

“Did Karoline leave the formalities for my perusal?”

She looked at him blankly.  “Pardon?”

Stupid as well as careless and rude, he thought.  “Paperwork?”  He said, although strictly speaking most of the information would be magical or on the computer or both, and therefore not paper.  Such misnomers annoyed him.

“Oh, I’m sure I don’t know.”

Where did they find these malingerers?  He thought.  The bureaucrats had to seek out people who were so grossly incompetent.  Surely, they couldn’t just appear in such droves by mere chance.  Were Sorceri no longer running this world?  He clenched his magic tightly in his hands and smiled at her.

The woman continued speaking, “Sextissima Karoline said she would be back before you arrived, but you might be interested to know, that the child she went to observe has been seeing auras since age four. We have been watching her, waiting for her Manifestation…”

We, meaning the Bureau of Magigenesis, Sigerdlic thought, not his organization.  Mentally, he tuned the Quinta out. He was not interested in the little Antemagena aura seer that she was telling him about. He was indifferent to Mundane born Antemagenae unless they also claimed Sextus level magic.  He did not think that Karoline would have the audacity to keep him waiting while she surveyed the aura seer.  No.  It was something else, something she had not told this young Quinta.

The Quinta’s words brought him back from his reverie. 

“I just think something should be done about the Mundane parents when the child is so obviously magical and they refuse to believe.  Why just last week we practically had to rescue a young prophetess from her own family.  They thought that they could starve or beat the devil out of her—the poor child.  I tell you something should be done--”

”Indeed,” he agreed.  “Strychnine is effective.”

She looked at him for a moment and then laughed nervously.  “You’re joking of course.”

The Consul smiled. “Of course.” There were much more efficient ways of magically killing the Mundane parents, when they were problematic, and their life forces could then be put to better use.

There was a moment of tense silence before the Quinta gestured to the door at the end of the corridor. Sigerdlic had the distinct impression that she was anxious to be out of his company. She wasn’t the first to feel that way. 

“You can wait in Sextissima Karoline’s office if you like,” she said. 

Like?  He thought.  No, he didn’t like it, but railing at this underling would gain nothing.  “That will be adequate,” he said.  He waved a nonchalant hand at her dismissing her, but she remained.

“Is there anything else you require, Sir?”

“No.  You are dismissed,” he said coldly.

She bristled slightly and he remembered that even such useless underlings required polite civility in this century.  He had been too long removed from such contact.  He forgot the peons here considered themselves equal in the manner of certain Mundanes.  Could they not remember they were Sorceri and thus unbound by Mundane law?

He smiled at her, correcting his oversight by exuding good will and charisma.  She relaxed an inane smile on her thin lips. Yes, she definitely belonged on his elimination list.  She was too stupid to live.

“I’m sure Sextissima Karoline won’t be long,” the Quinta aid told the Consul. “She has a water pitcher in the room.  Shall I bring you some coffee or tea, Consul?”

Sigerdlic declined the drink, finally relieving himself of the useless chattel, and spent precisely seventeen minutes in Karoline’s office perusing her files and records: magical, digital and paper, trying to piece together what Karoline had found that would be of interest to him.  It wouldn’t have been the two little girls.  They were probable Sextae, an interesting diversion, but not of pressing importance or political concern.  Karoline wouldn’t have asked the Consul to come on such short notice for them.  She knew better.  Only some breech of security or the prophecy could have been important enough.  Mentally he went over the assassination plans which were in their infancy.  Not enough had been decided to warrant a security risk.  Those of his own who knew were irreproachable. Perhaps it was some problem in his quest for Regaltissimus that might be best dealt with at this early stage and thus precipitated her haste.  If so, she should be here.  No, the more he thought about it, the more Sigerdlic concluded that she wouldn’t have kept him waiting for a breech of security of any kind.  She was too well-trained.  She would have dealt with it, and later met with him to rule out any further problems.  That left the prophecy. 






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