Steel Magic

Funerals were more for the living than the dead, but Toria imagined her old teacher scoffing at all the fuss. She and Kane sat on a wooden bench in the back of the chapel as the officiant droned on about remembrance and honor. As Toria toyed with the hem of her skirt, wrapping a loose thread around and around her slender fingers, Kane captured her hand in his darker one to stop her fidgeting. While the heads in front of her bowed in prayer, Toria gazed at the stained glass window that filled the front wall of the chapel. The chapel was nondenominational, and the glassworks’ abstract shapes were designed to be as inoffensive as possible. Master Procella had been a lifelong bachelor and not particular about his religious leanings, but his sister had planned the funeral. In all likelihood, Marcos would rather have had them carouse around a bonfire while the drinks kept flowing. He’d been the first mage in Limani to welcome her and Kane, the city’s first bonded warrior-mage pair in over a century, with open arms. He had fully supported the way they split their attention between the mage school and the local Mercenary Guildhall rather than insist they dedicate their increased power to the art of magic alone. Kane nudged Toria up as he stood. Her partner was much better at paying attention to social cues, but he was also less affected by this loss. Marcos Procella had been Toria’s original magic instructor, first leading her through exercises in sensing the power around her and later in the more delicate skill of manipulating bioelectricity. Her lessons had commenced at five years old, when she first showed evidence of mage talent. That was almost twenty years ago. He had been the only other storm mage in the city of Limani, and she had learned much from him over the years. He’d have been irritated to die peacefully in his sleep. She tried not to remember Master Procella as she had last seen him, frail and wheelchair-bound. She would much rather recall the vibrant man who had taught her to throw lightning. How to mesh her energy with Kane’s earth power. How to appreciate fine wine. The officiant led a final moment of silence while they all stood, then he stepped down from the podium, robes flowing around him. Toria waited with Kane while the majority of the funeral’s attendees filed out of the chapel before leaving. The double doors at the rear were already thrown open, and the summer’s oppressive humidity cut through the chapel’s pitiful excuse for air conditioning. Toria pushed a lock of brown hair behind her ear, feeling the short hair at her neck frizz. Kane captured her hand again as he led her out of the chapel into the bright sun. With her free hand, she pulled her sunglasses from the neck of her blouse and slipped them on. The body had been cremated and only family members were invited to the following dinner, so she and Kane milled about with the other friends and acquaintances. She resisted the urge to call up a breeze. A summer storm threatened to break, and they didn’t need the sudden deluge that the colder air would bring forth. “Ms. Connor? Mr. Nalamas?” They both turned at the hesitant voice approaching behind them, and Toria resisted the urge to correct her use of their titles to “Master.” This was neither the time nor the place for being that sort of a stickler. A woman led two elementary school-aged children toward them, a boy and a girl. Toria had noticed them on the other side of the chapel during the service, sitting farther to the front. The girl’s blouse had come untucked, and the boy’s tie was loosened. Both had red-rimmed eyes that matched how hers must look under her shades. Toria could sense the power emanating from the children, both of the element air. The summer’s heat pressed heavy upon them, but she didn’t feel the breeze that stirred the kids’ blond hair. That meant their control still needed work, but at least they kept the current within shields. Master Procella had reprimanded her many times over her years of training for messing with the weather patterns as she grew into her power. These kids were doing pretty well for their age and obvious emotional stress. “Yes?” Kane said. “Can we help you?” “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “You don’t know me. I’m Dana Sjolander. These are my kids, Reed and Maggie.” Kane folded his tall frame to kneel in front of them. “Hey, guys. I’m Kane.” Maggie ducked behind her mother, but Reed stood his ground. “Hi. Is it true you grew that oak tree behind the mage school in less than a day?” That startled Toria into a laugh, a welcome relief from the melancholy she’d felt since learning of Master Procella’s death. She hadn’t thought about that tree in years. Kane echoed her with his own chuckle. “Hardly. A certain storm mage, who shall not be named, accidently struck it with lightning. I only repaired a lot of the damage. That tree stood there long before we were born.” Maggie also giggled, and Dana beamed at her kids. “I knew that couldn’t be true,” she said, “but who was I to tell them otherwise? They got the magic from my late husband. I’m just a nurse.” “It’s nice to meet all of you.” Kane shook Reed and Maggie’s hands before standing to also shake their mother’s. “How can we help you?” Toria asked. Dana glanced at the mourners clustered in little groups around them, though most had drifted toward their electric town-cars in the neighboring parking lot. “This probably isn’t the right time for it, and I’m sorry for that. But I wanted you to meet the twins. They need your help.” Toria heard Kane ask what was wrong, but she had already called forth her magesight, bringing the magic that filled the world into focus around her. She faded out her familiar shields, violet prismatic structures that surrounded her and Kane. Kane’s own fluid emerald shields, like forest shadows at dusk, faded next. Then she tuned out the chapel, which emanated with the benevolent ambient rainbow of power fueled by generations of worship. Dana had spoken true. The mother had no magical ability to speak of, but her gentle cerulean aura was echoed by the whirlwind of azure and indigo hues that surrounded both of her children. Their shields needed work, but Toria’s had been equally disjointed at their age. At first inspection, she found no major problems. Smooth shields came more from experience than from power, and she saw none of the fluctuations that signaled illness or injury. There was also no tarnish that indicated a curse placed upon the children, nor any other signs of darker power. “No, no,” Dana said. “They’re fine. It’s just that we’re in a bit of a dilemma. Were the two of you planning on taking over the mage school?” Kane turned to Toria, an unspoken question reverberating down their mental link, but she shrugged in response. She’d heard nothing about the mage school in recent memory. To be fair, she and Kane had been wrapped up with finishing their college degrees in the past few months. Graduation had been less than two weeks before, and since then, their focus had shifted to relaxing and catching up on all the movies and books they’d missed with their overloaded schedules over the last two semesters. “What’s going on with the school, ma’am?” Kane said. “We graduated almost five years ago, and we haven’t kept in touch very well.” “I guess not,” Dana said. “Master Procella was the last master there. Without him, my kids have no one left to teach them.” No one left? Toria had no words. Maybe they should have kept in better contact. Kane spoke first, ever the diplomat. “Well, that’s definitely something we can look into,” he said. “And I will keep you informed of what we decide. But I’m afraid we can’t really make any commitments now.” “I understand,” Dana said. “But if no one takes over the school here in Limani, and I can’t find any other mages in the city to train them, the twins will have to go to school up north. I’m not embarrassed to say that I’m worried about being so far from them. Not to mention the tuition costs.” “They certainly can’t go untrained,” Toria said. “And I promise we won’t let that happen. Something will work out.” “Thank you,” Dana said. “Here’s my number. Please, call me anytime.” She pressed a business card into Toria’s palm, then took each of her kids by the hand and led them toward the parking lot. “Well,” Kane said. “I did not expect that.” “I had no idea,” Toria said. “You?” This was the distraction she had needed from mourning Master Procella’s death, but not the one she might have wanted. “Of course not. We’ve been living and breathing schoolwork for almost a year. I haven’t spoken to another mage except you in ages.” Kane tucked Toria’s hand in the crook of his elbow as they ambled to their town-car. It was true. Maximillian Asher, the head of Limani’s Mercenary Guild, had sat them both down after the unfortunate events with the Roman army two summers ago to discuss their futures as mercenaries. He’d been polite, but firm. Chemistry and literature where honorable courses of study, but neither would help in their chosen career field. So they had added political studies to their course loads, overloading their schedules every semester to accommodate the extra classes and still graduate on time. “We can’t take on two students,” Toria said, feeling the need to state the obvious. “Neither of us is air, we have no experience teaching, and Max will never let us push off our journeyman rotation any longer. Hell, we should have done it after high school.” “I know,” Kane said. “But we can’t let those kids go untrained. And they probably aren’t the only students at the school right now. We have a responsibility to them.” He unlocked their town-car when they reached it but didn’t open the driver’s side door. Toria stared at him over the roof. “Looks like our vacation is over.” # Their apartment door was unlocked again. But since a delicious aroma, combined with much-needed air conditioning, hit right as Toria entered, she once again forgave Syri’s criminal tendencies. Seeing her friend’s familiar black leather jacket tossed over the back of the couch, ever-present despite the heat, warmed a spot in her chest that had been chilled despite the summer heat. Though always dismissing every offer of her own key, their elven friend had kept them fed with balanced meals for most of the past year while they crammed for classes. “Good, you’re back,” Syri said, calling from across the open-plan apartment. The petite elven girl spooned tomato sauce over pasta onto plates at the kitchen island. “Food.” Sometime between now and when they’d last seen her two days ago, Syri had added a streak of cornflower blue to her spiky blond hair. The color matched the crystal stud in her nose. “We see,” Toria said. “Thank you.” She kicked off her heels inside the door and hopped onto one of the stools at the island. “Any beer left?” Kane loosened his tie and tossed it and his suit coat next to Syri’s jacket before crossing to the refrigerator. “We polished it off last night.” “Savages,” Syri said. “There’s wine on the counter.” She pointed with her ladle. Kane poured three glasses of the red wine while Syri distributed plates, and within minutes, all three were inhaling the meal. “Exactly what I needed,” Toria said. “Thanks, hon.” “My pleasure,” Syri said. “I figured neither of you would be in the mood to cook after the service. How was it?” “Service itself was nice,” Kane said. “After the service was odd.” “How so?” Syri quirked an eyebrow at him. “Some lady came up to us with her two kids. Twins, maybe nine or ten years old?” Toria said, and Kane nodded at her estimation. “Wanted to know if we were taking over the mage school.” Syri gave a slow blink. “What’s wrong with the mage school?” “Apparently Master Procella was the only teacher left,” Kane said. “I guess Masters Vilece and Bennett aren’t there anymore?” Toria snapped her fingers. “Master Vilece passed away three years go. Cancer.” “And Master Bennett moved to Eire almost four years ago,” Syri said. “I remember him asking my uncle for advice on where to retire.” The apartment descended into silence. “Well, crap,” Syri said, swirling the wine in her glass. “Where the hell are all the middle-aged masters? I think we’re missing a generation somewhere. If everyone is either dead or old, you two might have to train them after all.” “Absolutely not,” Toria said. “We are already four years behind in our merc careers. We are not taking off another five plus to train up some kids with an element we don’t even have experience working with. And there might be more students we don’t know about. The mom didn’t say. We can’t exactly accept two and leave the rest hanging.”