Are ya ready kids?
Aye aye captain
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Luisa Pagel, 21, Alunde
Luisa rocked back nervously on her heels, glancing around at the stoic military personnel stationed around her. None of them met her gaze as she peered around; they stared straight ahead like tin soldiers.
The train platform was completely deserted of anyone–probably on purpose–and even the other Alunde girls hadn't arrived. Luisa self-consciously adjusted the lapels of her coat and gently cleared her throat.
"Lovely day," she pointed out meekly.
No response. She twisted the plain silver ring around her index finger. The metal shimmered with her anxiety, and she idly reshaped the silver into a tiny snake that curled around her finger.
A commotion came from behind them, and everyone turned. Around her, every hand went to the metal rods at their belts. Luisa leaned around the barrel-chested guard to spy another unit of uniformed men, and her heart leapt into her throat.
The men parted to reveal a very disgruntled dark-haired girl wearing a coat with more pockets than Luisa had ever seen. Her eyes were a startling blue that lit up when they landed on Luisa, illuminating her face with an almost-unhinged glee. It wasn't an uncommon look to receive in Alunde; most of the people around the nation were brilliantly smart, but also marvelously eccentric.
"Pagel! You are, aren't you?" The girl demanded, bodily shoving her way through the crowd of guards. They stumbled back, not sure how to respond. "The jewelry girl?"
"I–yes, I am." She smiled, slightly taken aback. "Luisa."
"Luisa Pagel, of course," the girl agreed. "My brothers are great fans of yours."
"I'm flattered," she answered. "And you are?"
The girl grinned and pointed to Luisa's wrist. "Edison-Verne. Victoria. That's a lovely piece you've got there. Must be some of my early stuff."
Luisa glanced instinctively down at her watch, and looked back up, beaming. "Edison-Verne, really? Of Angel and Edison? That's splendid, I'm a wonderful fan of your family as well! This was the first thing I purchased when I started my business. It's served me so well. Never a minute slow."
"I should hope not," Victoria said, pleased. She glanced around curiously. "Are you the only other one?"
"As far as I know," Luisa said. "But I thought the ironspoke mentioned three in total."
Admittedly, the process of projecting messages through the metal with unique vibration patterns was a little tough to decipher sometimes. Especially since Luisa didn't specialize in iron, but silver and gold. Very useful for jewelry; not so much for dealing with the ironspoke.
"Ironspoke?" Victoria's nose wrinkled at the word. "Nasty unpredictable thing. Never got the hang of it. Always comes out garbled to me. I do so prefer the telegram."
"Telegram!" Luisa exclaimed, amused. That had to be decades old. "How quaint."
"My grandfather never got around to replacing the old system, so I grew up using it," Victoria said with a merry, ringing laugh. "It's ever so reliable. In fact I've been wondering about making some modifications so that we might simply merge the two. Can you imagine speaking into an apparatus and having it projected straight to someone else's home, without the use of magic? Just trusty machinery?"
"How fantastical," Luisa answered, smiling. "Do mention if you figure it out, I must say, I'm not the biggest fan of the ironspoke myself."
"It's settled, then. Ironspoke is entirely outdated," Victoria said, with a note of finality. She looped her arm through Luisa's with an air of solidarity. "For the both of us, and the good of Alunde, I'll have to find a solution."
"Who knows, perhaps it might even spread to other nations," Luisa suggested, giggling.
"Come now," Victoria said, with a roll of her eyes. "Other nations never want anything from us other than weapons and trains. Always, it's weapons and trains and watches and jewelry. No one ever cares for the good stuff."
"Well, that hasn't done the two of us much wrong has it?" Luisa joked. "Seems we've both found our fortune in it."
"Yes, but there's so much more," Victoria said earnestly. "There's so much more experimentation we can do, there's so much more beyond just trains. Beyond ironspokes and power enhancing devices."
There was a shimmering light in Victoria's eyes, nearly manic but full of hope. It was pure Alundish essence, and Luisa was glad to see it. It wouldn't be so hard, then, to be away from home. Not when Victoria carried in her such genuine Alundish spirit.
"Quite heavy stuff for a Tuesday morning," Luisa said, smoothly changing the topic.
"Yes, I'm too liable to get into the deep thinking," Victoria said, shaking her head sheepishly. "Sorry, that's a rather serious introduction."
"No, I appreciated it," Luisa said, patting her hand. "Let's not get too bogged down in it. On an unrelated note, I'd like to know what you keep in all these pockets."
The watchmaker lit up in a completely different way, her face brightening with child-like happiness.
"Oh, isn't it wonderful? I had it specially made from a Haixinese silk blended with a thread made of a metal alloy, feel it! Soft like water, but stronger than steel," Victoria explained giddily. "I can fit so much in these pockets! Mostly watch parts at the moment, but…"
She opened her coat to reveal a breast pocket and pulled out a little clockwork cricket. She wound up the key carefully, and then the automaton came to life, twisting its miniature head and blinking its glowing blue eyes. Its tiny wire antennae twitched and it chirped charmingly.
"How cute," Luisa cooed. "Did you make this?"
"My grandfather did," Victoria said, just as the key twisted to a stop and the light flickered out of the cricket's eyes. She slid it back into her pocket, smiling a dimpled grin. "My send-off gift. I haven't thought of a name yet."
"Maybe we can think of one on the train," Luisa suggested, leaning past the guards to see the plume of steam that marked its arrival. "Here it comes."
Behind them, ringing footsteps sounded, and the final contingency of guards arrived, clustered around a very flustered redhead with grease on her cheek. Her bag was a beaten brown leather thing that looked on the verge of falling apart.
"Sorry I'm late," the girl yelled in a thick northern accent, jogging over. Her thick braid of red hair flew behind her, and her freckled cheeks glowed with exertion. "Didn't realize today was send-off. Had a long goodbye."
"You're alright," Luisa told her cheerfully. "Here it comes now."
"Finley Rilke," the girl introduced with a breathless smile.
"Rilke?" Luisa tilted her head, thoughtful. "Is your family the music box Rilkes?"
"Ah, no," Finley said, rubbing the back of her neck.
"The egg timer Rilkes?" Victoria suggested.
"No–,"
"Aha! You must be the gramophone Rilkes!" Luisa said, snapping her fingers eagerly. "You are, aren't you?"
"No," Finley said with a note of sharpness that took both girls aback. Her freckles merged with her blotchy flush, and at her sides, her hands had balled into fists. "I'm not any of those Rilkes. My family's coal miners. We're not a trademark family."
Victoria and Luisa fell silent awkwardly. Of course it was an honest mistake to make; Rilke was a rather common surname. But nonetheless rather tactless of them to goad her into revealing her status. Families without trademarks were generally at the bottom of the hierarchy. It meant they were a family that had never invented anything useful in all their years. In a nation that prized innovation and originality, it was somewhat looked down upon.
Finley's eyes were gleaming with a defensive air, like she'd bite the first one of them to make a comment about it. Luisa and Victoria exchanged a glance.
"That's alright," Victoria told her. "Trademarks are old-fashioned anyway. Fairly certain no one remembers my family for anything but watches, but we're actually the bottle-opener Edisons."
"Mine is hardly a trademark family either," Luisa added. "We were the automated can-opener Pagels."
Finley laughed, and the tension eased. Right on cue, the train glided into the station and let out an enormous billow of steam.
"All aboard," Luisa remarked dryly, glancing at the other girls.
The door opened, and a man stepped out in a crisp uniform.
"Ladies," he said with a smile. "Welcome to the first step of your journey."
…
Sereia Jour, 23, Ethotaur
The rhythmic chug of the train began to slow down, and Sereia came to attention in her seat. If her memory served, this was the stop in Alunde. Third to last stop before they arrived in Verelys.
She felt for the pendant around her neck and rubbed the pad of her thumb over the smooth glass surface once, twice, three times. A part of her still felt unsettled, so she rubbed it another four times, and then did it two more times to make it six. Nine times total.
She relaxed in her seat. Nine times for the nine lives of a cat, nine for the powers of Ethotaur, nine for the nine years she'd spent with the Order of Spirits. Nine was a good number, a lucky number. As the old rhyme went, "Peril in eight, peril in ten, but success in nine, time and again".
She tried to remember when she'd first heard the rhyme. Not from her sisters at the Order of Spirits. They, like all Ethotaurians, had their superstitions, but theirs were much more elaborate–rooted in history and tradition. No, this was just a common folktale rhyme. It had to have been from her mother, something her mother had said before she'd left her family for the Order.
The exterior doors opened with a hiss, and three loud voices speaking in Alundish boarded. Being one of the languages that primarily informed the common tongue, Alundish was just out of reach for Sereia. A couple words here and there were comprehensible, but she couldn't really understand what they were saying. Then again, if she was honest, Sereia's Vere could use some work too.
Almost unconsciously, the circumference of Sereia's awareness expanded, as easily as blinking. In a flash, her powers swept into the mind of the closest girl. A cacophony of shouting thoughts roared up and she mentally flinched. As soon as she realized the significance of the reaction, she pulled back. She'd gotten into the habit of not using her powers to see down in the caverns, but the old instinct seemed to have returned in this unfamiliar situation. Sereia took a deep, meditative breath, reminding herself to relax. To find peace.
Just the brief dip into the girl's mind was almost too much for her, after months of keeping out of other's thoughts. Most people's thoughts manifested in streams of consciousness like that, but this girl had some of the loudest thoughts she'd ever heard. It was a little overwhelming. God, she'd had no idea people beyond Ethotaur were so sloppy in their thoughts and mental defenses. And she'd thought the civilians in her nation were bad.
Now that she was out of the girl's mind, she was limited again, and she sat very still, just listening as footsteps approached.
A knock sounded, and the door slid back, squealing a little on its track.
"Hi," said a bright voice in accented Vere. "My name's Luisa. Would it trouble you if we sat here?"
Sereia hesitated for a moment, trying to find the words in Vere. "If you want."
"I'm Victoria, and this is Finley," a second voice explained. Sereia's seat depressed next to her, and she became aware of another presence close to her.
"I'm Sister Sereia," she said. "Of the Order of Spirits. From Ethotaur, if that wasn't obvious?"
"Ethotaur!" Victoria repeated eagerly. The floor vibrated as Victoria stomped her feet in excitement. "I've never met a genuine Ethotaurian person before! How thrilling!"
"Tada," she said, her voice totally devoid of any real enthusiasm. "We're not an endangered species."
There was an awkward moment, like someone was late on a cue. Sereia could practically feel glances being exchanged, though of course she had no proof.
"It's funny, I thought Ethotaurians always wore veils," the third girl, the one who hadn't spoken yet, piped up. "Don't your eyes hurt from the light aboveground?"
She almost sounded suspicious, as though Sereia was lying for some reason. Without even being conscious of it, Sereia rolled her eyes.
"Not really a point for me," Sereia said robotically. She was quickly growing bored of this conversation. "I'm blind."
"Ah." Another awkward pause.
"Sorry," Luisa offered. "Er–I suppose that's rather strange to say, I don't–,"
"It's fine. I work around it." At any moment, she could sweep forward with her magic and dip into Luisa's mind, her mental presence nothing more than a whisper so she wouldn't be detected. Of course, she didn't. She didn't really see a point at the moment. But she could have.
"So," she heard Luisa say. "You said you're part of the Order of the Spirits? I've never heard of such an order, it sounds simply fascinating."
That funny roundabout way Alundish people spoke, with all their excessive words and elaborate adjectives made Sereia's lips curve slightly.
"I doubt most people outside of Ethotaur know," she answered understandingly, pausing slightly to reorganize her thoughts into Vere. "It's a very prestigious organization, but you probably haven't heard much about it, since the basic education of commoners doesn't delve much into it."
"My education's plenty thorough, thanks," said Victoria, an undercurrent of steel in her voice. "And it's commonly polite to turn your head towards people when they speak, don't you think?"
Sereia blinked, somewhat caught off guard by the directness of the jab. Had she not mentioned she was blind?
"What's the point? Shall I read your expression?" Sereia retorted, eyebrows raised. Her tone wasn't provoking, but amused, albeit perplexed. How ambitiously confrontational.
Still, she did turn her head, if only because she needed to get back into the habit. It was something seeing people seemed to like, wasn't it? It was never a requirement in the Order; everyone there was like family, and were accustomed to her behavior.
There was a tense silence, before she heard the rustle of fabric. When Victoria spoke again, it was clear she'd stood up.
"You really need to get off your high horse if you hope to make any progress at all," Victoria told her plainly. "And I think this train ride is too long to spend holed up with the likes of you. If you'll excuse me."
She strode out of the compartment, and Sereia didn't stop her. As Sister Talie often said, troubles will root themselves out, if they are given the space to exit without intervention.
"I–think I'm going to go after her," Luisa said after a moment, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "My apologies, it was nice to make your acquaintance, Sereia."
She got up and left, and the girl sitting next to her followed, without any attempt at an explanation.
Sereia stayed in her seat, and for the first time since she'd left, felt a flicker of insecurity, of doubt. Within the Order, she knew she was accepted and normal. Here, she felt grotesquely out of place. Her nonchalant exterior buckled, and she began to take deep breaths, trying to recover her carefully maintained peace.
A restless spirit makes for rash decisions, Sister Talie often said. To find peace within the soul is to find clarity of the mind.
The saying had comforted her often when losing her composure. It restored; it healed. It reminded Sereia of her learnings and the things she'd devoted her life to. Find peace, find control.
Somehow, outside of the safe embrace of the caverns, or even better, the walls of the Order, it didn't hold the power it once did. These strange foreign skies diluted her faith. These strange foreign girls reached her in ways she didn't know how to defend.
For not the first time, Sereia imagined opening her eyes and seeing like everyone else. She imagined opening her mouth, and having the right thing come out every time. She imagined having grown up to be normal, someone people were drawn to like.
But she was just Sereia Jour, Sister Sereia. The blind girl, the Ethotaurian, the unusual.
Her thumb smoothed the surface of her pendant. One, two, three, she counted, all the way up to nine. She repeated it again, and again.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight–
…
Melissándré LeRoi, 20, Coranzorre
So far, it wasn't looking good.
Melissándre examined the spread of four tarot cards in front of her, in order from the top and going clockwise, the Hermit, the High Priestess, the Devil, and the Tower. Not only was she wary of drawing all cards from the major arcana, but she didn't like the direction the cards were pointing.
The Hermit was in the spot for what was known to herself and others, and pointed away from her. A nasty, snide voice in her head whispered what she knew it to represent: isolation, loneliness, withdrawal.
She blinked hard and swallowed, trying not to dwell in that truth. She didn't need any more reminders of her social and romantic ineptitude. She didn't need any more reminders of what she'd lost.
In the position of known to others but not the self, was the High Priestess. That puzzled her. Because it was reversed, she knew it meant secrets and silence. If that had been in another position, it would have made sense. But it was something unknown to her, but known to others. It was possible someone around her was keeping secrets. Melissándré frowned. That wasn't a good omen for this Selection.
To her deep dread, the Devil was in the position of known to the self, but not to others. She tried not to dwell on that one, and turned the card over to escape the laughing yellow eyes of the Devil's depiction. That one was one she didn't need even a second to interpret. There was no mistaking what that one meant, and it made her stomach turn.
Finally, what was unknown to the self and others: the Tower. The Tower, the only one pointing towards her, meant change, or a sudden upheaval. Of course, it could have meant leaving her life in Coranzorre behind to attend the Selection, but somehow she doubted it. That was known by all, and besides, the major arcana represented big picture events. Something big was on the horizon, she decided. It chilled her to the bone to even imagine what it might be.
"Reading my own cards clouds the prediction with personal passions," she spoke aloud, as if trying to get the message to sink in. "Reading my own cards clouds the prediction with personal passions."
That meant this reading might not be totally accurate. In fact, there was a good chance this was completely warped.
A knock sounded on the door, and she started in surprise, nearly dropping her deck. Swiftly, she collected the cards, and cleared her throat: "Enter."
A girl wearing a very statement pair of tinted glasses poked her head in.
"Oh, you're not Sereia," she said, appearing surprised. Her Vere was accented by a dark accent Melissándré recognized as Ethotauric. Most people probably couldn't identify that, but it was frequently the language that the old rituals were in, and she'd been speaking it for years as part of her training.
"No. I'm Melissándré," she said. "Are you one of the contestants?"
"Mika, from Ethotaur," she said, by way of answer. Her eyes zeroed in on Melissándré's hands, and her eyes lit up. "Is that a deck of cards? Do you know how to play poker?"
"These are tarot cards," Melissándré said, fanning them out to prove it.
"You read tarot?" Mika asked. She didn't have the same enthusiasm she'd had a moment ago, but a curious interest lifted her tone. "Could you read my cards?"
Are you going to take it seriously? she wanted to ask. There was a glinting amusement in Mika's inky eyes, like she was on the verge of laughing. She wasn't the first disbeliever Melissándré had encountered, and she wouldn't be the last.
"I don't think so," Melissándré answered, glancing away.
"I think you should," Mika said deliberately.
Melissándré nodded in agreement. "You're right," she agreed. "If you'd have a seat?"
Mika sat down at the bench across from her, her expression inscrutable. She leaned her chin on the heel of her hand, that dark gaze heavy and critical as Melissándré shuffled the deck with old practice. Residue from her last reading seemed to cling to the deck, so she shuffled it two times afterward to purge the remaining darkness.
"Do you have a question in mind?" Melissándré asked. Her voice had switched to what her twin, Delphine, had dubbed her 'High Priestess' voice: a velvet tone concealing a gleaming blade of command.
"How about: what will happen during the Selection?" Mika asked dryly, her lips curving into a slight smirk.
Melissándré ignored the other girl's sardonic tone, rather concentrated on keeping her thoughts in check. She wanted to know the answer as well, but if she wanted a clear answer, she needed to keep her personal passions from affecting the outcome of the reading.
"Let me ask you something," Mika said, as she began laying the cards in the proper formation, choosing a different spread this time. "Do you really believe in this? That what you think some cards are telling you is the truth?"
"I get this question more often than you might think," Melissándré said archly, staring Mika down as she finished the formation. "And my question is how you can swallow the truth of people manipulating flesh and speaking to the dead with ease, but can't comprehend the idea of magic fortune-telling cards. After all, isn't it said that the purest in blood of Ethotaurians once could read the future too?"
Mika hesitated, like she was about to say something, and then fell silent. Melissándré's lips curled upwards triumphantly; not smug–that wouldn't befit a High Priestess–but pleased. She began to flip the cards over.
"What?" Mika asked after a moment, leaning in. "Is it good?"
Melissándré pursed her lips. "It could be. Let's start from the beginning. We know the future by first studying the past. The card that represents your past is the Emperor."
"What does that mean?"
"It's upright, which means it symbolizes authority and domination. Excessive control." She studied Mika's face, which remained carefully blank. A poker player indeed. "Perhaps there was something overly controlling in your life, like an institution, or a parent?"
"Let's move on," Mika said, her voice giving nothing away. "What does this sword guy mean?"
"The Knight of Swords. It represents a general theme in your life. Recklessness, burnout, and impulsive action," Melissándré said, carefully mild.
This time, a muscle in Mika's cheek twitched. Quite an unconscious reaction, but Melissándré latched onto it, sensing she was in the right direction.
"This could mean that you're currently very reckless in your decisions, or don't have a permanent idea of your future," Melissándré said, scanning her face for any reaction. "Perhaps you've been acting out in some way, as of late, due to rejecting the authority of your past."
"I want to know about the Selection, I want to know about the future," Mika said tersely. "Can we talk about the future?"
She sensed she'd struck a nerve, and nodded gracefully without putting up a fight. She could only give the reading, not force her audience to accept it.
"The future holds the Five of Wands, which represents conflict or competition," Melissándré said. She was a little disappointed; she'd hoped to find something she didn't already know.
"That's a little redundant," Mika pointed out, apparently agreeing.
Nonetheless, Melissándré shot her a bit of a look, irritated at the commentary. "The cards don't know everything, they can only guide us. If you don't like the answer you got, you might consider reassessing the way you asked the question."
"What in the hell does that mean?" Mika asked, scowling.
"You asked the question sarcastically," Melissándré said, shrugging. "The cards–,"
"You're saying a deck of cards is sassing me?" Mika demanded testily. "For being disrespectful? Are you hearing yourself?"
Ignoring her, Melissándré went on.
"The card in front of you tells you what your fatal ignorance is. The King of Cups represents emotional manipulation," Melissándré replied sharply. "I doubt I need to explain that one. Keep your magic out of the minds of other people, Ethotaurian."
Mika blanched. "What–?"
"I can tell when someone is swaying my emotions," she said in a low, deadly tone. "You flaunt your power, expecting there will be no conflicts. If someone doesn't want to give you a tarot reading, you sway them into changing their minds. You think it's a game to use your magic on others, and that is your flaw."
Mika stood up suddenly, her cheeks flushed. "And you believe in the nonsense of cards with dinky pictures on them. No one can know the future, and you don't know jack-shit about me!"
The door slammed shut as she stormed out and Melissándré shook her head to herself. Non-believers always got flustered when the cards spoke the truth. It frightened them to be read. Melissándré had seen it countless times before; this was no different.
The final card in the spread was supposed to represent what held them back. Melissándré glanced at what it was, and laughed aloud.
The Star, reversed: lack of faith.
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All the girls are officially submitted which means the plot can be finalized and the fun can begin! please leave a review if there was something you liked about this chapter, or give feedback for things to improve on. How do you feel about the six (six!) girls introduced this chapter? Anyone want to read into Mel's tarot reading?
Okay, anyway I really appreciate the support and patience I've been receiving, it encourages me so much. See you in the next one!
