101, 1/2

Hot winds blew from the bare northern sky, scouring the expansive orange desert, but died as they came to this place. Here, in this space of rainbow shadows, deep clouds, and boxy black buildings, where resurrected farmers tilled the land and planted seeds in the loamy dirt, gentle flashes of white light glittered through clouds, bringing cool wind, and more. Platinum rain fell, cold and vibrant, onto a resurrected Farm, sending green shoots into the air that became grains, vines, and tall stalks of vegetables.

Farmers worked fast to gather the bounty; to harvest rice, pluck potatoes, and gather corn. Others, who were not all farmers, ghosted out of the dark city, to stand in the open, exposed to the rain. These others wore nothing more than rags. They faced that sky with grey eyes, wide open. Glowing waters fell upon faces. If they cried as those glowing raindrops traced down their skin, it was impossible to tell.

The overseer of the platinum rain hovered over the farms, his many wings keeping him stable in the storm, while his eyes maintained an uninterrupted vigil on the production below, ensuring that the rain fell exactly where it needed to fall. He had done this many times before; he knew when the farmers were getting too much production, or when they had too little. Ophiel ensured that nothing overgrew in his presence, and that everyone was keeping up with their tasks.

Other feathered [Familiar]s were more light than substance. They dashed around the Farms like ethereal oozes, touching those who stared at the sky, turning rags to clothes and cleaning off wounds, and dirt. Matted, wet hair, became simply wet. Nails were trimmed. Nakedness was covered by copied clothes from neighbors. Some were able to stretch those wet clothes over their bodies. Some of the more dazed shadelings had those clothes turned to light, then stretched over their forms, to cover those who could not cover themselves. Shoes were in short supply; most would have to go without, for now. But this was good.

Clothes, good… Food was growing in the Farm right now…

A hundred eyes turned to other issues.

Other parts of the dark city that had fallen to the spider horde, or the automatons, it was hard to tell which did more damage in some locations, now fell completely, to orchestrated efforts of shadelings working together. Other buildings were built up; restored to their former blocky selves. Fights broke out here and there, but they were either stopped by nearby people, or with gentle touches of light, and white blips that sent the offenders to other sides of the city.

And then there were the bodies. Mangled. Broken. Bloody, with guts strewn out and half eaten—

Ophiel paused over one. A human male, smallish. Some might even call him mousy, with brown hair and brown skin. Erick knew this lad as the one Justine introduced, that first time Ophiel came to Candlepoint. His name was Irkil. And he was dead. Disemboweled by some horrific action.

Clinically, Ophiel stuffed the outsides back inside, cast a [Cleanse] over the tragedy, turning blood and otherwise into thick air, and blipped the body to the fields, in the south. Irkil landed in a dignified position on the ground, aligned with others who had fallen. There was no jumble of bodies, here. These people would be sent off with as much respect as Erick, and the people of Candlepoint, could muster. This organization did not happen at first. Erick had had to adjust the bodies three times, putting them in parallel rows, before others started to copy his methodology. Gazing across the field, Erick saw the cost of Bulgan’s actions, in cold, stiffening bodies. The fields of the dead had expanded over a quarter of Candlepoint’s total area. None had yet been consigned to the fire.

Most of Candlepoint had been killed. Nine out of every ten people had perished. Almost as fast as the extraneous buildings came down, that land had been filled with the dead.

And yet, life went on. Buildings went up in the west and the east. Someone burrowed through the stone below the city, creating something like a sewer system. It wasn’t great, but it was better than what the city had had before. Someone repaired broken cisterns on roofs, while another created more cisterns, and others attempted to pull water from the damp air with widespread [Watershape]s. It wasn’t the easiest use of the spell; a hundred mana made a liter of water. It was not efficient. But it was good enough, for now. Erick would institute something better, later.

It was then, though, that Erick noticed something.

The farmers in the fields did not keep themselves dry with [Weather Ward]s. The plumbing in the city did not use [Gravity Ward]s to pump water from below. Did they not have [Ward]? Everything in modern Veird society used [Ward]s in some way or another. Erick had over twenty [Ward]s active in his house in Spur, right now. Every house had at least one warder…

Erick left Ophiel to his tasks, as he went about another.

 

– – – –

 

Inside his house, Erick sat up from his reclining chair. Poi sat on the other side of the room, reading, but at Erick’s movements, he closed his book.

Erick asked, “What spells do shadelings not have?”

Poi looked to the air. “[Mend]. [Cleanse]. Spatial Magic. [Control Item]. [Fabricate]. [Conjure Item]. We have not seen any shadeling in Candlepoint use any of those spells. We are not sure about [Ward]. The city has wardlights, but we haven’t seen much beyond that.”

Erick mentally went through the list again. He said, “That’s gonna be rough.” He got up from his chair, saying, “I need to get started on dinner. I’m gonna need help cooking, too.”

Poi frowned a little, saying, “But it’s not even noon, yet.”

“I’m cooking for ten thousand, Poi.” Erick teased, “But you knew that already.”

Poi looked to wrestle with something for a moment, before he got out of his own chair, and said, “I don’t think you should copy that much food.” He added, “It’s bad enough what you’ve already done with the clothes. People will know you have [Duplicate].”

“But—” Erick paused. He frowned. He said, “Okay. You actually bring up a good point. I have money that I have acquired through normal means, and Candlepoint needs goods to start its own trade. I should pay actual money for stuff.”

“… But you’re still going to copy stuff?”

“But I am still going to copy stuff tonight. Yes. One night only!” Erick said, “It’s an emergency, Poi. I won’t copy that much.”

Poi offered, “Or you could pay people to cook for you?”

“… No one is going to be able to make that much food in ten hours.”

“That’s not true.” Poi said, “I know of at least two places that can do it.”

“… Oh?” Erick said, “Then… Let’s do that. I like that idea. Okay. That’s what we’re doing.” He went to the entrance to the library, asking, “Where is Justine, right now?”

“Third floor.”

Erick looked back to Poi. “Is she going to be okay?”

Poi briefly struggled with something, again, then said, “She is emotionally sound. She is a lot tougher than most people. I do not think she is a threat, in any normal way, but she will go poking around where you let her poke around.”

Erick waved off that concern, saying, “I can live with that. Let’s find Teressa.”

Teressa was in the cold room, taking stock of resources. Apparently, the house needed some essentials, too, and she was just about to head out to get them. Erick decided that they could all go together.

On the way out of the house, with his guards in tow, Justine stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking stuck between going up, coming down, and deciding if she really wanted to ask what she wanted to ask. Erick solved the problem for her.

He asked, “We’re going out to get some necessary things for the survivors. Do you want to gift them anything in particular? I’m buying.” He offered, “Or do you want to go out with us? Is there anything you’re lacking at the moment, that I could provide?”

Justine stood shocked for a moment. She said, “Uh. I should stay here.” She glanced to Poi, then back to Erick, saying, “I should not leave the house, unless it is an emergency.”

“That’s fine, and probably a good idea.” Erick asked again, “Anything you want, though? I’m mainly just hiring a caterer to prepare the food, and getting bolts of fabrics and such. And getting a few groceries for the house.”

Justine smiled, a tiny expression, holding back floodgates. She said, “I would like some nice fabrics, thread, and needles. I haven’t had [Fabricate] in a century, and I would like to make some clothes for myself.”

“You used to be an alchemist, too, right?” Erick asked, “Do you want one of the verandas for a garden? It’s still inside the [Prismatic Ward], so you should be safe there, too.”

“I would love— I would love to have one of the verandas.” She asked, “The one on the third floor looks lovely.”

“We have one on the— Oh! Right.” Erick said, “If that small one isn’t enough, there’s the eastern one, or the larger western one.”

“The smaller one is fine.”

“Very well then. I will get you your stuff. We’ll be back soon.”

Justine nodded.

“One more thing.” Erick asked, “What spells can shadelings not use?”

Looking briefly in her element, Justine rambled off, “[Mend]. [Cleanse]. Spatial Magics. Healing. [Fabricate]. [Conjure Item]. These are absolutely locked to us. But… that was the story I was required to tell you, back then. It’s true. But it’s not the full truth. Some of us who know aura control are able to recreate some of them. Those people were not allowed to come to Candlepoint, though. They’re stuck in Ar’Kendrithyst.” She said, “Anyone who knew any aura control at all was forced to stay in the Dead City and work on magic item creation.”

Erick asked, “What about [Ward]? I don’t see anyone wearing [Weather Ward]s on the farm. Everyone is just standing in the rain.”

Briefly confused, Justine said, “There are some people with [Ward] in there. There’s lights in the city; that’s how we got them. Through [Ward]. But everyone tried to keep their defenses down while Bulgan was in charge. He took joy in tearing apart those who walked around with [Personal Ward]s.” She added, “Any defense, actually…” She got a distant look for a brief moment, then turned her attention back to Erick. “Most Shades are like that.”

Bulgan might have nominally moved on, but his shadow remained. People were not comfortable in Candlepoint. They likely wouldn’t be comfortable for years, if ever, but maybe things would get better after a few months had passed, uneventfully. It was possible that Bulgan and the other Shades were dealing true, and had really given up Candlepoint to him, but it it was also possible that a sudden [Gate] to Earth would open up, and drop a few dozen more earthlings on Erick’s doorstep. In other words: never going to happen.

 

– – – –

 

Spur was a city of over a quarter million people, spread out over 113 square kilometers. A year ago, there had only been 80,000 people in the whole city. Maybe less. Erick’s arrival and the production of cheap food, as well as the security of a public archmage willing to put down encroaching threats, and generally be present in the public eye, had done a great deal for population growth. There were few needs more primal to the mortal condition than the need for security. There were also few needs harder to come by on Veird, than security.

Erick walked out of his house, with Teressa and Poi in tow, while Justine was left at the house to her own devices, and to get acquainted with her new home. But the ex-shadeling wasn’t the only new person in the neighborhood.

The flat, orange land of the Human District, ringed in the greenery of the Gardens, held two houses, until today. One was Erick’s. The other was the Mage Trio’s, just to the northwest of Erick. But now, there was a third. It was a house of a similar size as the other two, built to the southwest, but built more like a castle or maybe a hotel, than the other two. The building hadn’t been there yesterday, but it was going up fast, as workers piled up blocks of stone off of pallets and guided them into place on top of the rest. The overall structure was readily apparent. With three stories, organized windows in lines around the outside, no verandas, and a slanted roof, it looked like…

“A noble’s summer home! A big boxy thing. Kinda nice,” Erick said, walking across the flat, orange land, headed west. He already had an idea of whose house could be, but he asked, “Whose is it?”

Teressa said, “I heard it was some people called the Clayfields. Nobles out of the Greensoil Republic.”

“Exactly right.” With tendrils of thought touching his head, Poi said, “They got approved yesterday. Construction started a few hours ago.”

Some of the workers at the house paused, as they looked up from their jobs and saw Erick and his guards walking north of the rising house. One of the guys waved at him. Erick waved back, just as one of the other construction guys slapped the back of the first one’s head, saying something loud enough to hear, about ‘not bothering the archmage’. Erick smiled, and kept walking.

“Good for the Clayfields.” Erick said, “We’ll have to get them a housewarming gift.”

Teressa hummed. “Nobles in Spur doesn’t sit right. I don’t like it.”

Erick said, “Poi and I were there when Gwynewyn Clayfield, the head noble— I think she was a ‘Lady’? What was she, Poi?”

“Alandria Clayfield, the daughter and the main proponent of moving the Clayfields from Frontier back to Spur, is the ‘Lady’.” Poi said, “Gwynewyn Clayfield is a Baroness. The family is from a small holding known as Steelbend, across from the Fin river, from Redder, under Greendale’s flag.”

Teressa pulled in a sudden breath. “Big nobles. Damn.”

As they walked through the wide road between the various fields of the Garden that surrounded the Human District, Erick asked, “Greendale is the main city, right?”

“Correct.” Poi said, “Steelbend is actually a very prosperous town. Maybe a hundred thousand people.”

“Oh. Wow.” Erick said, “I did not expect that. She talked like it was some village, or something.”

“She was being modest.”

Teressa hummed again. “Well… If she’s modest.” She rapidly added, “She was just playing a part. You never know with those types.”

Erick chuckled as they left the Human District, headed toward some caterers Poi knew.

 

– – – –

 

“All you want is meat, bread, cheese, wine, and beer?” said a skinny incani man behind the counter, equal parts delighted, terrified, worried, and hopeful.

Poi had taken them to an event caterer, that dealt with large scale events. Most of the building was full of Grand [Prestidigitation] stoves and walk-in ovens and all sorts of heavy duty mixers, along with the smells of everything good to eat under the sun, but this room was a smaller front room. It was just the space where customers spoke to representatives of the company. There was little more than a register in one corner, and a nice, homey kitchen table. More than a few wedding paintings adorned the walls. This place did a lot of weddings with guest lists in the range of ten to fifteen thousand, according to Poi.

Erick repeated his order, as succinctly as he could, “Enough for 5,000 people. Yes. In seven hours.” He said, “There’s going to be lots of vegetables and such provided by others, but I want this stuff to be good, and a lot of it; enough for double meals. I’d say I want to order for 10,000, but I know that would be impossible given the time frame. And I know it’s a rush order, so double your price.” He added, “And you don’t have to serve any of it. I’ll serve it all myself, and take it directly from your kitchens, when it is ready. It doesn’t have to be ready all at the same time.”

“Oh my gods,” the man mumbled to himself. He suddenly focused, with laser intensity, as he asked, “Is 7 hours a hard limit? We can do 10 to 12. No one can get you better timing than that. And our price will stay the same. Our price normally includes waiters and such, but— I need to start cooking.” He almost got up from his chair, but he sat back down, saying, “I’m going to need half the money up front. We cannot provide service on a seven hour timeframe, but if you do not need the service, then we can just provide the food itself. There will be roast meats, mostly shredded. We’ll make the bread here, too. We were not expecting this, but we can do this. We can do this, sir.”

Erick smiled. “What is the menu going to look like?”

“Shredded beef. Shredded pork. Both with lots of sauce for dipping. Those will be made here, and be the bulk of what we will make. Loaves of good, white bread, will be purchased through several bakeries around town and elsewhere. We normally make bread here, too, and we will make some of it, but there is not enough time to make it all. The cheese is bought elsewhere. We order fifty-kilo logs of cheese all the time from a few different producers, and we can get you both hard and soft in about a 50-50 split. Beer and wine— Were you thinking one person per one bottle of wine, or two? One keg of beer is usually enough for 50 people, or 10 orcol-people.”

“Two.” He added, “Five per keg.”

“About how many orcols? Any wrought?”

Erick glanced over to Candlepoint, then came back to himself. “I’m going to say 1500 orcols. Zero wrought.”

“We can do that.” The incani man said, “I’m going to quote a price, and it should be correct, but it might be off by 20 percent.”

“That’s fine.”

“12,000 gold upfront. 18,000 afterward. About 4 gold, 6 silver per lot of food, considering 6500 people.” He added, “It’s the best price you could get, too. Me and my people will be working extra hard to make sure this works.”

“You take Mage Bank, right?”

The man chuckled, saying, “Of course we do!”

Erick handed the man his Mage Guild badge, saying, “Go ahead and get started.”

The man took the badge, like it was a precious gem. He asked, “Where is this food going, may I ask?”

“To Candlepoint.”

The man went still.

Erick expected some sort of reaction, so that was fine. He kept going. “They recently lost nine out of every ten people to the Ballooning Horde, when the Shade in charge let it happen, on purpose. I’ve stepped in to help where I could. Bulgan has left the city, too.”

The man, now still, and thinking, said nothing for a moment. He broke his silence, saying, “I thought they were monsters.”

“One of them cleansed themselves of the Darkness and was resurrected by Koyabez, in order to help facilitate some sort of understanding between shadelings and the rest of civilization. Her name is Justine, and she’s staying at my home, right now.” Erick said, “I still have no idea what’s up with Candlepoint but I hope that the people there can come back from being monsters, just like Justine. Whatever the case, that’s all above me, quite honestly. I’m just here to help people who need help, and right now I feel as though the shadelings are people who need help.” He added, “But I wouldn’t go there myself, in person. Maybe in a year, if it continues to be okay.”

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The man softly said, “My brother died in Ar’Kendrithyst, last year. He was at Candlepoint, in the beginning. I don’t think he’s there anymore.” He asked, “I thought they were just another trap?”

“They are, and they are not. Don’t go there yourself and don’t get involved if you can help it.” Erick said, “I’m going to be prudent, too, and stay away. But I can’t not help people who need help.”

“Yeah…” The man stared at Erick’s badge. From one moment to the next, professionalism took over. The man sat straighter. He grabbed a ledger, and wrote down the numbers on the back of Erick’s badge, as a tendril of thought trailed away from his head. In a moment, he handed Erick back his badge, saying, “You’ve been approved— Of course you were. But. Procedure. Thank you very much for your business.” More tendrils radiated from his head as he concentrated hard for a long moment.

Erick counted the tendrils. Only eight. The man had none of the usual calm, twenty talks going on at once, that Poi sometimes had. But that was to be expected.

All at once the tethers snapped. The man smiled, and stood from his chair. “We’re good. It’s happening. Thank you.”

Erick stood with him. “Thank you. I know it’s short notice.”

“Not a problem.” The incani man said, “A pleasure doing business with you, Archmage Flatt. My employees are already purchasing what needs to be purchased. We have many things to cook, rather fast. Thank you for choosing Palasio’s Caterers for your catering needs.”

“Thank you for being able to fulfill the request.” Erick asked, “By the way: Are you Palasio?”

“Yes. But the business is my father’s. Same name.”

Erick smiled. “A pleasure to meet you, Palasio. I look forward to a good outcome.”

Palasio said, “And you shall have it!”

 

– – – –

 

Erick walked down a wide road where the air smelled of flowers, and wind flowed freely.

Before Erick started controlling the weather, causing ‘natural’ rains every two or three days, almost the entire city had been constructed with wide open spaces and thick, stone walls, with more concern given to making the [Temperature Ward]s inside houses last longer, and little regard for how water would flow across the blocky architecture. Outdoor places where people were meant to hang out were not quite so blocky, but instead had stone overhangs and airy arches and more than enough space for breezes. The fabric district of Spur, while not a true District, was one such place that kept its architecture unchanged, after the rains began. Their outdoor fabric market was ancient and blocky, and they were not willing to change for anyone. They did put up some really nicely colored [Weather Ward]s over the whole place, though, like a woven roof.

Fabrics fluttered in the breeze, showcasing their lightness or thickness, their transparency or opaqueness. Reds, golds, blues. Blacks and whites. Bolts and bolts of plain white cloths, waited for an order to be made, ready to be dipped in inks for custom colors. One store had extensive geometric patterns that reminded Erick of Islamic architecture. Some stores were filled with fabrics layered in flowers and water designs. Some of the most intricate expensive fabrics, on display in front of what was practically an art gallery, were crafted with goldfish with glittering gold-orange-black scales, upon backdrops of blue skies. Another store had trees, landscapes, prints, and designs, all contained on bolts of fabric, ready to be cut and styled into wearable art of all kinds.

All of this was contained on a single street, down three city blocks and their adjacent buildings —premium locations, according to Teressa and Poi both— where the wind flowed easy from north to south, and the sky was a stained glass cathedral window of [Weather Ward]s; layered by master Warders, every day, no doubt. Erick was just as enamored with the ‘roof’ of the market as he was with the market itself.

He smiled to himself, as he looked up, muttering, “Someone has to put that up every day?”