Chapter 19 Romie
MEMORIES OF THE COLLEGE THAT Romie knew so intimately overlapped with Atheia’s own recollection of what this place used to be, so very long ago. There had always been power here, on this spot that sat above the door to this world. Dovermere, it was called then and still now.
Before it was a college, before it was the temple that had preceded it, it had been the place Atheia and Sidraeus would gather with their faithful Veiled Atlas, these like-minded individuals who had wanted to open the boundaries between worlds.
Tidecallers whose magic was key to this expansion of limits.
The last time Atheia was here was to beg Sidraeus to return to his realm and take his Tidecallers with him.
The breaking that happened that day—the love and trust between them shattered by their unwavering opposing stances—was an echo that had carried, traveling over centuries to this very moment.
The divide between lunar and eclipse a result of it.
Atheia could feel it beneath her bare feet, the history of this place that was enmeshed in her very being, everything she had experienced here before her splintering, and everything that had come after in her absence.
If she closed her eyes and let the sea breeze brush against her skin, if she breathed the briny air deep into these lungs that were another’s but also hers, she could almost imagine she had gone back in time to that place that had held so much significance to her.
But everything was different. There was a desperation in the air, a threatening, rumbling force driving the sea, a visceral feeling that clawed inside her, letting her know this was not the world she had left behind.
There was a wrongness here, an emptiness where lunar magic had once overflowed. Her life’s work, swept away like a flimsy castle in the sand. Teetering now on a delicate edge that could see it obliterated for good.
The motto on the college’s iron gates greeted her mockingly.
Post tenebras lux; iterum atque iterum. After darkness, light; again and again.
That’s what the lunar cycle was meant to be.
What the nature of all the magics she’d created was.
But now they faced infinite darkness, an everlasting end brought upon by the stain of Eclipse magic.
Unless we put an end to it first.
Romie’s thought echoed in the chambers of Atheia’s mind, brimming with a righteous anger that Atheia herself felt.
“Who goes there?”
A man in a charcoal uniform appeared at the gates, peering at her with an air of authority.
A Regulator, Romie’s mind supplied. A figure of magical authority meant to regulate the use of magic.
The thought inflamed Atheia at first—magic should be accessed freely—but then, their allegiance did skew in favor of lunar magic, not eclipse.
The man rubbed at his eyes as Atheia drew closer to the gates, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
She knew what she must look like: unseasonable clothes still dripping wet from the beach, walking barefoot on gravel in the late winter cold, eyes dancing in all the colors of a divine rainbow.
She gripped the bars and pressed her face between them.
They smelled like iron; like blood. Like magic.
She smiled at the man. “Open the gate. I wish you no harm.”
The words, laced with a Glamour, tasted divine. She was the mother of all lunar magics, and it was a comfort to know that it flowed out of her unencumbered after so long.
The man fumbled over himself to open the gate for her.
He had a silvery full moon tattooed on the back of his hand.
Atheia glanced at the waning crescent on her own hand, reminded, thanks to Romie’s memories, that lunar mages now could only access a single tidal alignment, depending on when they were born. A travesty she hoped to rectify.
The college was magnificent. There was symmetry in the cloisters and columns and towering elms that surrounded the central quad, in the middle of which was a statue representing the Tides of Fate, this multi-deity that Atheia had embodied.
Young Bruma of the New Moon, beautiful Anima of the Waxing Moon, motherly Aestas of the Full Moon, and wise Quies of the Waning Moon.
A swell of pride and love rose within her as she stood close to the fountain, admiring every detail of those four faces.
Not exactly done in her likeness, but she supposed it did not matter; it was a lovely testimony of the devotion lunar mages had for the Tides even long after Atheia had left their shores.
Everyone is staring at us.
Romie’s voice had Atheia snapping out of admiring the statues. Indeed, students were peering at her from the cloisters, whispering among themselves with wide eyes and quizzical brows.
“Hey, are you all right?” someone called out to her.
And then, another voice: “Isn’t that Romie Brysden?”
Recognition swept over the gathered students. There was a hum of confusion and disbelief and fear, mixed with something else Atheia couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“She was dead!” someone shouted. “She was one of the drowned students last year.”
“Isn’t she a friend of the Ainsleif girl?”
More people gathered in the quad now, voices repeating Romie’s name like it was an accusation.
Suddenly another one of those charcoal-clad Regulators marched toward her, beady little eyes taking her in like she was prey. Two more Regulators were at his heel.
“Rosemarie Brysden,” the beady-eyed one said. “My name is Captain Drutten. I’m going to ask you to come with us.”
Atheia raised a brow. “To what end?”
“It’s my hope you might help us locate your family members, for one thing.” He gave her an oily smile. “And I’m very curious to know where a supposed drowned girl has been all this time, especially one who was friends with the Shadow reborn.”
He means Emory, said Romie. Her feelings were all over the place at the mention of her family, anger rising at the thought that her association with Emory might cause her and her loved ones harm.
“I assure you I am no friend of the Shadow,” Atheia told the Regulator. “And I can answer any questions you have right here in front of all these faithful lunar mages.”
“There’s no need for that. Now come along, Ms. Brysden.”
“I will do no such thing.”
The Regulator’s ears reddened, his eyes darting to the whispering crowd as if Atheia’s disobedience were an affront to his authority, an embarrassment he refused to allow. He squared his shoulders, voice low as he said, “Then you leave me no choice.”
Before she knew what he was doing, the man reached for her arm, and the cold sting of metal brushed her skin.
Atheia wrenched free of his grasp before the restraint could close. “Get your hands off my vessel.”
This seemed only to inflame him more. She felt magic slither toward her, as if this man were trying to compel her. Using her magic against her—the magic she had created as the Tides.
“Stop,” she commanded in a booming voice.
His eyes went wide as he froze. Power thrummed around Atheia as she stepped closer to him. She felt like a giant even though he stood a good head taller than she.
“Lift a hand to me again, lunar mage,” she said, “and I will not be so benevolent.”
“Who are you?” the man asked on a shaky breath.
“I am the Tides you worship. I am Bruma and Anima and Aestas and Quies wrapped in a single vessel.”
Murmurs again rippled through the crowd.
“That’s not possible,” the man said. “The Tides are gone. They’re in the Deep, put there by the Shadow…”
“That might have been true.” Somewhat. Atheia laid a gentle hand on the man’s face. “But Romie Brysden brought me back.”
Eyes went wide with fear and wonder, and she delighted in it, this feeling of divinity among mortals that she hadn’t felt for a millennium.
Atheia swept a gaze over these lunar mage students who would have once been her loyal followers, her devoted worshippers.
Who could be once more now that she’d returned.
“If the Tides are back, why is our magic still lacking?” a student spoke up, expression pinched with skepticism. “Isn’t their return supposed to restore it to what it once was, accessible to all, no matter our ruling house or tidal alignment?”
Murmurs of assent ran through the crowd, making an unpleasant feeling slither up Atheia’s spine. She did not have that power, could not give them what they wanted from her, and whose fault was that?
“I know you wish to regain the full might of your magic,” she addressed the crowd.
“To see it flow freely once more, without any limitations. You wish to have the culprit of your dwindling powers gone. To wash away the Shadow’s stain from this world.
Believe me, I am here to help you fulfill this wish.
But there is an obstacle that stands in the way: the Shadow and his followers.
“I have it on good authority that the Shadow himself will be setting foot on your shores soon. Help me capture him, and I will deal with him myself. His death will mean the death of his magic.” At least, that was the hope; Atheia would see it done one way or the other.
“And then,” she continued, “I will give back to you what was once yours. I will bless those faithful to me with all the lunar magics at my disposal. You will once more know magic without limits. This I promise you.”
There was a commotion as a woman with salt-and-pepper hair trimmed short and wearing a tweed suit cut her way through the gathered students. The dean of Aldryn, Romie’s memories provided.
“Dean Fulton,” Drutten greeted the woman. “Ms. Brysden here—she says—”
“I heard.” Dean Fulton’s dark eyes never left Atheia’s face. “Thank you, Captain Drutten, I’ll take it from here.” To the students, she said in a raised voice, “Back to your classes, everyone. Now.”
The students eventually scattered, eyes lingering on Atheia.
They did not know what to make of her, and she couldn’t exactly fault them for it.
She wore the skin of a dead girl who had been friends with the public enemy that was Emory, the Tidethief, the Shadow reborn.
Of course they wouldn’t believe her outright that she was the Tides returned.
The dean watched Atheia carefully. “There are people who will be wanting to talk to you.” It sounded like she wanted to add Ms. Brysden at the end of her sentence but thought the better of it.
Behind the dean were two boys, students who did not leave with the rest of their peers.
Atheia knew their faces through Romie’s memories, recognizing them as members of the current Selenic Order cohort at the college: Louis Clairmont, a Healer with brown curls, and Javier Oritze Belesa, a Wardcrafter with long dark hair and fine features.
Recognition was stark on both their faces—and more importantly, belief. They were part of the Selenic Order; their entire life goal had been to bring back the Tides. And here she was, returned in the body of one of their initiates. If anyone would believe her, it was them.
Romie’s thoughts quickly formulated a plan, and Atheia couldn’t help but be grateful for her vessel’s wits and knowledge.
If there was an ally to be found in this world, people who would not only believe her outright but also help her achieve her goal of eradicating Eclipse magic, it was the Selenic Order.
Particularly the Tidal Council, the leaders of this secret society who were named in honor of the four Tides, in honor of her.
Atheia smiled at Louis and Javier, turning her wrist out to show the silver spiral there that she knew was mirrored on their own wrists. “Shall I call on the Tidal Council, or will you?”