technique was supposed to work in theory.
Defilers drew their energy from the living things around them—plants, vermin, even people—all to avoid the effects of the Flensing. Without that check upon their power, even a run-of-the-mill mage could weave enough energy to kill. A master could…well, Kalavan had shown what a master could do. A single mage, Oscar Vacal, had destroyed an entire island to fuel his power.
Maybe it would have been better if the Enclave told the public the truth. Maybe then their rage would be directed at the Defilers themselves, or toward any who helped renegade magi acquire the knowledge. Maybe the Dusties wouldn’t blame every single magi for the weakness of a few. Maybe her mother would still be alive.
Eve sighed. No, none of that was likely. As hard as it was to admit, the Enclave was probably right. The less people really knew about Defilement, the better.
“You know, I never had a chance to ask you something,” Zach said. “Did you actually know Vacal before he went crazy and destroyed Kalavan?”
She nodded solemnly. “Everyone did at Rorendal. He was very popular, at least with the students. His ideas were…controversial.”
Zach raised an eyebrow. “The newspapers made him seem like a magi supremacist. They said he especially despised President Janel.”
“He thought Janel’s election was the beginning of the end,” she said distantly. “First we elect a torbo president, then next the Industrialists rise to power. He said it would destroy Arkadia and possibly the Fane.”
“Sounds like a demagogue to me,” Zach grunted. “Tossing around dangerous hyperbole to a bunch of young students who trust you to be impartial.”
Eve shook her head and locked eyes with him. “But what if he was right? It looks like Chaval’s going to win, doesn’t it? Then the Dusties are in charge, and what happens next?”
He pursed his lips. “There’s a big leap between one election and the country falling apart. We’ve endured a lot since Independence—I’d like to think we aren’t that fragile.”
“Maybe not,” she conceded. “But you can understand how appealing those ideas would be to a bunch of young magi living in the middle of this Dusty revolution.”
Zach studied her for a moment. “Even you?”
Eve closed her eyes and rubbed at her nose. She could lie, of course, but he would see through her easily enough. And besides, he was her best friend even if he was a torbo. If she couldn’t trust him, then who else?
“At first,” she admitted. “It was hard not to. Once I started studying in earnest, learning about how the forces of the world really worked and how they all interacted with the Fane, it was…well, it was easy to start thinking that I was better than everyone else. Certainly better than a bunch of uneducated kreel who couldn’t appreciate art or philosophy or anything about the Fane.”
“And then you start to wonder why those people are allowed to be in power at all,” Zach added. “Maybe why they’re even allowed to vote.”
She made a face. “I didn’t say that.”
“No, but it’s the next step,” he told her. “I may just be a poor shuvo and all, but I had a lot of time to read when I was overseas. I gathered up every history book I could find, and everything you just said has been spoken before by someone—usually right before things got ugly.”
Her first reaction was to lash back at him, to defend her position—but then, it wasn’t her position, at least not anymore. So then why did it feel so personal when he attacked it?
Vacal had told a bunch of scared students exactly what they wanted to hear—namely, that they and their families weren’t to blame for the country’s problems. Quite the opposite, actually; he blamed everything on the Dusties and their sympathizers who just couldn’t accept their place in life.
The problem is that he was wrong. No one was blameless here. And if things were going to get better, people on
Defilers drew their energy from the living things around them—plants, vermin, even people—all to avoid the effects of the Flensing. Without that check upon their power, even a run-of-the-mill mage could weave enough energy to kill. A master could…well, Kalavan had shown what a master could do. A single mage, Oscar Vacal, had destroyed an entire island to fuel his power.
Maybe it would have been better if the Enclave told the public the truth. Maybe then their rage would be directed at the Defilers themselves, or toward any who helped renegade magi acquire the knowledge. Maybe the Dusties wouldn’t blame every single magi for the weakness of a few. Maybe her mother would still be alive.
Eve sighed. No, none of that was likely. As hard as it was to admit, the Enclave was probably right. The less people really knew about Defilement, the better.
“You know, I never had a chance to ask you something,” Zach said. “Did you actually know Vacal before he went crazy and destroyed Kalavan?”
She nodded solemnly. “Everyone did at Rorendal. He was very popular, at least with the students. His ideas were…controversial.”
Zach raised an eyebrow. “The newspapers made him seem like a magi supremacist. They said he especially despised President Janel.”
“He thought Janel’s election was the beginning of the end,” she said distantly. “First we elect a torbo president, then next the Industrialists rise to power. He said it would destroy Arkadia and possibly the Fane.”
“Sounds like a demagogue to me,” Zach grunted. “Tossing around dangerous hyperbole to a bunch of young students who trust you to be impartial.”
Eve shook her head and locked eyes with him. “But what if he was right? It looks like Chaval’s going to win, doesn’t it? Then the Dusties are in charge, and what happens next?”
He pursed his lips. “There’s a big leap between one election and the country falling apart. We’ve endured a lot since Independence—I’d like to think we aren’t that fragile.”
“Maybe not,” she conceded. “But you can understand how appealing those ideas would be to a bunch of young magi living in the middle of this Dusty revolution.”
Zach studied her for a moment. “Even you?”
Eve closed her eyes and rubbed at her nose. She could lie, of course, but he would see through her easily enough. And besides, he was her best friend even if he was a torbo. If she couldn’t trust him, then who else?
“At first,” she admitted. “It was hard not to. Once I started studying in earnest, learning about how the forces of the world really worked and how they all interacted with the Fane, it was…well, it was easy to start thinking that I was better than everyone else. Certainly better than a bunch of uneducated kreel who couldn’t appreciate art or philosophy or anything about the Fane.”
“And then you start to wonder why those people are allowed to be in power at all,” Zach added. “Maybe why they’re even allowed to vote.”
She made a face. “I didn’t say that.”
“No, but it’s the next step,” he told her. “I may just be a poor shuvo and all, but I had a lot of time to read when I was overseas. I gathered up every history book I could find, and everything you just said has been spoken before by someone—usually right before things got ugly.”
Her first reaction was to lash back at him, to defend her position—but then, it wasn’t her position, at least not anymore. So then why did it feel so personal when he attacked it?
Vacal had told a bunch of scared students exactly what they wanted to hear—namely, that they and their families weren’t to blame for the country’s problems. Quite the opposite, actually; he blamed everything on the Dusties and their sympathizers who just couldn’t accept their place in life.
The problem is that he was wrong. No one was blameless here. And if things were going to get better, people on
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