206

    ******

    Standing on a beach as the tide came in, but so much darker than that. The roiling substance that was not water, that was not substance, the threat—it pulled the sand from beneath your feet, pressed against you, promised that you would learn you were only a more stubborn grain. The erosion would eventually take you, too.

    The artist had painted that.

    And shadows. Lifeforms that had been stubborn in their own ways were now broken, the chaos bleeding from the fractures between what should have, could have been and what was and was changing.

    Alden’s body gasped for him, and finally, he could see the picture clearly, though there was a thin quality to it. Like if he looked too hard he’d pop it, and the experience of chaos that hid beneath its surface would pour over him once more.

    What he saw was a barren, red place. A desert, with a hill in the distance in the form of a single burgundy roll crossing the width of the painting.

    The shards of slick, translucent gray material that seemed to dig into the paint in some places and float above it in others were demons. They hadn’t been given any features, but Alden somehow knew it. Whether they were a symbolic or realistic representation of what had been in the place didn’t matter to him. What mattered as his eyes focused on the center of the painting was the knight who stood there beside a single, stalky plant.

    It was taller than the man was, but it was only brown sticks. It should have looked dead to Alden. It didn’t.

    That’s alive. It’s right. There are no demons in that spot.

    The knight had been painted from such a distance that the landscape around him was oppressive. And as Alden stared at him, the pop happened. The impression of chaos hit him again and then ended just as abruptly, leaving his attention so fully on the knight that it was like the rest of the landscape ceased to exist.

    The man stood in a place of safety. The air was somehow clearer there, and the ground had something mossy growing on it. He’d hung a small wooden lantern from one of the stalks, and his hand cradled the tip of another, where some pale fluff hung. Seed or visiting creature—the painting didn’t tell Alden that. But it did make him feel like he was standing right there.

    The knight’s coat was only lightly studded with designs on the sleeves. The green fabric was repaired at the waist in the same way Stuart had repaired Alden’s suitcase, with a patch that seemed to melt into the cloth at the edges. His hair was a tight brown braid; both of his pink eyes were looking out of the painting into the darkness.

    He was waiting.

    He was tired.

    Alden felt the way the chaos couldn’t touch this place because of the knight, and as the distance between them increased again, he was powerfully struck by the existence of that plant and the lantern. That tiny patch of life in the middle of so much wrongness.

    It was so important, and he couldn’t pull his eyes away from it...because what if it disappeared?

    The painting held him there like his witness was required. He didn’t resist, and he wasn’t released. Not until a pair of hands covered his eyes from behind.

    What? Who?

    Disoriented, he tried to turn to see the person who’d done it before their hands were even pulled away, and he ended up bumping his bag full of Stuart’s journals into two other people who’d been standing so close that there wasn’t a single step between them and him.

    Crap. Library. People. Several people. Books I shouldn’t have been reading.

    The hands disappeared.

    “He’s well! Look how well he is! So there’s no need to call Instructor Rel-art’h. Everyone go back to enjoying your study, please.”

    “Quinyeth! I just said not to cover his eyes. What if he—?”

    “Human, can you speak?”

    “Alden. His name is Alden. I told you thrice.”

    “Alden, are you damaged?”

    “His mind is probably damaged. He wasn’t aware of us at all. He might still not be aware. His features are tainted by obvious distress.”

    “Hush! He’s just not speaking because you’re talking so much.”

    “I’m all right! Can I have some space?” Alden said to the chattering group of six Artonans who surrounded him.

    The one who’d covered his eyes and declared him well was Quinyeth. In her outfit with the wooly cape, she might have looked more put-together and official than the other students, who were all dressed differently from her and from each other in what must have been their casual weekend preferences. But since they were all shooting her looks with one or two eyes and sighing, the impression was ruined. rANOΒE?s?

    “I am well,” Alden insisted more firmly, holding his bag under his arm, afraid he’d bump into one of them again and the fabric would split open, spilling journals all over the place. Because that was reasonable. “The art here is very good. I was appreciating it.”

    “I told you!” Quinyet said, sounding confident but looking relieved as everyone finally took a step back from him. The sprout of hair sticking up from her clip waved merrily. “Alden was enjoying himself.”

    “He was enjoying himself too much if he didn’t notice us calling out to him and poking him,” said one.

    They were poking me?

    “Who enjoys the paintings up here?” said another.

    “He said appreciating. Quinyeth-wit said enjoying.”

    How long was I standing here? Alden wondered.

    “Again, I think we must call Instructor Rel-art’h. Even if Avowed Alden has now been interaction with the painting.”

    The one who’d spoken was a boy who Alden guessed might be the future knight Quinyeth had gone to greet. He was the only one other than her who hadn’t been in the library when Alden last looked down over the railing.

    Is he a Rel-art’h fan?

    It was only a judgmental leap, based on the facts that he wanted to call the instructor and he wore two clips in his long purple-black hair in the exact same style Rel-art’h favored. They weren’t jeweled, but they were identical in shape.

    “I’m very well.” Alden tried to look bright and healthy and like he hadn’t let himself be glued to a painting for an unknown length of time. “Hn’tyon Rel-art’h is a busy person.”

    Who already gave me behavior notes once and seems like the kind of involved teacher and older brother who’d definitely lecture me for half a day on how to avoid being all human in front of the artwork.

    And that was the best of the likely outcomes. Alden didn’t want Stuart to get the lecture in his place.

    “I’ll let him know I appreciated this—” He pointed toward the painting, careful not to look at it except through his peripheral vision. “—when I see him again. Probably soon. I think Stu and I are going back to his house soon.”

    “Not too soon, I hope,” said a girl. “They’ve only just gotten a chance to talk to him after so long, and Noh cares so much about him. I’m sure she’ll think of the right thing to...”

    She trailed off, turning one eye to the boy who wanted to call Rel-art’h and blinking the other at Alden.

    “He’s enjoying the morning with those he hasn’t seen since he went to his preferred university,” the boy said.

    “I can’t imagine Stu at LeafSong, even after this much time,” one of them said. “Do you think he’s all right at the kinds of parties they have?”

    “Of course he’s not. The rumors I’ve—”

    “Of course this Avowed who has just had a frightening experience doesn’t need to hear us gossip about other wizards,” the Rel-art’h impersonator said.

    He’s about two sentences away from me deciding I don’t like him much.

    “That’s right!” Quinyeth chimed in. “He doesn’t need to hear about LeafSong. Nobody needs to call anybody. Asay doesn’t need to worry; he needs to sit down and have productive study time in our quiet and peaceful library that is so safe for humans. Alden will come with me.”

    She looked like she really wanted Alden to come with her, away from all this talk of tattling to a faculty member.

    Asay, thought Alden, the name familiar. Asay-tor. Sent away with Noh-en for showing too much emotion that day in the snow. All grown up and becoming a knight himself now, if I haven’t misunderstood who he is.

    Strange how that day was so much more recent to Alden than to the people who had actually lived through it.

    And through others after it, he reminded himself.

    Asay-tor gave Quinyeth what must have been the fiftieth look she’d gotten since Alden had regained his senses. “You’re not going to get in trouble,” he said patiently.

    What about me?Am I going to get in trouble? Alden wanted to ask. Is Stuart? What if Rel-art’h checks my bag and finds a bunch of journals on magical topics that haven’t been spread around widely on Earth? Is there a Privacy of the School tattoo to go with Privacy of the House? And how irate will Stuart be if they have another tattooing of the guest fight here and now?

    “She’s definitely going to get in trouble if you tell on her, Asay-tor,” the other girl said. “She left an Avowed alone in the top library without even warning him about the paintings.”

    “I knew how this kind of painting worked,” Alden volunteered. “I don’t think you should blame Quinyeth for that. And I think you should trust me to know if I need to speak to someone or not. I’m capable of making decisions about my own wellbeing.”

    He positioned the shoulder with the commendation on it toward Asay-tor on the pretext of turning to address the group. “This painting was just...so good. Now I know to bring someone with me if I want to look at ones that aren’t made especially for my species. Quinyeth, let’s go so that my presence isn’t a distraction for these students. I don’t know all of your names, but thank you for your worry and poking.”

    His mouth might be saying, “Let me go,” but internally, he was wishing that they’d all go away for two minutes so that he could put the journals back.

    They didn’t. Instead, he got belated introductions to everyone. Asay-tor introduced himself as Declared Asay-tor, which confirmed Alden’s earlier assumption that the Declared title referred to someone who’d made the choice to become a knight but hadn’t yet had their first affixation. Asay-tor talked less stiffly once it was decided by the majority of the others that Alden wasn’t in need of help and that no harm had been done.

    One of them thought he must be the first human ever to set foot in the Rapport school. Another was curious about how he knew Stuart well enough to be a family-approved guest. And though that was the most obvious thing for them to wonder, Alden was completely unprepared with clever answers.

    He said, “We met at LeafSong, and we’ve been staying in touch since I was rescued by the Quaternary.” Then he tried to be vague when they asked follow-ups.

    It was like he’d shown puppies he was hiding bacon in his pockets. They sensed a story. He couldn’t come up with any non-bacony responses when they pried, and they pried a lot before he finally made an inelegant escape by telling Quinyeth he needed a tour of the nearest bathroom.

    I’ve almost forgotten the mishnen isn’t common knowledge.

    Stuart’s whole family seemed to know.

    The Primary said he would appreciate me not telling, and I know Stuart would appreciate me not telling. I guess when this comes up I need to imply we met in his lab class and hit it off or something? Alden left the bathroom and found Quinyeth waiting in an alcove just down the hallway.

    “I thought we could see some of the classrooms next,” she said. “Would you like that?”

    “Is Stuart still busy?”

    She blinked. “Let me send a message. They were all supposed to be at—”

    “I know the way,” Alden said. “I can target him. It’s part of my skill.”

    He could feel Stuart in that direction.

    [Hello. I’m coming your way,] he texted. [If you don’t want me to, shout or send a spell or glare at me when I arrive.]

    It was absurd that he could run around the Rapport and sleep in the same cottage as Stuart, but Stuart still couldn’t text him back without impersonating Evul. He didn’t have the I-am-Evul tablet with him here as far as Alden knew.

    No shouts or spells came, so Alden climbed up the root-festooned courtyard wall and headed uphill. It was almost too steep for the first few steps, but it became more manageable.

    “I’ll leave,” Quinyeth said suddenly from behind him. “Noh says I should.”

    He looked back at her. She was just standing there on a hummock that was half root, half soil. Watching him hopefully. He wondered if she wanted him to give her permission to stay. It seems equally likely that she wants me to tell her I changed my mind about Rel-art’h.

    “Do you want a piece of fruit from Earth?” he asked. “The next time I come I could bring you one. Or maybe honey. Bees make it.”

    “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes! I will have a gift for you, too!”

    He watched her go, then sent a message to remind himself to buy honey.

    Only a couple of minutes later, he and Stuart found each other under one of the trees.

    Ah, they got him in the whole outfit, Alden thought, taking in the sight of the wooly cape and the long skirt-like layer that split in the front to reveal the pants. It was a cool looking uniform.

    “I’m sorry our plans were interrupted.” Stuart spoke with unmistakably false cheer. “I hope you enjoyed the bokabv. And the school. I’m glad you got to see the interior. It’s an important part of the Rapport, and I...”

    Alden let the Primary’s son ramble until the purple faded from his ears. Then he said, “I accidentally ate swimmers that are poisonous for my liver, and I looked into a painting in the top library that I couldn’t escape from on my own, and I upset Quinyeth by telling her that I would have diminished respect for Rel-art’h if he used my bokabv to make your life harder.”

    Stuart stared at him.

    Alden smiled.

    “You ate something poisonous to you?”

    “That was the smallest mistake of the morning. The Contract said I didn’t eat too much. I feel fine.”

    “Poison is not a small mistake, Alden.”

    “It was, it was. Did you hear about how I insulted your brother?”

    “Rel’s feelings are less important than your liver. I should have been more watchful! After you ate that jar of oil—”

    “Shhhhh. The oil was embarrassing.”

    They were still staring at each other. Stuart had a real smile fighting its way through the fake one he’d been wearing just a moment ago.

    “Was it all right?” Alden asked. “Seeing the people you used to spend so much time with? Or should we have run to hide in the woods?”

    “It was shitty,” Stuart said. “They were very happy to see me, and I have missed them, and it was shitty.”

    Alden nodded. “Are we leaving?”

    “Yes,” Stuart said fervently.

    The messenger bag weighed about a hundred pounds now.

    “Good. But first...I really did make a mistake. I hope you won’t be angry.”

    “If it was a mistake, of course I won’t,” Stuart said. “We will not be friends who lose our affection for each other because of mistakes, will we?”

    Oh no. He’s making me want to tell him even less.

    “I don’t intend to be that kind of friend. Let me explain. I know I wasn’t supposed to be reading in the library at the top of the tower.”

    Stuart’s brows lifted. “If you speak of proper discretion, I think you weren’t supposed to be in that library at all.”

    “Right. You’re right. But I wanted to be there, so I didn’t tell Quinyeth no when she took me. I even said, ‘Yes, please take me there. I want to go.’ And I found some books. Upstairs.”

    “Those aren’t books.”

    “No. But they had writing in them, and I was interested in them. And I was looking at some of them when someone started talking about how there was a human in the library. I was afraid they were going to be upset when they found me reading up there, so I panicked and put the ones I was looking at in my bag.”

    Stuart’s eyes turned to the bag. “You took ?”

    Alden winced. “I panicked,” he repeated. “I wouldn’t have done it if I’d had thoughts in my head other than panic. Can I blame this on being human? If I could split my thoughts, part of me could have panicked and another part of me could have been calm and responsible.”

    “Only if you had a medical problem,” Stuart disagreed. “That’s not how fear is supposed to affect an Artonan.”

    Alden sighed. “I know.”

    Stuart was still looking at the bag.

    “This is not ,” he said. “First, you’ll tell me what you read. If it’s so serious that the idea of being caught reading it gave you intense fear, then it may be something we have to cover with a contract. Next, I’ll return the study journals to the library. After that, I can schedule meetings between you and the students who wrote the journals.”

    “Meetings?”

    “For you to apologize to them,” Stuart said matter of factly. “I’ll apologize to them, too.”

    Oh my sweet echoing klerms, he’s so non-casual about this! Is it because I committed an offense against educational materials? It is, isn’t it?

    “Here!” Alden said, hastily opening his bag and grabbing the journals. “And here.”

    He shoved his hand into his pezyva’s hidden pocket. “I only took...seven. I’m sorry. I read the first couple of pages of each and then all of the comments people wrote in the backs. Then I got caught by the painting.”

    He held them out toward Stuart, who was looking down at the stack with widening eyes. The silver swoop on top of the first pale purple cover glimmered.

    “But these are all mine?” He sounded unreasonably confused about it.

    “I recognized the color. It’s the same as your auriad, so they were easy to find. But then I couldn’t put them all back quickly—”

    “That’s because you took so many.”

    “I apologize. I was interested in them.”

    Stuart looked up from the stack at last. “Why?”

    “Because they’re yours. And I know you.”

    “You said you read the pages at the back.”

    “I wanted to find out what school here was like for you.”

    That’s so nosey of me, he thought. Why am I confessing to snooping through his past? I’m as bad as Haoyu eavesdropping and then telling everyone about it.

    “And as I said that, I realized how nosey it is. Is there an Artonan word for nosey? I’m that. And I’m very sorry. I won’t take seven of your notebooks from the top library again without permission.”

    Stuart smiled and took the stack from him. “Did you like the first pages of my thoughts for the studies?” he asked. “Since you read those.”

    He’s not mad?

    “I did. The teleportation one looks like it would be fascinating if I knew all the other sources of information you referenced. And the one about skills...I could tell you were working hard to figure yourself out. You were finding your way toward Maker of Narrow Ways, weren’t you? I imagined you taking your time to find the perfect skill for yourself. One rooted in concepts of connection, even though it severs. It’s very meaningful to see a record of that.”

    Stuart held the stack of journals to his chest. “I was doing that. Thank you.”

    Alden waited for him to say something else. He kind of expected it to be something about not eating poison or not picking up manuscripts in the first place if you were afraid of being caught with them.

    “Let’s go take some more things from the school,” Stuart said.

    “What?”

    “It’s important to have others acknowledge your strength and determination, isn’t it? I respect yours. There are rings here I can use to create much more realistic demon-like effects with my casting. I think we should use them to train you this afternoon.”

    “Is this a reward for my mistake?”

    “No. I just want to give you my sincere best, since we are learning partners of a sort today.”

    He strode down the hill toward the school. It took him a while to realize Alden hadn’t followed right after him. Rust-colored eyes turned back questioningly.

    “I’m coming! Thank you. I’ll do my sincere best, too.”

    ******