The young girl Asha had been near him, and when she sagged to the ground he had caught her without thinking. He had “helped” her. The elders had been unhappy. She does not matter. You have erred. She is nothing. The punishment had been bad enough that Alain and everyone else had learned not to “help” others. Over time they had learned never to use the word at all, to forget the very idea.
Those experiences and many other lessons had given him the ability to change the world illusion, to be a Mage. He had stopped questioning that a long time ago. Of course the powers of a Mage were worth any sacrifice. The elders had drilled that into them all.
But a chink had developed in that armor because of the words and actions of the Mechanic. If he had been with another Mage, he would not have spoken to the Mechanic Mari. He would not have remembered what “help” meant.
Surely the helping he had done was wrong, even though right and wrong did not exist. Then why, even now, did helping the Mechanic not feel wrong?
The last time he had seen Asha, as he left the Guild Hall a full Mage, they had gazed at each other without feeling and said nothing. That was right, how things should be. And yet…
Why did wrong now seem right, and right seem wrong?
The Mechanic had done this to him somehow. That must be the true threat that Mechanics represented. Why had the elders not been clearer about that danger?
As the sun rose again, the leader finally called a halt. Alain dismounted stiffly, then noticed the Mechanic still in her saddle, her face drawn with exhaustion, and guessed she was afraid to dismount because of the likelihood her pack would cause her to fall. Her pride mattered a great deal to her. She did not wish to appear weak, or too young, in front of these common people.
Alain realized that he knew exactly how she felt. Not only did he know a feeling, but he knew that a shadow was experiencing the same feeling. It was a strange moment, a strange sense of connection which he tried to suppress.
Lost in that internal struggle, he did not realize that he was walking toward the Mechanic’s horse until he came to a stop beside it. She looked down at him, her face slack with weariness, her eyes desperate but determined as well. Nothing lay hidden there. This was her. She knew what she faced but she would not surrender to it.
Leave her. She is nothing. But as if it were acting on its own, Alain’s hand rose to grasp the horse’s bridle. Then his other hand reached up and stopped at shoulder height, open before the Mechanic.
Staring at him, she swung one leg over the saddle, gripped his offered hand and almost fell anyway as she dismounted.
The Mechanic managed to keep her feet, releasing his hand the instant she could stand without the support.
They looked at each other, Alain very aware of the commons about them. He suspected the Mechanic also felt that. After a long, silent moment, she nodded wordlessly to him, then turned away.
The traders were setting up small triangles of cloth to serve as individual sun screens through the day. As the sky brightened, Alain saw them herding the horses into one area and hobbling them, then herding together the mules from the back of the column, removing from each mule the pack frames carrying slabs of salt. Within a very short time camp had been made.
The lead trader came over to Alain and indicated one of the sun shields. “For you, Sir Mage.” He then offered Alain water, salt and bread. “It is all we have.”
“It is enough,” Alain answered, then watched as the trader went to the Mechanic and showed her to a sun shield on the other side of the camp. The trader had assumed they would not want to be anywhere near each other, and that was indeed how it should be.
How had she made him help her to dismount? Did Mechanics have other powers that did not involve their weapons?
The one great art that escaped Mages was the ability to do something directly to another person. Even though others were shadows, mere illusions, no Mage could change anything in someone else. Alain could heat the air about someone and burn them that way, but he could not heat that person’s body until it exploded. The elders had told him that this was because no Mage had yet achieved a perfect state of understanding that all else was false.
Could the Mechanics do such a thing? Had this Mechanic reached into him and changed him somehow? Surely he would have been warned if Mechanics could do that. Unless this one Mechanic was somehow special…
If she meant him ill, why had she saved his life? Even if Mechanic Mari had been a Mage, Alain was sure he would have been able to detect some measure of deceit in the times they had spoken. Instead, her feelings were always clear to read, even if sometimes impossible to understand. There had been no lies there. Was even she unaware of the powers she possessed to manipulate others?
Nothing could be certain except the need to avoid her from now on. Mechanic Mari…no, he must think of her as just the Mechanic from now on…and they must once again behave as strangers. He must refocus on his training and forget her strange influence.
But as the Mechanic lay down under her sun screen, separated slightly from those of the traders as well as that of the Mage, Alain’s gaze lingered on her for a moment. It was then that he saw something else, a strange image floating directly over the Mechanic so that she seemed a part of the vision. A second sun glowed in the sky there, storm clouds raging against it, seeking to block its rays. The storm surged against the second sun, trying to eclipse it with darkness, the roiling clouds taking the form of armies and mobs of unarmed people clashing, the dead falling in huge numbers. He felt a terrible sense of urgency, as if the vision were calling him to action, but as Alain gazed in disbelief the image faded, leaving only normal sky unmarked by visions and the Mechanic. But an echo of the urgent summons remained.
More foresight? Three times now I have experienced foresight, and each time differently. What does it mean? This time the Mechanic was clearly involved.
The second time, when I heard a warning of danger waiting for her in Ringhmon, she recognized the threat though she would not admit that to me.
At least the first time, my foresight warned of danger to me, not to her.
Except that we were together then. The warning might have been for either of us. But this…this spoke of some greater danger. Something far beyond either her or me.
Why? Who is this girl, this Mechanic? If she is a threat to my powers, then why does my foresight keep speaking for her? Why does it not warn me of her? She saved me, yes, but I am a Mage: her actions mean nothing, she is nothing, she is a shadow. What is this vision calling me to do? Once we reach Ringhmon I will surely never see the Mechanic again.
That thought brought a strange pang to Alain. He did not understand it. All he could do was fall back on his Mage training, to deny anything that might deceive him.
Foresight will lead me astray. This Mechanic will lead me astray. I must reject both.
But he could not shake thoughts of that awful storm from his mind, the sense that it loomed near and held great peril.
Four days later the horses and mules of the salt traders finally trudged through the gates of Ringhmon. Alain watched listless crowds of people entering and leaving the city, their faces somehow as faded as the colors of their clothes. The only individuals who appeared fully alive were the gate guards, who stood watch in numbers large enough to protect the grandiose entry from the advance elements of an Imperial legion. Even more unusual, one of them openly displayed a Mechanic weapon, as if that extra intimidation were needed. Alain, who before the attack on the caravan probably would not have noticed the odd weapon, now gave it a side glance, unable to tell if it was the same as the bandit weapon the Mechanic had shown him.