August Gaines
I raise my head to meet the beady eyes of the pompous ass that (unfortunately) is currently First Maker. I haven't ever seen him till now. I'm not impressed; his skin is so very pale and his eyes seem to be constantly calculating.
Aunt Priya never told me about him directly, but even a deaf person would know that she and he had very different views about the future of the Fourth Society. He's been undermining Aunt Priya and hers since before I was born.
My heart clenches as I think about what this trial will do to Aunt Priya’s standing in the Society. I had to keep my head down to avoid meeting her gaze by chance when I walked towards the dais.
I should've probably avoided Summoners like the plague. The Faerie are much more united and progressive than we've ever been. Unfortunately, finding out what Aunt Priya and Rajiv did was too attractive. I couldn't choose any other path. Now I'm finding that my choice might have been the biggest mistake of all.
The provost brings me back to the present when he coughs. He's wheezing out my transgressions in High Latin, the archaic language Summoners insist on using in official communication.
“... In conclusion, Maker August Amanda Gaines, you are charged on two counts. One, wilfully obverting the spirit of your initiation vows on our great secret. Count two, performing surgery on a human through the use of Biochemystry and Sylvanics.”
If the first charge had made the chamber bubble, the second made it boil over. The provost’s calls for order make no dent on the uproar. Curiously, the he does nothing about the clamor. It seems as if he’s enjoying it. You almost wouldn’t notice from looking at his face though.
“How do you plead child?” he purrs, voice treacle sweet. “With cognizance of your extraordinary promise, I will gladly show mercy if you accept your fault and show penitence.”
I scowl, for a moment I forget that he is the Lord First. The snake knows I won’t plead guilty; he just wants me to say it out loud so he looks reasonable and I look like a spoilt brat. There is no helping it though.
“I plead not guilty and would respectfully request leave to explain the circumstances”.
The First Lord’s nostrils flare. My plea is definitely not penitent enough for him. He waves me on though, so I proceed.
“Stain is the greatest impediment to our society. How may times over the centuries have we been vilified for ‘healing dogs but not men’. How many times have we lost friends, colleagues, sons, daughters, fathers and mothers because our hands are tied by the constraints of Stain? Can we even begin to imagine the value the lives of those lost, or the change it would have made to the fight against the Underdark?”
I pause to gather my thoughts. I hadn’t really planned this speech out. The mood in the Chamber is not yet where I need it to be. I take a deep breath and continue.
“I lost a brother to a condition that maybe; just maybe, we should have been able to heal. My own father begged and pleaded with a Professor who sits within this very chamber. Her hands were tied by the reality of Stain, and her lips were sealed by her vows.”
I set my brow and still my aching heart. I wasn’t Aunt Priya’s fault that she hadn’t been able to save Janus. I was too young to understand at the time; I had refused to speak to her for years. I continue my defence.
“There is a reason why we call our methods and frameworks ‘Theoreticals’. Because they are not Laws, cast in stone. They are ideas, theories that can grow and breathe. Now, with the support of the Third Society...”
The Hall breaks into a harsh rustling of disapproval. Summoners work alone. It has always been an unwritten rule. It’s not a vow or anything, but I guess that’s the sort of paranoia that comes with keeping the ‘Great Secret’.
“Now, with the support of the Psychics of the Third Society…” I repeat. I have to raise my voice a little; the rustling is growing into a rumble. The rumble dies down as the Provost thumps his mallet repeatedly. Again, the First Lord does not make any move to aid my case.
His baritone growl, amplified by the microphone on his collar, rumbles as he commands in High Latin, “Get on with Maker Gaines, and do away with the theatrics. We are here to assess facts, not suppositions.”
I’m piqued, but I’m careful not to let it show. I tell the facts, the facts of how I started experimenting with my siblings within the Psychic and Faerie societies. I tell them of how quite a few acolytes besides my siblings became interested.
I carefully exclude Issah and Tes from my narration. Even though Tandem had been Issah's idea there was no point in getting my closest collaborators and friends caught up in my troubles.
I explain how I established the Theoretical that used a Psychic to suppress the Stain whilst a Summoner, preferably a Sylvanist, performed surgeries.
“Intelligentsia of the Inner Chamber, I contest the charge of obverting my vows regarding the great secret of our Society. The vows surrounding our great secret are rightful, however the spirit of that vow was never broken. The spirit of the vow is to ‘do no harm’, not ‘heal no man.’”
Technically I hadn’t broken the vow to not reveal the Stain. I had just told Issah that I needed some form of Psychic suppression and explained how it should be formed. I don't go in depth on the nature of the Psychic suppression. Stain suppression is one of the cards I have to hold close to my chest.
I gradually notice that the chamber has gone deathly quiet.
“Of course!” My mind screams, grasping at straws, “they can’t help but be curious. This is a breakthrough even greater than the invention of a new Standard Model construct!”
My throat is rather dry from all the talking. I ignore the scratchiness and plug on.
“I had the knowledge and the theoretical to prevent my brother’s death. For the first time in our history, a Summoner did not have their hands bound by Stain.”
My memory flickers to back to that moment. I couldn’t have helped the healing. Our Jules was dying from a darkling wound. I had convinced Issah and Tes to run an impromptu emergency field test. Issah, of course, had refused – erring on the side of caution. I had been counting on Tes, warm hearted and kind to push him over, and she did.
It had worked perfectly, but apparently miracles cannot be kept secret. It had taken little work to find out the source of the healing. All the glowing neon arrows pointed to me.
I finally complete my ‘statement of facts’.
“I did not harm. I healed – without Stain.”
The room is silent. I turn to look at Aunt Priya, she nods with pride; her eyes filled with tears. I turn back towards the Lord First Nathaniel Sparrow. The glint in his eyes is definitely not impressed, more like furious.
* * *
The First Lord is furious as he strides out of the Inner Chamber. The Gaines girl had intrigued the Red Capes. Even his cronies agreed that her feat should be looked into. She had unwittingly buckled his power, and he had had to detain her “indefinitely”.
Eventually, he hoped, the ire of the Summoners would rise again and that detainment would become permanent; a noose around the necks of Rajasthani and Gaines the father.
Yes, that's it.
He plots as he takes the steps leading to his study, two at a time.
All I need is time, and I will be damned if I ever allow her to make Master.
The thought of putting the child in her place pleased him greatly. By the time he's gotten to the First Maker’s study he's in much better spirits.
The tableau his eyes encounter make him slam shut the door and turn the key in the lock.
An unbelievably attractive, raven-haired woman sits in his swivel chair, feet on the desk. A heavyset man in a ski mask stands behind her.
“Dahhhling,” she twangs in an country girl accent. “How d’you ever get used to such a tiny office. You are the First Maker aren’t ya?”
“Lily! How did you get in!” He croaks, frantic with worry.
His eyes can’t help nibbling on a view that was obviously meant for him: the generous cleavage that a few unfastened buttons of Lily's plaid blouse have laid bare. A hint of pink lace shows, just enough to be seductive.
She ignores his question and pouts her mouth slightly, oozing sex like an éclair oozing cream.
He reprimands himself mentally. Lily is a high-level Daemon. He's not aware how high, but obviously high enough to appear in daytime and not seem possessed at all.
“Mr. Sparrow hasn’t been keeping our mutual friends updated, even though Mr. Sparrow is benefiting so much from our acquaintance. Miss Lily thinks Mr Sparrow is being very unfair.”
“Look now Daemon," he hisses, “All you and yours gave me is for the benefit of both your plans and mine.”
The Daemon swings her cowboy boots off his table, turns to Ski-mask man and whines.
“Why is Mr. Sparrow shouting at meee?”
Like a predatory cat she suddenly turns her gaze back to the First Maker, and with a rapacious huskiness she growls “Mr. Sparrow forgets to be courteous. Mr. Sparrow forgets that even words from Daemons can bring him down!”
She stands up and delicately places a hand on the arm of the Giant in the Ski Mask.
All candy floss and candy cane again she chirps “You need to corrupt more of your Society, to solidify your autocracy and ensure the success of our plans for the future. I expect actual progress the next time I find you.”
She pauses for a minute as if recollecting something, and then adds.
“Free advice Mr. Sparrow; the Gaines girl will give you trouble, kill her.”
Before he is able to voice a protest, they both fade out.
The man in the ski-mask was Faerie.
The Lord First Maker stumbles to his chair and sits down . Gaines’ transgression might have been one for which she would have been executed three or two centuries ago, but it wasn’t now.
It would even be difficult to carry out: poison was the best bet. It would have to be timed so her watch wouldn’t notice she was dead till it was too late.
He shook his head forcefully to clear it of the idea. He was actually planning to kill a child without trial! Lily was dangerous.
The blowout from Gaines’ death would be enormous. Her father had the ear of the Faerie, which meant influence in the Six, enough to force a joint Societies enquiry if his daughter died.
No. Better the girl remain sequestered away in detainment where he could keep an eye on her.
After all, where could she possibly go? She wasn’t Faerie, she couldn’t dream shift away. The walls of her detainment were warded with ley lines to muffle sendings and make entering or drawing from her personal dream space impossible.
He had been sitting still for a few minutes, mulling over future plans and devices, when the sirens started blaring.
There's an attack on the Collegium!
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