Hello, I'm writing a story called "Dust Demon", with the intent of publishing, and I'd love some alpha readers! Synopsis: In a world where the strong eat the weak, what is true strength? In the Five Kingdoms of the Demon Empire, a small demon with despised powers finds herself at the center of a conflict that could destroy her country, and topple the Empire. Genre: Action, Adventure, Fantasy, Series Table of Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four
Chapter One: Aftermath, Age 7 Humans have a saying, “Every demon is born an orphan.” Like all common sayings, that’s only half the truth. Excerpt from "Lessons In Dust" The fire burned for an entire day before it shrank down to coals and ash. The entire five blocks of crowded tenements was gone, and with it, over a hundred lives. Now, the scavengers came to comb through the smoking wreckage for odds and ends. Tweak wasn’t having much luck. He’d been shoved aside from the lesser burned areas by larger demons, and now he was sifting through knee-high ashes, looking for anything metal that hadn’t melted. His thin, bony hands traced a stone hearth that was still hot as an oven, when his fingers encountered blistering heat. Swearing, he stuck his burned, filthy fingertips in his mouth. He brushed aside the ash until he found what was causing the heat, crystallized bone, red like glowing fire. Startled, he backed away, but stumbled on and crushed a rounded skull, dull gray and burned, only slightly crystallized. “Saints and kings preserve us,” he cursed. A small cough came from the corner. He whirled around, his hunched, skinny figure poised to flee. “Who’s there?” His voice cracked from nervousness. The cough was louder, high-pitched and rasping. He stepped forward, his feet sliding to find purchase beneath the ashes. In the corner was a slightly elevated nook that had been a bed-cupboard, though the doors were long gone. There was a small shell of ash that collapsed as soon as Tweak drew near. Grimy little toes curled over the edge of the cupboard. A head covered in ash, singed patches, and light blonde hair was tucked against bony, burned knees. Tweak peered at them. “A kid? How the hell did it survive?” But he wasn’t given much to curiosity, and took things as they came. “This is a stroke of luck!” He grabbed the kid by the back of its neck and hauled it out of the corner. “Hm. Pretty heavy for something so little. C’mon, kid, let’s get out of this.” Not paying attention to the child’s shivering and whimpers of pain, he hauled it through the ash and over hot coals and floor stones out to the street. “Now let’s take a gander.” Running a rough hand over the kid’s face, he wiped away the dark grime. He sighed and shook his head. “Not much to look at. That’ll make you harder to sell.” “Oi! Tweak!” A deep voice shouted across the way. Tweak jumped, then looked over his shoulder. “Gah! Harriman! What are you doing all the way out here?” A huge, slope-shouldered man with fists as large as hams and a gleaming bald head approached. Just his luck. Last week, he’d lost against Harriman playing dice and had been ducking the debt collector ever since. “None of your business. I wasn’t looking for you, but now that you’re here, where’s my gold?” “I-I-I don’t have it on me, but-” A flash of inspiration lit up Tweak’s beady eyes, “I just found me this kid! Worth more than what I owe you, don’t you think?” “Found it?” Harriman scoffed. “More like stole it.” “I wouldn’t steal no kid!” Tweak says. “I found it under rights of salvage, right here with it’s whole home and both members of the house burned down to the nub.” “No papers, then? I ain’t gonna touch a kid with no papers.” “What? It’s a perfectly good kid! Who cares about the papers! Any two-bit hack can forge a couple of certificates.” Harriman’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t. And if I ever hear anything out of your mouth to the contrary…” Tweak lifted his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean it that way! Just… This has gotta be four or five years old. How about I let you have it for just three gold?” “Two. For my trouble.” “Two, and erase my debt.” Harriman scowled. The kid was scrawny. Half-baked and half-burned by the fire. It might not even make it until the school auctions two weeks from now. It’s eyes looked like dull yellow piss, without a spark of life. And it was shaking like a shaved alley cat. Everything about the situation told him it was a bad deal. Except… How had the kid survived? To live through that hellish conflagration, it couldn’t be ordinary, no matter how thin and weak it appeared. “I’ll take it,” he said, then immediately regretted the decision. Still, he kept his regrets behind his teeth and signed Tweak’s debt contract and handed it back to him. Tweak scampered away. Harriman looked at the shivering, dull-eyed kid and rubbed the top of his bald head in resignation. The chief would probably rip him a new one. Picking up the kid under one arm like a bag of flour, he made the trek across the city back to his boss’s estate. * * * Chief Cormorant sifted through the tallied bills on his desk. The numbers in the columns on the sheet to his right told a waning story. Twenty-seven children ate a lot. Clansmen ate more. His mistress ate the most. The auction season was two weeks away - school sales had yet to begin. He’d be at the edge of dipping into the clan’s savings by then. For a moment, he considered taking away the breakfast meal. Maybe save a third in food expenses - except the voracious locusts would probably eat twice as much at lunch. Greedy little bastards. If he stopped feeding the children altogether, they’d be thin and sickly and sell for less. And it wouldn’t offset the costs of running the rest of his operation. Cormorant drew in air through his nose. Next time he’d wait to collect on debts until the season was closer. Of course, that risked the debt-riddled parents or bankrupt nurseries finding early buyers for their brats and cheating him out of his cut. The monetary loss might be worth it, given how much he hated dealing with kids as collateral. They were the most annoying kind. Easy to produce but difficult to maintain, and noisy as seven hells of shrieking devils. Worse, because only peasants kept their children to sell, they were uneducated brutes who loved to beat each other and cause trouble. Give him a quiet, nursery-raised kid any day. A knock at the door brought him out of his scowling reverie. The man who opened it was a typical pavement pounder, wide across the shoulders, thick around the belly, a shiny bald head, a large capacity for perseverance and a short one for initiative. Unfortunate that it appeared he’d had some of the latter this time around. Ushering in another gods-damned urchin, the pavement pounder stood to attention as much as his slumpy frame would allow. The kid was worse for the wear, covered in ashes and burn scabs. It’s smock was more hole than fabric - which said something since it was made of leather. Leather didn’t burn easily. A scrawny frame was topped by a scorched dandelion head, bloodshot red eyes, and a thousand-yard stare. It didn’t have a starved look, but it was also a long way from the chubby, happy appearance of a well-cared-for nurseling. Basic fodder. Not long for this world. “What is this?” Cormorant thundered. The pavement pounder winced. “Sorry boss. Don’t mean to disturb. Just got a bit of a mudwallow, here.” Sometimes a situation needed a bit of cleaning before it looked shiny and legal. The chief grunted. “How much did you pay?” “Two gold in debt,” the pavement pounder said, “but the kid don’t have no papers.” “No papers? Then why the hell did you pay two gold?” Every demon child had papers - their birth arc certificate, their nature assessment certificate, their nursery receipt, apprenticeship contract, academy receipt… No papers meant the kid could be a null trying to sneak through the system. Which meant anyone who was caught raising the null would be executed, and the null would be euthanized. “I checked what if it had arcs, and it did.” The underling fumbled with the pouch at his waist, sticking a couple of bearings to the chapped skin on the child’s face. “I don’t have more than two, though. But it’s papers burnt up in the fire, you see.” “You talking about that big blaze over on the south side yesterday?” Cormorant scratched his chin through his beard. A whole row of buildings, gone. A few tens of people dead - all of them low-class peasants and slum-dwellers. “That’s what the scuffer I bought her from said. Found two sets of bones in the house with her.” Cormorant exhaled through his nose and regarded the dull-eyed child, who did not fidget or look the least bit interested in anything they had to say. “Hariban - Harman-” “Harriman.” “... whatever your name is, go ahead and take her to the doc and tell him to run a full work-up. Salvage rights. Then, from your own money, you go to the papermill and get certificate and receipt sheets, you got me? She makes up the price at auction, it’ll cover the cost. But I ain’t paying for your gamble.” How much could a scrawny, dead-faced kid like that make on the market? Harriman looked like he wanted to protest, but he bit his tongue and grabbed the kid’s arm, tugging it out of the office. Cormorant sighed. Two gold wasn’t a bad deal for a child they could probably sell for four or five, but he didn’t like fudging records. They had a nursery name registered for situations like these, and the doc would sign off on her certificates, but it was awful close to being illegal. What his crew did may not have been ethical, but he tried damn hard to keep them on the right side of the law. Otherwise, bribing the beaks would seriously eat into his overhead. Everything ate into his overhead. Cormorant threw down his quill and placed his head in his hands. He needed to get into a different business. Harriman drew the child down the long hall that separated the rooms of the higher-ranking clansmen from the doctor’s infirmary. He breathed out a sigh of relief. That hadn’t been too bad, in the larger scheme of things. He thought about his pitifully small savings, and scowled about the paper. Paper was too darn expensive. * * * Doc Merriweather leaned back, his feet up on the wooden desk, sipping his fifth glass of ale that morning when the Nuisance started making a ruckus. It began rushing around his skull with far too much enthusiasm. “Anger despair sad sad,” it flashed, cycling through explosions of feeling. “Shut up,” he said, his voice gravelled and resigned. 18 years of being inhabited by a spirit was thinning out his hair and turning it prematurely gray. Of the five races, demons, humans, golems, spirits and jinn, he considered spirits to be the most useless and annoying. The dark circles under his eyes were practically tattooed there. Getting his emotions jerked around by a stupid parasite was the worst part having a permanent resident. “Who isn’t messed up around here?” He drained the ale and set it on the desk. The alcohol numbed him some, but not enough. “Strong,” the Nuisance said. A tingle went down Merriweather’s neck. He clapped a hand to press the hairs down and get rid of the sensation. The longer the parasite was inside of him, the more words it learned. Gave him the shivers every time it said a new one. Spirits didn’t care what the emotion was, as long as there was power behind it. Their appetites weren’t satisfied by typical bland feelings. That’s why the parasites loved children - they felt strongly about things an adult would consider minor. Their feelings were brand new and strong, not weak and watered down by time and experience. He drank to deprive the stupid creature from his own mouthwatering anger. Not that spirits had mouths. Unless they “borrowed” them. Sighing, he took his feet off the desk. It was a shoddy, crooked-cornered splinter factory, though at least the center was worn smooth from where his head rested during all-night benders. The patient’s bench wasn’t much better - though it was covered by a cracked leather pad so the injured clansmen didn’t have the added indignity of wood slivers in their unmentionables. The only quality pieces he insisted on were the metal mixing table and the medicine cabinet - a tall set of drawers filled with pills and powders of various persuasions. Many of them which he took to keep the noise down. The problem with being a physician was the ability to self-medicate. He opened the door, giving it a yank as it scraped across the floor. The unvarnished wood swelled in the humid summer months. Going to the medicine cabinet, he fished around inside for the standard “upset kid” prescription. The wellness pill, the nutrition pill. The calming pill, if needed. Or the tea, for a small dose. He took out the packet and considered it. Harriman stood in doorway with the caution of a spooked dog. “Doc, you in?” “Do I ever leave?” The whole point of laying low was not wandering around outside. How many years had it been since Merriweather had left the clan’s courtyard? Harriman kept his relief to himself. Looked like the Doc wasn’t too deep into his cups yet. “Gotta kid that needs the full workup. Orphaned salvage.” “Birth, arcs, nature, nursery? Jinn damned. I’m not paying for the paper.” “Chief said that’s on me, since I bought’er. I’m gonna go get it now.” “Go on with you then. I’ll have her done by the time you get back.” Merriweather waved a hand. Harriman put his hand on the girl’s bony spine and pushed her forward another few steps into the room, then fled. Merriweather studied the child in front of him. It was worse for the wear. Burned patches all over its skin, some of them black, some of them blistering, some of them with that pulled-tight pink look of a permanent scar. The kid looked a little more female than male, but sometimes it was hard to tell at that age. Could be four or five years old from the size. Probably in shock, from that blank expression on his, no, her face. Which made getting answers to questions harder. “Sit.” He said, in a tone that worked about as well for kids as it did for dogs. Which is to say, not as well as he intended. The kid didn’t move. Sighing, he pushed the kid over to the padded bench then shoved her down until she sat. Sorting through the collection of pills on his desk, he placed a nutrition pill in her limp, semi-curled hand. “Eat this,” he said. With the jerkiness of a golem alchemist’s automaton, the kid brought the pill to her mouth, chewed, and swallowed - all without expression. Impressive, based on how bad the pill tasted. At least the kid could hear. Maybe she would talk. He grabbed the slate board he kept on his desk and a piece of chalk. “I’m going to ask you some questions. The sooner you answer them, the sooner I’ll get you fixed up. Got it?” She didn’t nod, but he didn’t expect her to. “What’s your name?” He waited for her answer. It didn’t come. “Look. Kid. I can give you a name, but you probably won’t like it. And you’ll be stuck with it for the rest of your life. So if you think you’ve already got a pretty good name, you better tell it to me now.” More silence. He waited until a count of ten, then said. “Fine. Fuzzball. Because you’re stuck with that hair. No. Even I’m not that cruel. Maybe Dimi. That means disaster, I think.” “Sen.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. Smoke damage. He’d have to do an internal sweep in her throat and lungs. “What was that?” “Senfalia.” “Now we’re getting somewhere. Okay. Senfalia. How old are you?” He wrote down her name on the slate. “Seven.” He gave her a skeptical look. She did not appear to be seven in any way. Except for her overly-calm shock. It was like that of an elderly person. “What year were you born?” “Year of the Sea.” The years were split up into increments of ten, each with its own totem. The Sea was seven years ago. He set aside the slate and asked he to put out her arms. He studied her hand, her limbs, her torso, and her head. The proportions were right. It was the growth that was abnormal. Malnutrition would account for some of it. A crease formed between his eyebrows. He got up and searched the desk drawers for a parchment-wrapped honey-cake he bought the day before. It was half-eaten. He handed it to her. She took it politely and nibbled on the edges. A day in a fire, without food, and she still had manners? Her size probably wasn’t due to malnutrition. Starved kids didn’t have much manners. “How many arcs are you?” He asked. The Nuisance jumped in his skull. “Fear! Sad! Rage rage!” It caroled, happy with the feast. But Merriweather saw the flickers of expression on the kid’s face. He didn’t need the Nuisance to tell him something was wrong. The silence grew. Going back to the desk, he found the arc bead box in the second drawer. When he turned back, he heard the thumping of running feet. “Bloody damn.” He stuck his head out of his room. The kid was limping, but still pretty fast on her injured feet. “Get back here!” He shouted. She ignored him. “I don’t run. I don’t effing run.” Merriweather muttered as he hurried down the hall. The doors at the end of the hall were heavy and difficult to open. She yanked at the handles, then began to pound on the wood with her little fists. Striding up, he grabbed her wrists. “Hey! Hey! Stop that!” The skin on her fists was bruised and bleeding. He wrapped an arm around her chest to keep her from flailing. She leaned down and bit him. “Ow!” He dropped her. “What the hell is going on here?” Cormorant shoved the door open. “Catch her!” Merriweather said. Cormorant reached out and snagged the kid by the back of her neck as she tried to dart past. “Watch out, she’s a biter.” “She took a chunk out of you, didn’t she.” Cormorant snorted, then gave the kid a knock to the head. “Settle down, hellcat.” The kid started to scream as loud as her hoarse little voice would allow. “What the hell? What’s wrong with her?” “Shock, most likely. She was in a stupor before, but now that’s wearing off.” Merriweather pressed a hand to his aching head. The parasite was going crazy with glee. “Muffle her, if you can.” He turned on his heel and went back to his office. “The pill, not the tea,” he muttered. “The stronger the better.” He didn’t notice the shutters outside the office were rattling, or the dust devil that was churning like a small tornado in the courtyard adjacent to the building. “What set this off?” Cormorant asked, trying to cover the child’s mouth while at the same time avoiding getting bitten. It was a losing battle. “At least her teeth are strong,” he grumbled. “I’m going to have to give her an arc test, and she doesn’t like it much, is my guess,” Merriweather said. “That’s when she tried to escape. Here now, hold her jaw open.” With Cormorant to help, he popped the pill in her mouth and down her throat. She gulped, then tried to bite them both. After a few minutes, the screams turned to sobs, and her tense, struggling body went limp. The sand and grit outside in the courtyard fell back down to the ground. “You can leave me to it,” Merriweather said. “Thanks for the hand.” Cormorant snorted. “Let me know what the hellion is worth. It better be a lot, or I’m taking it out of what’s-his-name’s hide.” To tell the truth, the chief didn’t mind the interlude much, as long as it kept him away from the paperwork on his desk. He sighed and left the healer’s office. Merriweather set the child on the cracked leather bench and knelt in front of her. The spirit in his head had calmed down, and was now lazily settled. Looking her in her watery, dazed eyes, he asked, “Can you tell me why you don’t want to be tested?” Tears streaked down the grime on her cheeks. “It’s a secret,” she whispered, her voice cracked and broken. Her golden eyes slowly closed, until finally, she slept. His fingers picked out the arc bearings from the box one by one and set them on her skin. When all ten bearings he had were stuck there, he sucked in a breath of surprise. He was tempted to get more, because he had a feeling that ten was not her limit. Opening a leather chest, he pulled out a set of tuning forks. The child had on a leather smock - which must have protected her skin during the fire. The only time children wore that smock was when they were tested. Only animal products didn’t show up on an elemental nature test. But at seven years old, wasn’t it a little too late for the nature test? He held the forks close to her thin chest. Every demon is born with a core, or they are killed. In a baby, the core is often no larger than a 1 arc seed. When they are a few years old, they form an affinity with an element of nature. The tuning forks were each aligned to a great element, like fire, water, or earth, or a minor element like metal, and they vibrated harder when the strength of that affinity was greater. The child had only a very minor buzzing affinity with scattered elements of earth, wind, and green life. All of the power of her arcs, wasted on nothing but dust. Merriweather leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. He sat for a moment in silence. The temptation to kill the child and blame it on her smoke-filled lungs and festering burns was a strong one. If Chief Cormorant knew her full arc strength, he’d try to sell her to a noble family, worthless dust nature or no. Then Merriweather would be under the eyes of nobility that he’d hidden from, and that would end in his death. But another part of him, a part which had been in slumber since long before, the researcher in dark and secret labs who performed experiments that were too terrible to live through - the obsessed man who ended up with a parasite in his head from his own hubris - the fugitive who was being hunted to this day… he was curious. He wanted to know what would happen if a child of many arcs with such a weak nature managed to survive to adulthood. What caused true strength, arcs or affinity? She could hold the answer. Curiosity is a sin because it destroys caution. Merriweather came to a decision. The Nature Certificate was all filled out. A coin would be stamped with her inferior dust nature printed on it and hung around her neck for everyone to see until she grew into an adult. The Arc Certificate had a blank spot. Merriweather stared at it, then slowly put down a number.
Chapter Two: School Sale, Age 7 “Every baby is born selfish. Survival is an inherent instinct. Kindness is not.” Excerpt from "A Primer For Nursery Workers" It only took Sen 30 minutes to decide she didn’t like kids. Seeing as she was one, it was a pretty big decision to make. Even though thinking about her Nona hurt, she remembered how excited she’d been when Nona told her she was going to be sold to a school after she turned seven. In her head were visions of friendship with children her age, like in the stories Nona told. Bonds of adventure and contract-kin, growing close while exploring their powers together. The fantasy was broken with one rough introduction. Doc Merriweather kept her in the infirmary for a couple of days, using water magic to heal her burn wounds and prevent scarring. In that time, he told her a lot of things that Nona hadn’t - maybe because Nona didn’t know. Sen may not have welcomed his acerbic words, but she listened, and appreciated the chance to be alone in the infirmary. She lay around, numb with grief and worse, her eyes dry but her heart aching. Early on the morning of the third day, Doc Merriweather kicked her out of the sanctuary of his office, handing her over to the worker in charge of keeping the kids in one piece until they sold. The worker took her down a long hall, out of the complex of business rooms, and across a yard to a large dormitory with paper windows. The windows were torn and patched, the walls marked with charcoal and muddy handprints. There were holes in the yard, and from fifty yards away, Sen could hear high-pitched screeching coming from inside the building. Unceremoniously, the worker dragged her in through the doors by her arm, then pushed her in the direction of the dining hall. It only took a single glance at her for a judgment to be made by the kids who saw her enter. With her hair trimmed down to just about an inch of fuzz, light gold eyes large and impassive, and frail, tiny frame, it was clear she was easy-pickings. “Go eat,” the worker said. “If you get any skinnier, you won’t make a good price.” Sen nodded, then walked over to the long table where a huge pot of oatmeal and stacks of egg-cakes were being decimated by greedy little hands. Without any semblance of a line, kids shoved against each other, reaching with their arms for the egg cakes. A frazzled man was trying to dish oatmeal out onto plates, but was in reality slinging it around like slop for hogs, hoping it landed on some kind of plate-like or bowl-shaped surface. The food was disappearing fast - mostly because the larger kids were taking more than their fair share, and nobody was stopping them. Sen eyed the flung out elbows, kicks, and general chaotic melee with doubt. The doc fed her pretty good over the past two days - she wasn’t feeling hungry enough to risk the bruises. Some of the kids were waiting on the outside of the fight, and when a smaller child broke free with crushed cake or oatmeal in hand, they snatched away the hard-fought prize, leaving the smaller child in tears. It wasn’t anything the way she imagined other kids would be. But as her Nona would say, “Begin as you mean to go on.” Sen gritted her teeth and ran into the fray. She dodged the milling kids, the punches and kicks, and ducking low, went beneath the table. Her eyes met those of another child - one that looked to be about four years old, maybe half of Sen’s age. The child had dark, straight hair and tear-reddened cheeks with a bruise forming around one eye. For the first time in her life, there was a small pang in Sen’s chest - one she didn’t quite understand. It made her want to help the child. So she put a finger to her lips, telling the other child to be silent. The kid nodded, eyes dark and scared. Crawling over to the opposite end of the table where the cook was doling out food, Sen reached up a hand and felt along the edge of the table. A bowl met her fingers. She snagged it, then searched some more until she felt an egg-cake and grabbed it. Then the cook saw her hand and gave it a hard thump with his spoon. She drew her fingers back, holding in a small cry. Good enough, she thought. Under the table, she gave the bowl of oatmeal to the bruised toddler, and ripped the egg cake in half, putting one half in the bowl, and eating the other half herself. The toddler eyed her warily, then snatched the bowl and began to eat messily - more like a dog that a person. After the toddler was done, he fled, rolling out from under the table and disappearing into the mass of kids. Sen tried to make her own escape, but as soon as she left the protection of the table, a larger kid grabbed her wrist. “Whatcher doin’?” The brawny girl said, her accent rough, from outside the city. Sen had heard that accent before when Nona took her out shopping, from the farm serfs who came into town to sell vegetables and grains. “Eating,” Sen said. “Scrubs don’t eat afore the chiefs do,” the girl said, her thick, stocky arms flexing. “Scrubs?” Sen was confused. “Chicks. Pullets. Washouts.” None of the slang made any sense to Sen. Impatient the girl shouted at her. “Weaklings! I’m asayin’ you’re a weakling!” Seeing she finally got through, the girl held out a hand. “Now, you gives me what you got, and I won’t go tellin’ on you to the chiefs.” “I don’t see the chief,” Sen said. She vaguely remembered the man who doc had called chief. “Are you an idjit?! Imma chief! Me and the other big kids! And you gotta do what we say!” The girl shook Sen like a rag doll. Sen clenched her teeth, then kicked the girl’s knee. With a yelp, the girl dropped her. “No I don’t!” Sen said. “I don’t want to do what you say, and I’m not going to!” “You hurt me!” The girl shrieked in surprise. “Yer gonna get it now!” Balling up her pudgy fist, the girl took a swing at Sen. She dodged and ran away. The girl gave chase. The other chiefs joined the chase when they heard the burly girl’s shouting, and they herded Sen into a corner. Sen glared at all of them. “She’s bein’ a rebel! Strip her down and give her a beatin!” The girl ordered the other older kids. They came toward her, hands outstretched. Sen’s suddenly remembered what Doc Merriweather said two days ago. “Your magic is too strong,” he told her on the first day she was in the infirmary. “When magic is too strong, it crystallizes your bones too fast. When that happens, it stunts your growth. It could even kill you. It’s rare, but it happens. If your bones crystallize and you grow horns before puberty, you’ll be a dwarf. But there’s a way to manage it.” He put on a thick leather glove and lifted a stone out of a small lead box. “This is a null stone from a dead zone.” He said. Sen cocked her head to the side, not understanding. “A dead zone is where all of the magic is eaten up. This stone eats magic - but it’s deadly to anyone who has less than 10 arcs. It eats up all of their magic and kills them. This is gonna eat most of your magic every day, leaving you with about 8 arcs. Do you understand? If you hit 20 arcs, you’ll grow your horns. We don’t want that until you’re grown up. So this stone is going to eat your magic and make you weak.” Sen frowned. “Is it a secret?” she asked. She knew all about secrets… and she didn’t like them. They made her Nona die. “Yes,” the doc said. “If a child under 10 arcs steals it from you, it will kill them. If you’re found with it, you could be taken to prison. It’s a highly regulated substance.” Sen nodded. She didn’t understand the last part, but she didn’t want to go to prison. “Then I don’t want it,” she said. The doc sighed. “Don’t your bones hurt?” Sen blinked her eyes in surprise. She nodded slowly. Sometimes her bones hurt so much, all she could do was cry and stay in bed until the pain stopped. Even medicines didn’t help. Nona said it was growing pains, but her worried expression meant that growing pains shouldn’t hurt so much. “Your skeleton is trying to grow, but there’s so much magic crystallized in your bones that it’s difficult for the bone to break the crystal to expand. That’s why it hurts. This stone will make it stop hurting until you are all grown up. Isn’t that better?” Sen hesitated. “I don’t like secrets,” she said. “I’m going to put this stone on your stomach. Nobody has to see it. You won’t even think about it, most of the time. Don’t take it off, unless you’re about to die. Then take it off so you can use your full magic. But other than that, leave it on for baths, sleep, all the time. Do you understand?” In the end, Sen was persuaded, and the doctor pierced the skin at her navel to hold the stone. After the skin was healed (which took a while, as the stone ate the doc’s healing magic), Sen felt a little different. She couldn’t say how, like a feeling deep in her blood, but a subtle ache in her bones also slowly left. Now - these kids were saying they were going to steal her new clothes and beat her. If they saw her navel stone, they’d try to take that too. She couldn’t let that happen. Sen focused on gathering all of the dust along the floor and the edges of the walls. It was hard - harder than it had ever been. Suddenly, she understood what the stone did - her magic felt weak. The dust was not cooperating the way it usually did. As the bigger kids closed in on her, she gave a hard tug on all of the dust she could reach. It flew up into the air, and into the kids’ faces. Some of them sucked it into their throats and started coughing. The others got it in their eyes. Wailing, they tried to rub it out of their eyes, but only ended up rubbing it in deeper. Sen took advantage of their distress to jump on top of the big girl’s back, tackling her to the ground. With an open hand, she smacked the troublemaker across the face. “You leave me alone, you hear me! Leave me alone, or you’ll never see again!” The larger girl cried. “Okay! Okay! I’ll leave you alone!” The other, smaller kids watched with awe. The toughest kids in the dormitory were taken down, just like that! They didn’t cheer for Sen out loud, otherwise they might get beat up by the chiefs later, but in their hearts, they were happy. Everyone left her alone after that - well, mostly everyone. The first night, when Sen took her bedding from the shelf where all the mattresses and blankets were kept during the day, and laid it on the floor, the toddler from that morning set his down next to her. She turned her back on him and let him be. The night after that, it wasn’t just the toddler, but another little kid - one with such an unruly mop of hair she couldn’t tell if it was a boy or girl - set another mattress down on her other side. Before she knew it, there was a cluster of young kids around her, taking advantage of the space she made during meals to grab their own, sleeping in peace under the assumption of her protection… in other words, a right annoyance. Unfortunately, she was helpless against it. Part of her wanted to chase them away, but another part of her thought of what Nona would do. Nona would take care of those children. So Sen was stuck with a whole passel of little kids who needed their noses wiped, and their hair brushed, and their hands washed. She found herself doing these tasks subconsciously, before she could stop herself. Even if she wasn’t any taller than them, she was two or three years older, so she was much more self-sufficient. This continued for twelve days until finally, the day of the school auction arrived. Sen woke early, then spent the next hour chivvying the young ones into some sort of presentable shape, tired and whining though they were. With a clean cloth, she wiped down all the visible parts of their skin, faces, hands, arms, and feet. She combed their hair into some semblance of order, and tried to scrub the small stains out of their garments. By the time she was done tidying up the little ones, the larger kids were already rounded up, and everyone left the dormitory, out to the yard where two large wagons were waiting. There were seventeen children per wagon, and two adults - one to drive the wagon and the other to watch for runaways. The chief had left earlier in the morning to present the paperwork for the sale. The school auction was a multi-level process. Schools and craftmasters gathered to look through the certificates in boxes on the tables. Each certificate had a high bid. At any time, a buyer from a school or a craft could buy the child for the highest bid - but usually it was drastically high. Otherwise, if a set of certificates interested a buyer, they could place a wax seal on the back of the certificate. Those buyers would then inspect the child during an auction and bid against each other. If there was only one seal, then that buyer would negotiate directly with the seller for a fair price. If there was no buyer, the child would be grouped with other children, and sold at a collective price to a low-ranking debt-farming school. A school didn’t necessarily look at the nature of the child, but aimed more for high arcs. A craftsman looking for an apprentice would look more for the magical nature they needed for their work. A craftsman would bid higher for a promising apprentice because they only bought one or two children, where schools bought many. Most schools looked for children that had strong potential to earn more money and pay back their school debts. Debt-farming schools took in rejected children and taught them peasant-work. They weren’t very good at raising the arc potential of their students - and did not spend money on the teachers, foods, or medicines needed to grow a child’s arcs beyond their initial capabilities. All they cared about was the quantity of children they could buy. When the children arrived at the busy auction square, they were sent to their respective auction areas or waiting spots. Sen’s certificate had three wax seals stamped on it, so she went directly to an auction block. The three prospective buyers examined her with stern faces. “Her certificate says she’s five years old, but her body doesn’t seem to be in good condition,” one of the buyers said to the auctioneer. “Five gold.” Another buyer, one with a pinched, dissatisfied expression picked up the stamped coin hanging from a leather thong around her neck. He squinted at it. “What is this?! A duster?! Ridiculous! I withdraw my bid!” The expression on the other two buyer’s faces fell, and they hurried closer. They picked up the medallion and studied it. None of them had read her certificate in full, it seemed. The auctioneer tried to salvage the situation. “This child still is inordinately strong, at 8 arcs! She’s the fourth strongest child we have at the auction today!” The pinch-faced buyer sneered. “I wondered why there weren’t more bidders. Turns out she’s a trash nature. There’s nothing valuable about a dust nature. The strength simply doesn’t matter if the nature doesn’t match.” One of the other buyers rubbed the thin beard on his jutting chin. “There’s never been a duster stronger than a fifteen, I think. Still, she could make a merchant or pharmacist of some sort. She’s got the life attribute in there with the earth and wind. Put me down for six gold. ” The other buyer was a thin, severe woman who eyed the bearded man with distaste. “Six and a half.” She made no justification. To be honest, their schools were rivals, and she personally disliked the man and wanted to make things difficult for him. She had no interest in a trash duster, but pulling one over on an enemy was more valuable than one weak student. He glared at her. “Seven,” he barked. “She’ll graduate with fifteen arcs, or I’ll be damned.” If she graduated with fifteen arcs, then she’d owe the school one gold per arc they increased her to, and one gold per each year they trained her, so her total debt would be 7 arcs plus 10 years plus her initial price of 7 gold - twenty-four gold. Almost impossible for a peasant to pay, but only a matter of a few years for a merchant or craftsman. “Eight,” the woman sneered. “One per arc.” The bearded man trembled in rage. His prudence fought a battle with his temper and lost. “Nine!” He shouted. “And not a damn copper more!” The woman twisted her lips in an evil smirk and looked away. The bearded buyer immediately regretted falling for her trap. Now he was paying two gold extra for a child that could very well be worth less, if the girl didn’t grow her arcs or learn a damn thing. He clenched his fist - but he couldn’t take back his bid. “Sold!” The auctioneer cried. Wasting no time, he transferred the certificate over, and just like that, the next chapter of Sen’s life was set to begin. She wondered which school she’d been sold to, and what awaited her there.
Chapter Three: Hellion, Age 8 “The difference between good and bad behavior is often interpreted by who benefits the most from it. What’s good for you is bad for someone else.” Excerpt from The Modus of Morality “I can’t deal with that child anymore!” Flavian shoved the doors open to the schoolmaster’s atrium and stomped through. “It’s time to get rid of her, Margeut! Sell her, flay her, just get her out of my classroom!” Madam Margeut, the schoolmaster, looked up from her book, and set down the delicate porcelain cup from which she’d sipped. The lush, warm air of the indoor garden wafted gently around her - stirred, no doubt, by Flavian’s agitation. He lost control of his breezes during any emotional upset. That lack of control was likely why he never advanced beyond 14 arcs. Wind was a fractitious nature and needed a firm hand to be of any use. She tamped down her own irritation firmly. A calm and steady heart was needed for the plants. Unlike Flavian, she couldn’t fly off the handle at every little intrusion. Though it might benefit Flavian to spend a little time hanging from a vine, swinging by his heels. “What has she done this time?” Madam Margeut inquired in a mild voice. Her steady calm made Flavian a little wary, so he tried to reel in his outrage. “Today… today! Every time I wrote a word on the chalkboard, when I turned around it just… fell off! The chalk fell off the board! I know it was her! It couldn’t be anyone else!” Flavian trembled with anger, his narrow, pointed moustache quivering. Madam Margeut hummed in the back of her throat, trying to stop her lips from curving into a smile. “Inventive,” she said. “That’s all you have to say? I could not teach a single lesson! My authority in the classroom has been undermined - and now every brat in there thinks they can get away with murder! She’s disruptive, she does not respect her superiors, she’s ignorant to proper behavior, and above all, she does not know her place! That… that hellion is upending the entire class structure!” Stifling her inner amusement, Madam Margeut took a sip of tea. “It does seem that our academy is not a good fit for the child.” To be honest, the hysterics the child caused in her teachers was a greater headache than her precocious behavior, in Margeut’s view. Over the course of the past year and a half, the child had displayed a frightening intellect and ability. If she were of any other nature, perhaps her precociousness would have been celebrated and catered to. As the schoolmaster of the second most prominent academy in the district. Madam Margeut knew to recognize potential. She also knew when it was beyond her academy’s capability to shape. Standing, she looked out of the atrium window, down to the grassy play area, with the tunnels and metal bars and sandbox where the children trained their magic. From three stories above, they seemed so small and harmless. Cute even. It was only when one was close that they seemed a little more… beastly. Several adorable children, gathering like a pack of wolves around a single, small girl. “Do not think that I am unaware of the reasons why the child dislikes you so,” Madam Margeut said. “Your lack of self-reflection has made me question your ability to guide the students of this academy.” Behind her, she could hear Flavian gulp nervously. The drama below the balcony escalated as the small girl was pushed down into the sand by the largest boy. He stomped to stand over her, small bolts of lightning clenched in his fist. “Wh-wh-what do you mean?” Flavian stammered. Madam Margeut turned to give him a flat, apathetic glance with a hint of icy fury beneath. He flinched, then looked away guiltily. “If you cannot change your methods, then you will have to change your employment.” She said the words as an ultimatum. He recognized it, and cursed that rotting brat Sen in his mind. If she didn’t cause such trouble - if she would just act like the trash she was - none of this would have happened. “Of course, Schoolmaster,” he said. He thought, Why do I need to reflect on anything when it’s that fucking brat who’s at fault? “I will consider the child’s placement outside of our school. It’s clear this academy can’t handle the level of her abilities - though her arcs are not high enough to overwhelm the majority of the teachers, none of my staff seems capable of raising the child to betterment.” Madam Margeut knew that Flavian felt no remorse for his actions that had caused him to get on the wrong side of his student. It was time to cut him loose, she thought. Turning from him with indifference, she glanced down at the play area again. “For now, you’d best go rescue your student before the child suffocates him in the sandbox.” In the short time she’d turned her gaze, the boy had been swallowed by the sand, his head barely sticking out. He wailed, sand pouring around his face as he sank, slowly. The small girl watched with cold, golden eyes. Flavian looked below, seeing the scene in a glance. Color drained from his face. He whirled and ran out of the atrium, the wind of his steps rattling the windows as he went. Madam Margeut watched the drama play out down below. No, this school wasn’t at a high enough level for the child Sen. Perhaps she would speak to her old friend Felicity - she and her husband were always looking for promising and unusual talents. Yes, that would be just the thing for the little duster. They would place her in a school that could build the most of her talents. There was more to that child than met the eye, and woe to anyone who underestimated her simply based on her nature. Madam Margeut smiled. A part of her hoped that Sen would rattle Felicity’s cage the way she’d rattled the Madam’s academy. In her small, cell-like room, Sen pressed her hands to her growling stomach. Of course old Flatulence sent her to bed without supper. She’d definitely been trying to kill his favorite pet student. Fair enough, in her eyes, given how often he’d tried to kill her first. But he never got sent to bed without supper, oh no. If it was just no supper, then she wouldn’t feel so horrible inside. Everyone treated her badly, but the teacher was the worst. Flavian practiced favoritism. The children with the strong natures were the ones he gave treats to, asked the questions he knew they could answer easily, and allowed extra privileges. When the time came to do battle practice, he paired them off against weaker opponents, bolstering their confidence. And if his favored students pushed those weaker kids around, he turned a blind eye. She thought about how he looked at her - half anger, half disappointment. At one point, she’d wanted to be one of those kids he favored. With her strength in arcs, she deserved to be. But the instant he knew her nature, he wrote her off as a waste. Sen knew she was more like her birther than she wanted to be. Her temper was quick to flare. It was easy to feel bitter and angry. When the other kids tested her temper, she didn’t hold back and let loose on them. Most of the time, she won. This didn’t sit well with the teacher. Flavian wanted to treat her like the other oppressed, weak children - but he couldn’t when she gave as good as she got. The more she got back on her feet, the more she won the fights with her bullies, the more he tried to push her down. Every day in class, he called her stupid, criticized her handwriting, and asked her questions she just didn’t know the answer to then said, “I wouldn’t expect a duster like you to know.” Sen wasn’t very good with school work. While other kids were learning their letters and numbers in a nursery, her Nona was teaching her different lessons about survival. Reading and mathematics didn’t come up much. So when she entered the school, she realized she was years behind of the other children, who could form words and solve math problems while she was struggling with the alphabet. Part of her believed it when he called her stupid. The rest of her was angry. She knew the teacher was being unfair. No matter who picked a fight with her, she was the one Flavian punished. No matter how well she did her work and struggled to learn, he never acknowledged her efforts and instead castigated her for them. Tears of self-pity sprang to her eyes. She remembered being so happy when she’d learned she was a duster like Nona. But now… everybody hated her. No, not hate. They just didn’t like her, or try to be her friend. They watched the bullying from a distance - afraid to be caught in the crossfire. She closed her eyes and thought of Nona. Being a duster was one way to be close to her. Their natures were the same. Every day while she practiced using dust, she remembered Nona. Even now, she thought of something Nona once told her when she’d asked why her birther, Fiara, was so cruel. Fiara had hired Nona for a pittance to care for her child because otherwise, Sen would be dead from abuse before she could be sold. In truth, Sen considered Nona to be her only family, even if they didn’t share blood relations. “Your birther’s angry because fate has not been fair to her. What she expects and her reality are too different. She wants to be respected and valued, but nobody respects or values peasants. Not even other peasants. You will face the same, even worse for being a duster.” Nona replied, then took Sen’s face in her hands. “Don’t let your expectations poison your efforts. Blaming others is the easiest way to fail yourself. It gives you an excuse to give up on life. Don’t let that happen, Sen.” These words echoing in her memory, Sen got up off her bed and reached beneath it for a booklet with a thin, battered leather cover and the charcoal stick tied to it. This booklet was the only reason she didn’t give up in class, and learned as much as she could even if the teacher despised her. It had been over a year since Nona’s death. One year is not much for adults, but for children, it’s a long time. So much changes in a year. Sen could feel some of the memories she had of Nona slipping through her grasp. That’s why she’d saved up for two months to buy the booklet, after another classmate showed her the one they used for school notes. Paper was expensive, but this was low-quality parchment, used first to wrap cheeses and meats, then washed off, flattened out, and cut into small note sheets. The charcoal was compressed from vines and wood by charcoal makers, who had a tiny bit of fire, earth, or life nature. By the light of the full moon outside, Sen wrote down the memory she just remembered. It took her a very long time, but after she closed the journal and put it back in its hiding place, she was very sleepy, and went to sleep not thinking of her hunger. Sleep has a way of making things better. No matter how distraught one is the night before, the next morning those emotions have been washed clean. Sen hurried to clean herself, then run to the breakfast hall. During class, Flavian ignored her completely. She welcomed it, her eyelids drooping from lack of sleep. To keep herself awake, she pondered why dust was so much quicker and easier for her to move than stones were for other earth movers. The dust could weigh as much as the stones, but the stones were harder to move. Why didn’t other earth movers use sand the way that she did? The longer she thought about it, the stranger it seemed. Maybe being a duster let her have a thousand tiny magic hands to hold a piece of sand or dust, but earth movers only had one gigantic hand. Like a shovel. It was easier for her to use a small gardening shovel than a great big one to make a hole. Maybe earthers were born with a great big shovel, and dusters were born with very small shovels, and because she was strong, she could lift a whole lot of small shovels. Her head spinning with this new thought, she didn’t notice Flavian standing in front of her until he hit her on the top of the head. She jumped, and rubbed the sore spot on her head. “Did you not hear what I said? You are to go to see Madam Margeaut. Do you understand?” Sen nodded. As she walked down the hall and up the stairs to Madam Margeaut’s solarium, her heart was pounding out of her thin chest. A thin film of sweat coated the polished wooden banister when she grabbed it. She wiped at it with the edge of her shirt. It was so clean and glossy, if she left a handprint on it, maybe they’d be mad at her for making it dirty. What did the Madam want with her? Were they going to kick her out of the Academy? She’d heard rumors from the other students that academies did that, and then all the kids could do is become beggars, who were even worse than peasants because at least peasants had a job. Shaking, her sweaty hands slipped on the doorknob to the solarium. Wiping her hands on her pants, she tried again. The door opened to a warm, lush indoor garden. Deep inside, her core grew a little warmer. Madam Margeaut knelt beside a pot filled with earth and a small seedling. The warmth inside of Sen grew stronger. Was that what life magic felt like? The seedling grew a couple of inches, then stopped as the Madam took her hands away from the pot. “Senfalia. Good, you’re here. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” The Madam gestured to the tea table which was set up, then brushed the dirt off of her fingers before cleaning them in a basin of water. “Please, help yourself.” She took care to focus on her fingernails, leaving Sen to cautiously approach the table and sit. Sen eyed the tea with a wary eye, but poured a little in a cup and sipped it. The taste was lightly bitter-sweet, smelling of mint and fresh-cut greenery. She made a face and set the cup aside. There were pastries on the table as well. Her small hand snuck towards the plate and snagged a cookie. She nibbled on the edges. At the taste, her eyes widened, and she stuffed the rest of the cookie into her mouth. The Madam chose that moment to turn around. Sen choked. She coughed, then grabbed the tea to drink the crumbs away from her windpipe. Ignoring the small girl’s coughs, the Madam sat and poured herself a cup. “You may be wondering why I invited you here.” Sen suppressed the tickle in her throat and nodded. Her stomach sank. “It hasn’t escaped my attention,” the Madam said, “that you are having difficulty finding your place in this school.” Sen shrank in her seat, though her heart burned a little at the unfairness of it. “I’m not blaming you.” The Madam noted the girl’s curled posture. “You haven’t done anything wrong. Rather, I have to apologize. I thought my educators were better than this. I didn’t notice that the teaching practices had turned so biased - and while the behavior has likely been exacerbated by you, it is certainly none of your doing, nor is it your responsibility. Rather, the blame lies squarely on my shoulders. But it will be rectified.” Sen stared at the Madam with wide uncomprehending eyes. “What does that mean?” she blurted out. The Madam smiled. “Your teacher will have to find another position in the near future. Flavian has many good points as an educator,” Sen wrinkled her nose at this, “but his flaws have endangered the future profit and resources of this school. Namely, you students.” There was a moment of silence as Sen took this in. “I’m glad he’s going and all, but what’s it gotta do with me?” Sen asked. “Right. I brought you here to inform you that you will be going to another academy that will better enhance your abilities and train you for greater things.” Sen dropped her cup with a small clatter on the table, spilling the tea. The Madam raised an eyebrow. Sen flushed, then tried to stop the spreading tea with the hem of her tunic. The Madam waved her hand, and the tea was cleaned from the table top and collected in her palm, leaving only water behind. She sent the tea floating to a nearby pot filled with soil. “You don’t want me anymore.” Sen said, her voice quivering. With a sigh, the Madam shook her head. “Your education has been too poor. I would like you to imagine what is going to happen a week from now when Flavian is gone, then the month after that, then the year after that. Even with Flavian gone, your classmates have formed a habit. While they might break that habit, it will not ensure any friendships or crucial bonds will form as they should. You will struggle against them while you learn, growing more twisted and angered, which will affect your magic. Your dislike of this place will only grow.” Sen’s hands gripped each other in her lap, knuckles white. What the Madam said made sense. “That would be a shame, because I see great potential in you. Which is why I’ve reached out to the most exclusive academy in the Empire.” Sen whipped her head up and stared at the Madam. “I know the educators there, and they’ve agreed to take you in based on your unusual strength and talents. They would also like to study precisely how your power manifests itself, as we’ve never seen such strength in a dust nature before. Unlike my teachers, they will be able to focus on nurturing your abilities without falling to prejudice.” “Oh!” Sen made a small, surprised sound. Part of her was cautious - thinking of the risk of a new place and new people who could hate her still, but the majority was very happy. Standing up abruptly, she bowed towards the Madam. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” The Madam waved a hand, dismissing her thanks. “It is the least I could do for you, to make up for the experiences you’ve suffered while a student at my school. They will be expecting you at the beginning of next month, and the journey takes seven days, so you will leave in two weeks. Prepare yourself, and leave behind no regrets.” “Thank you!” Sensing her dismissal, Sen bowed one more time, grabbed another cookie, then fled the room. The smile on the Madam’s face slowly died, the warmth in her eyes disappearing, leaving behind a hard, cold expression. It was a shame. The child was very promising. Flavian had nearly destroyed that promise. Worse, he had cost the academy through his shortsightedness and bias. He would pay for that. Sen watched from the roof as, a week later, Flavian was escorted by the school guards out to a cart where all of his possessions had been hastily packed. His face was pale, set in rigid shock. Sen couldn’t help but let out a yelp of joy. It caught his attention. He looked up the the building and spotted her. Hatred flashed across his features. Sen shook a little, then realized she never had to see him again, and stuck her tongue out at him. Take that! She cheered and waved her hands as the cart rolled out of the gate. Seven days passed by, then it was her turn to leave the school. She didn’t have much to bring along, just enough for a small bag - but she was the only child in the entire wagon. The Madam did not see her leave, but her secretary did bring by some cookies for the trip. Rolling on the seats and munching cookies, Sen was very excited. Finally, things seemed to be going her way! A new school, and a brand new start! At the most prestigious academy in the kingdom! She simply couldn’t sit still. If only she could get out of the wagon and run along beside it to burn off some of the twitchy energy she felt inside. Three days into the journey, Sen noticed something was wrong. None of the signs outside of the window said that they were going toward the capital. Were they going the wrong direction? Dread and wariness slowly poisoned the excitement and joy she felt. A day later, her horrible suspicions were confirmed. She’d been kidnapped.