The easiest song for Mahala to play blindfolded was Darling Daisy:
Darling Daisy, Darling Daisy Oh yes I did receive your letter! Such kind words and such a smile It is sending my heart aflutter
Darling Daisy, Darling Daisy I tried not to but I’m enamoured What must I do to make you mine, dear? I’ll do anything, I’ll endeavour
Darling Daisy, Darling Daisy We can finally be together! My family’s dead so the fortune is mine My love is for you and forever!
The children cheerily sang along as they huddled around the piano.
“So, can anyone tell me where the song came from?” Mahala asked as she pulled off her blindfold.
With the song over, the children quieted down, less sure of themselves. They fidgeted with shaky breaths. It was the first time they had ever met such an important person.
Gingerbread House was an orphanage under the care of the Greenstone Homes charity. For such a fanciful name, it was a dilapidated mansion owned by a former lord whose family was punished early in the Lord Protector’s reign for abusing their power — as many nobility were. The mansion was undeniably beautiful with handcrafted wooden furniture, columns, and arches, dressed with faded intricate wallpapers. Its withered age came through in the rotting walls, a collapsed roof and lack of sea-oil installation for its appliances.
Mahala had plans to change all that. The raggedy children would have everything and more over the next few months, which should put more light back in their eyes.
“A long, long time ago, we ikka were able to use magic,” Mahala said. “But a lot of us used it for bad things, just like Miss Daisy in the song. To punish us, the gods took our magic away!”
“I had magic?” whispered a small girl, crouched by her seat.
Mahala pulled the girl onto her lap, smoothing down her brown hair. “All of us are still born with that potential! It’s just locked away. However, the gods spared six magi and allowed them to continue the magical arts!” With that, she shook out a few candies from her sleeves, brightly wrapped as always. “Does anyone know who they are? I have a prize for anyone who can give me a name and title!”
Their eyes lit up with excitement and shouts followed full of half-remembered names.
The brunette child in her lap held up her hand quietly, mumbling, “Kinderum, the Pale Magus of Time.”
Mahala pressed a wrapped sweet into a sticky palm. “Very good! Tibalt Kinderum is our current Magus of Time. He will be serving Pomolin until the leylines around us shift again. Do you know what leylines are?”
“They’re magic lines,” said an older redhead girl. She caught a sweet tossed by Mahala with just one hand.
“Exactly!” Mahala exclaimed. “They’re the veins of magic that maintain its laws! They mark the boundaries of each magus’ domain. Like a hopscotch box. Around every 30 to 50 years, these lines shift and each apprentice will become the magus of the neighbouring domain. It should be within the next ten years the shift occurs. After that, Tibalt Kinderum’s apprentice will depart for the next domain to serve, and we will receive the Magus of Iron.”
The girl in Mahala’s arms pointed to Luck standing at the corner of the room. “Is that a Kinderum?”
“That is Luck. He is a homunculus, and who knows what that means?” Mahala asked, twirling another sweet in her hand.
The children eyed Luck with cringing shoulders. Some even clung to Mahala.
“He won’t hurt you, he’s a brave soldier of Pomolin who will protect you,” she said softly. “Our Magus of Time, Tibalt Kinderum was injured badly. His apprentice was too young to take over, so he created a very clever spell to create copies of himself. No other Magus of Time has ever done this! The man before you is wearing a copy of the magus’ soul. You can say he’s like Tibalt Kinderum’s little brother.”
“Little…?” a boy tested the word with uncertainty.
“I don’t get it,” mumbled another.
Mahala smiled at them. “That’s alright. You’ll understand when you’re a little older. Just know that the homunculi are your heroes! And what do you say to your heroes?”
“Thank you,” the children chorused.
Luck averted his gaze.
“What delightful siblings of mine you are!” Mahala exclaimed. “Well, as your big sister, I have gifts for you.”
“Sister…?” the little girl gasped.
“Of course. I am like you, an orphan. As all orphans are under the Lord Protector’s care, that makes you my siblings. We are all family, so it is only right that we share,” Mahala said.
She received a nod from one of her attendants. Everything was timed perfectly. She took the hands of two of the children and they all walked together into another room. Their eyes lit up immediately, gasping at the low tables arrayed with flaky confections and candied fruits. White nougat stuffed with roasted nuts and honey, soft cookies snowed over with powdered sugar, and flaky pastries soaked in apple syrup all gleamed invitingly in the fire-light. Warm honeyed milk waited in saucers to wash it all down, with a generous pile of napkins to spare the caretakers.
“Go on then, enjoy yourselves,” said Mahala. “And remember to share, dear brothers and sisters.”
The children dove for the tables, but eventually spotted the toys underneath. Wooden trains, carved animals, and an entire village of dolls greeted them there. Mahala briefly relaxed as they let go of her, laughing and playing, but remembered to smile in time as she heard the click of a camera shutter. The photographer bowed and quickly ducked away.
He brushed past a plump woman outfitted in a crisp taffeta tea dress, plain-faced with a blank expression indifferent to the festivity. She approached Mahala by linking arms with her.
“When I said I wanted to spend time with you, I meant without sticky children,” the woman groused.
“It’s only for an hour, Adelei.”
“It’s been an hour and sixteen.”
Mahala hugged her friend close. “Then you’re probably thirsty. Let me treat you to tea. How about Lacey’s?”
There was a pause, Adelei giving the wooden trains a side-glance. “I’ve a better idea on how you can pay me back.”
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Technology booms would only happen wherever the Magus of Iron was stationed. However, within the last century, sea-oil had been discovered in the leviathans that dwelled in the murky depths of the sea, the danger of encountering such colossal beasts well worth how effective their bodies were as a domestic fuel. Power stations transitioned from coal and steam to host leviathan corpses brought by reaper ships and process them, bringing a new industrial age.
Kobol University hosted one of many small technology fairs to entice patronage and earn funds for further research into the potential of sea-oil. Kobol was the Capital’s largest educational institution, centuries old. The campus consisted of a complex of buildings centred around an ancient limestone citadel adorned with gargoyles. The giant beasts with harsh stone faces and pointed teeth were part of an outdated framework that was being partially devoured by modern plumbing, gas pipes, and electrical lights.
Luck glided through the crowd like a shark’s fin, parting students and visitors alike for Mahala. Even without the homunculi’s reputation, his size was enough to warn everyone to stay away.
“I thought you gave up trying to come here?” Mahala asked.
“As a student, maybe. But a girl’s allowed to window shop,” Adelei beamed. “Look at it, Mahala! The Protectorate’s promising us a utopia and it’s just around the corner.”
They passed by displays of motorcars outfitted with shiny panels, large radios with a dozen more knobs than Mahala knew was necessary, and domestic appliances such as refrigerators and coffee pots in new sleek designs.
Her attention was drawn to a line of automotive children’s toys. She picked up a porcelain-faced doll. Its eyelids fluttered and hands moved up and down, awaiting an embrace.
“How sweet, perhaps I should be a patron here too,” Mahala said. “The little ones would love these new innovations.”
The Kobol student behind the table perked up. He stepped forward with shining eyes but Luck stepped between them, brushing past Adelei to do so.
Adelei jerked so violently, she stumbled into Mahala.
“What’s wrong?” Mahala asked.
Adelei shot glances at the homunculus with a furrowed brow as she clung to Mahala’s arm. “N-Nothing. Let’s go look at something else.”
“You’ve never been bothered by Luck before. Did something happen?” Mahala said, shaking the doll’s chubby arm at her. “Did you ask him for his switchsword again? Your father would skin him alive if he complied!”
Adelei dropped the doll back on the table and pushed Mahala away from the display, away from Luck.
“Adelei?” Mahala forced her to stop, hand gently on her cheek.
“It’s nothing. It wasn’t him,” Adelei hissed back. “The Lloyds - they live down my street, I think their son’s a Shir sympathist. A homunculus dragged him out of his house… He beat him right in front of everyone, then they both disappeared… He’s still not home.”
Mahala frowned. “Well, if he’s a sympathist, that makes him a traitor to the country.”
“I had tea at their place a few times. Their son isn’t a bad person. He taught me how to fix a bicycle. He’s…” Adelei trailed off, trying to bite her nails through her silk gloves. She had her back purposely turned on Luck, but it didn’t stop her eyes flicking over to his direction. “They’re scary when they’re mad. And he looks just like the one I saw.”
Mahala nursed her friend’s face in her hands. “You don’t have to be scared. You know they’re only like that with bad people.”
“Lloyd isn’t bad!”
“He made a bad decision,” Mahala said gently. “I’m sure after the Theater talk to him a little, he’ll understand and then will be back home.”
Adelei continued to gnaw through the glove.
Mahala searched for something in the fair to get her mind off it. She knew little about technological advancements, but her eyes did catch something she was familiar with.
“Look! Since the homunculus like switchswords so much, everyone’s clambering to make the next best version of it.” She pulled Adelei towards a display where a new prototype switchsword lay. A professor was providing a demonstration on how it unfolded. It was more like a handheld puzzlebox to Mahala; a collapsible shortsword with a firearm attached to it, thus usable for both short and long distance combat.
It had a few tricks; pulling the trigger with the blade embedded in a target could bury it even deeper. It was a difficult weapon to master. Her dear Peter in the secret police treated the weapon more like an ornament. So did her father. Luck, and the other homunculi, carried four at a time and used them as regularly as she would a pair of scissors.
Adelei’s eyes followed along the intricate mechanism, her gaze softening a little. A banner waved behind them, which had her perking up more.
“Mahala, this way!”
She yanked Mahala from her thoughts and towards a crowd forming around a barrier. Across from it was a small aircraft with two sets of wings stacked on top of the other, its pilot poised over the dashboard.
“They’ve got a biplane!” Adelei shrieked. Her eyes followed the cleared pathway in front of the aircraft. “Sweet devils, I think they’re about to do a test flight!”
“Adelei, you’re being too loud,” Mahala chided softly.
“Oh, don’t be such a bore, Mahala! It’s a plane! A bloody mechanical dragon!” Adelei said, gripping onto Mahala.
The propeller was already spinning but the biplane didn’t move. The crowd murmured amongst themselves, shifting impatiently.
“Get on with it! It’s been five whole minutes!” one man shouted.
“It’s just a false start, it happens,” Adelei yelled back, her eyes transfixed on the aircraft.
“If the gods wanted us to fly, they would’ve given us wings,” Mahala sniffed, her brows knitting together. “What if he falls out of the sky?”
Adelei absently patted Mahala’s arm. “God-Nothos knew that I wanted to see one up close. Your homunculus can catch the pilot should he fall.”
Luck stood respectfully far enough to not pry into their conversation. Even with the distance, there were no onlookers who dared to stand close to Mahala with him watching.
“He isn’t so scary then, is he?” Mahala said hopefully.
Adelei’s face twitched. “I understand you feel bad for them, but you shouldn’t get too attached. Once the Magus of Time has to move on, what do you think is going to happen to his ‘little brothers?’ There’s nothing else left of the man that once was. It’ll just end with you feeling sad.”
Mahala sighed. “If anything, that makes them sympathetic.”
“Save yourself the heartache. Tibalt Kinderum wasn’t even born Pomolish — didn’t the Magus of Prayer pick him up from Mede?”
The motor hummed with life and the biplane jolted forward, but nothing more.
“Maybe you should try being friends with them. They’re quite pleasant.”
Adelei snorted. “They’re twice our age, half-monster and cost half my taxes. Plus they’re all the same person! Isn’t that weird?”
“They’re not the same—”
“Look, they’re starting!”
The biplane rolled forward onto the runway, slowly picking up speed. Bit by bit it crested the open sports field, the nose pointing up like a hopeful child. Mahala could scarcely believe as it started gaining lift, and then — its wheels left the ground.
A cheer ripped through the cloud as the biplane ascended, making a sharp climb into the sky. Adelei was with them, jumping up and down, nearly pulling Mahala’s arm off.
“It’s flying—!” Adelei squealed.
The wings trembled as it limped the next few metres up. The crowd quietened as the biplane slowed its ascent, stopped completely, and spiralled downwards.
“Luck!” Mahala called out.
Luck didn’t move. His priority is me, not the pilot.
She bit her lip, blinking away the wind. “Luck, please! Do something!”
She blinked again and he disappeared.
The biplane sliced through the sky and crashed in the sports field. Mud spat around it as the motor sputtered its last breath.
Small gasps echoed through the horrified crowd.
Mahala felt Adelei’s grip on her arm tighten.
She blinked again and Luck reappeared in front of the crowd, holding onto the pilot.
Stunned silence followed. Then a second even louder cheer went through the audience accompanied by rapid applause and thanks to the Pale Magus. Luck lowered the pilot and made a brisk walk for Mahala.
“We should leave,” he said.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
The motorcar peeled into the driveway of Adelei’s home; one of many tall townhouses with steepled windows and battlements, framed with lattice iron balconies. Their gardens were well kept with flowers, and the streetlamps had apple trees carved along the columns.
Most of Mahala’s peers lived in such gated communities, tucked away into quiet corners of the bustling Capital.
Adelei climbed out of the car, hugging her arms. Mahala followed after her.
Is she still upset?
“Aircraft are still in early development, but I’m sure we’ll all be flying in no time. Besides, the Magus of Iron will be here to assist in the next leyline shift,” Mahala encouraged, putting on her best comforting smile.
Adelei sighed. “If we can’t reliably fly without magic, then there’s no real point. Gods, Mahala… imagine what the homunculi could do if they could fight the wars outside of Pomolin. Like in Shir… Mede… even Kalkoku wouldn’t be able to hold us off.”
“You’ve been listening to our fathers talk too much,” Mahala replied.
“I know you listen too,” Adelei snapped. “But you get to hear about all the grisly details you shouldn’t know.”
Mahala flinched.
“I’m sorry,” Adelei said as her shoulders dropped. “I’m probably going to get us all in trouble with what happened at the University. I know the Lord Protector doesn’t like it when you bring unwanted attention. Unplanned attention.”
“It comes with the job,” Mahala started. “No harm–”
“There is harm. In the few seconds that homunculus disappeared, anything could’ve happened to you… and it would’ve been my fault,” Adelei mumbled.
Mahala grabbed her wrist. “What are you talking about?”
“Too many people know of you, want you.”
She stood a little straighter. “I can handle fans.”
“No, I meant the kingdom of Shir. Gods know our Lord Protector is infallible and will fight Shirans to the last man, but there’s also you.” Adelei gripped Mahala’s wrist in turn. “Shir’s getting more desperate by the battle. It’s only a matter of time before they try to get their dirty hands on you.”
“They wouldn’t dare. Not when Pomolin’s protected by the homunculi. The Shirans would be fools to think they can outmanoeuvre spacetime magic.”
“Desperation creates fools,” Adelei sniffed. “The Wyrm Plague’s proof of how far they’re willing to go.”
The air felt colder.
Mahala wrapped her arms around Adelei. “W-We don’t know if the plague came from them…”
“It came from the Shiran border.” Adelei held her too tight, like Mahala was going to blow away. “Speaking of, I had to hear from the papers that you’re planning on going to the quarantine zone? Were you seriously not going to tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
“How can I not be?! You’re going to be the most dangerous place in the country! A deadzone swarming with forktongues!” Adelei cried, shaking Mahala by the shoulders.
Just an arm’s length behind them, was Luck.
“I’ll be safe,” she said, looking towards him.
Adelei’s brow furrowed, her lip trembling. She was always scared of the strangest things. She wasn’t afraid of walking through factories with deadly machines that violently chugged away without care who came close. She wasn’t afraid to own up to her mother for ruining her best lipstick. Yet she was scared to ever look a homunculus in the eye. She was scared of speaking with the Lord Protector.
Adelei enveloped Mahala into a proper hug. Despite being shorter, her Adelei was strong enough to sweep her off her feet.
“Don’t go, Lala,” Adelei whispered.
Mahala’s heart twinged with the seldom used childhood nickname.
She held her friend tightly. “Addy… I’m the Lady of Pomolin. I promise I’ll be back in a week and we can have tea together at Lacey’s.”
“And I want a switchsword.”
“Adelei, no.”
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
The drive back home lumbered too quietly for Mahala’s liking. She wrung her hands in her lap, Luck sitting next to her, staring listlessly out of the window.
“I’m sorry for ordering you like that,” Mahala blurted.
“It’s alright, my lady,” Luck replied promptly.
“We might get in trouble with father,” she babbled on. “I- I’ll let him know it was my fault. That you didn’t want us to go to the University tech fair. That I–”
Luck touched her shoulder. “It’s alright, my lady.”
She stopped talking.
“You did nothing wrong. I’m sure the Lord Protector will understand that you only wished to save the pilot. And in the end, I made the decision to do it,” Luck said gently.
She took his hand from her shoulder, holding it. “Really, let me take the blame. Father’s been so tightly wound up since the plague. I don’t want him venting it on you–”
The car screeched to a stop. Mahala lurched forward, ripped through the scene and into somewhere completely different.
She planted face first into the leather seat in front of her. Instead of Luck catching her, pulling her up, she was no longer with him. Or in the car, even.
Her environment had shifted into a train cabin, decorated humbly for use by the Protectorate’s officials. It was three days after her date with Adelei, late in the evening.
Her father slumped next to her, holding his face.
“Are you alright?!” Luck shouted from outside the door.
“Give me a moment,” her father called back.
“N-No… please no… Not yet… I was doing so well…” Mahala whispered. “I-I’m not ready yet…”
She spotted his mask on the floor, a slight crack in it. She knew what happened next. She didn’t want to, but her hand reached out and offered the mask to her father.
“Father, here.” She also adjusted his hood for him.
He in turn touched her cheek. “Are you hurt, child?”
No, I’m not. Father, I’m hurt. I just want to remember happier times. I just–
“I’m fine,” she heard herself say. The ‘fine’ echoed slightly through the cabin. “I’m… fine… so please… God-Nothos… let me dream again…”
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