Chateau Cascade Read online

  “Rafael, just Rafael, nothing more.” The response confused Jak and made him feel a little uncomfortable, but he resolved to call the Cascadian by his first name – or “sir” – anyway.

  An hour passed as Jak and Rafael sat on cushions and spoke of the young man's past and his potential future. True to his nature, Jak was honest in his answers until he was asked about his powers. The strange Cascadian's soft and deep voice echoed in his ears: “Tell me, young Jak. How is it that you came to know magic?”

  At this, Jak began to panic. It was the very question he'd been dreading since the day he had picked up the book from a tavern barstool. What would the consequences be for his crime? Would he be denied entrance into the Chateau? He had long-since resolved to lie about the subject, but the words first stuck in his throat, then tumbled out all at once in a clumsy jumble. “W-well, I was on the farm, and I was picking stones. Making room to work the plow and such. Beneath a big one, there was this magic book, and...” As his fictions filled the air of the quiet room, he suddenly felt very foolish.

  The violet-haired Cascadian was staring at him with a quizzical, dubious look on his face. Rafael's eyes then narrowed and his lips tightened, forming a small frown. He placed a hand on Jak's knee and said, “There is no need for lies between us here.”

  Under normal circumstances Jak would have flinched at the stranger’s inappropriately familiar touch. Ever since meeting the man, however, he had felt oddly comfortable. Despite knowing the potential dangers of speaking about where he had found the book, he had found himself reluctant to lie about it ever since entering the man's room. Now, as it became clear that Rafael could tell when he was lying, Jak felt himself abandoning all pretense. He decided to retell the story, this time without any lies or embellishment.

  “I worked at a tavern, the Alecrab Inn. There was a man, probably a highway robber judging by the look of him. I could tell that he was up to no good, maybe even a killer. We get those types passing through sometimes since we're out of the way of the main roads. He had a big pack, full of things, maybe stolen things. The book fell out of it. I took it, sir – I couldn't resist.”

  Behind Rafael's meek and soft smile, his aura pulsed imperceptibly.

  “As far back as I can remember, I've wanted to be a Cascadian Knight,” Jak continued. “I want to be a hero, to do good in the world. I want to help people. I know it wasn't right to take the book, but he was a bandit... is it so bad to take from a man like that? I just wanted to become strong enough to be worthy of the Chateau, sir, honest. Please don't hold it against me.”

  “So – you wanted to be a hero so badly that you stole the book from a man who was likely a thief himself. Rash, bold. Ethically questionable. I like it. Even so...” He trailed off and paused, casting a sidelong glance at Jak. “Turning the book over to our arcane sanctum will be a requirement if you wish to join us.”

  Jak nodded – he had expected something like this might happen. Having grown up on lands under the Chateau's protection, he had heard about how the Chateau sometimes expected magical gifts as a requirement for entrance. He reached into the satchel attached to his belt, pulled out the tome, and set it on the cyan-colored cushion next to Rafael. He had already memorized all the parts he was capable of using. Even so, the book was his most treasured possession. In the back of his mind, he wondered why he felt so calm handing it over.

  In the short time that he had been in the Chateau, Jak had already seen and experienced many strange things. The boy – inquisitive and observant as he was – had questions for the violet-haired man at his side. Soon the conversation turned itself over to these questions. “Can you tell me how Quentin moved like that?” Jak asked. “I've never seen anything like it.”

  Quentin, Rafael explained, possessed a rare and mysterious power. Few knew of its existence; like magic, it empowered a person to perform supernatural feats. If a layman were to see someone use such a power, they'd likely assume that the person was a wizard. It was not wizardry, though. This force did not require the memorization of lengthy phrases in arcane tongues, nor enact any sort of ritual, nor speak any exacting phrases, nor carve any runes, nor perform any gestures. This power was Innate.

  As Rafael explained it, a person is simply born with this ability. They contain within their own minds a sort of wellspring of supernatural power. Of all the races on the surface of Genesis, only humans had ever been known to be born Innate. This trait, he explained, was unknown to most because of how uncommon it was; perhaps one in a million souls would be born with such power. An Innate's gift was willpower and concentration given form. Those born with this power paid for its use with mental and physical exhaustion. When overexerting themselves they could induce starvation or fainting in their own bodies. An overly ambitious Innate might even manage to inadvertently kill himself through reckless overexertion.

  This power was an exotic thing, distinct in function from any known magic. This was the case with Quentin, a man with the unique and powerful ability to manipulate space itself, moving objects and his own body from place to place. Compared with this, translocation magic was considerably limited. At best, a wizard could fashion great, ungainly portals – and even these were unreliable, dangerous, and costly. Few men, if any, knew the secrets of their construction, and those that existed in Genesis were usually ancient half-broken relics from prior civilizations.

  “Some Innates are able to read thoughts, manipulate energies, or conceal themselves from the awareness of others,” Rafael said, “but no two Innates are the same.”

  “Are these powers I could learn?” Jak asked. He felt uncomfortable knowing that men existed who could read his thoughts as easily as a normal man reads a book. He felt a sudden desire for some way to protect himself.

  “No, never,” said Rafael. “As I said, you are either born with it or you are not – it can only be honed if it is present to begin with. As for you... you are no Innate. There is, however, something strange about your soul. I can feel it.” Rafael emphasized the word feel, lingering on it curiously before proceeding with his thoughts. "Magic retreats from you, and yet I can sense it inside you. Perhaps our queen could say more.” He paused for another moment, and then continued in a somewhat more formal tone. “In any event, the fact that you can cast at all speaks to your great determination. I can tell you are observant, intelligent, capable, and loyal by nature. This is why I believe you, young Jak, will make an excellent candidate for Cascadian training.”

  The pale man continued to speak – he was describing Jak's new quarters in the Chateau – but the young man barely heard it. The dull ache in his injured hand throbbed, but he no longer noticed it. All he could feel was relief – relief and vindication. Years of preparation had finally paid off. He was going to be a Cascadian Knight!

  Jak hastily sent letters back home, letting his family and his employers know he would not be back for some time. His life changed dramatically over the next few weeks. Back on his father's farm, the days had seemed like they were crawling by at a snail's pace; here, with so many new things happening, time felt as though it were accelerated. His heart felt light in his chest, and for the first time in his life he felt as though he could breathe freely; a giddy joy threatened to overwhelm him as his long-sought dream began to take shape. He had been provided with living space in a dormitory and a bunk bed to sleep on. His first morning after sleeping in the lower bunk, he opened his eyes and saw that the understructure of the top bunk was made up of crisscrossed bars; he grabbed one, lifted himself to a sitting position, and wore a smile on his face for the rest of the day.

  In what seemed like a moment, he had become a provisional citizen of Cascadia, with all the responsibilities and privileges that it entailed. Of course, provisional citizenship was a delicate thing. It could be revoked at any moment if his service to the Chateau was deemed a bad investment.

  The life of a true Cascadian Knight was a surprisingly free one, unless they were on assignment. These warriors tended to come and
go as they please, with no particular day-to-day duties. The life of a provisional citizen was something entirely different. Maintenance of the grounds and various other day jobs are performed by trainees or paid help from the nearby riverside villages; such drudgery was now included in Jak's daily responsibilities, but he performed them with great cheer.

  Jak's life became very structured. Every day he attended tutelage in subjects such as politics, history, and – to his great pleasure – swordsmanship. He asked to be given instruction in magic but was denied. Access to the expensive and rare magical books in the arcane sanctum was a privilege reserved for only a select few Cascadian Knights.

  Instead, he saw a tutor twice a week who worked to improve his fledgling skills. The man's name was Stryx; he was a heavyset middle-aged Cascadian Knight who had chosen to be an instructor rather than venture into the field. Rumors were abound that he had suffered some terrible wound in his younger years; it was said that the experience haunted him to this day. If the rumors were true, Jak wouldn't have been surprised; the man was perpetually grim-faced and not particularly talkative.

  A year passed like this, and Jak turned nineteen without much fanfare. His skills with a blade were found wanting – despite the training, it was clear that he would never be much more than a mediocre swordsman. However, with the help of Stryx he had slowly learned new skills. While these lessons were exceedingly difficult for him, he found that with great effort he could now envelop a blade with the energies he had already learned to manipulate.

  He took to the academic lessons, those of diplomacy, history, and geography, like a fish to water. His classmates – mostly wealthy young sons of Cascadian Knights – sometimes mocked him for his upbringing. Looking at Jak, one could easily mistake him for an oafish ranch-hand. However, any time with him in class revealed that the young man had quick wits and a strong analytical mind. His wealthy colleagues gradually developed a begrudging respect for his work ethic and aptitude for learning.

  To Jak’s surprise, he never found himself feeling especially homesick. Instead, he threw himself into his training. He mused that, aside from the instruction and the locale, his life had not really changed all that much. He had been put to work at menial tasks that reminded him of the jobs and farm work he had once done. Instead of milking goats and serving watered-down beer to unwashed travelers, he scrubbed pots and cleaned floors.

  In spite of the giddy cheer that filled his transition into this new life, he found himself to be a bit lonely. The trainee washout rate was quite high, so he had trouble making long-term friends among those in his dorm. Those that didn't wash out often looked down on him for his low birth even if they were forced to respect his diligence. As a result, the young men mostly ignored Jak, which he appeared to take in stride. This was a facade. Jak was a young man who was focused on his goals but was by no means antisocial. In his private moments, he cursed his inability to establish meaningful friendships with his new peers.

  The Chateau did not pay him, but provided his tutelage, his lodging, and his day-to-day upkeep. Thanks to the Chateau cafeteria he was now eating far better than he had been in his backwater hometown; he began to fill out, thanks, in large part, to his new training regimen and meal plan. He had always been wiry, but now he began to look more the part of a man.

  There were many things about living in the Chateau which made Jak feel like a fish that had been scooped up out of the water into a strange new world. It took him some time to get used to the flickering crystal lights. He learned that they were manufactured through some mysterious and possibly magical method in a remote place called Lantern City. Rumor had it that the lights could influence living beings, altering their moods or even granting them strange powers. If this was true, Jak certainly had not noticed it; like so much of what he heard in the dormitory, he chalked it up to dubious gossip.

  He also had to get used to the other denizens of the place. Humans were far and away the most common species in Genesis, especially west of the river Sphynx, but here in the Chateau one could find many species of demihumans. They were still rare; in the entire Chateau there were only a handful of such individuals. Certainly it was not as unintelligibly cosmopolitan as living in the Eastern Affiliation. Nonetheless, Jak had often caught himself staring. The occasional demihuman that had passed through his village always kept their distance from the locals.

  They had good reason for keeping to themselves. The closer to the empire in the West, the bigger the risk they might be captured and subjected to thralldom. On paper, thralldom in the West was voluntary. However, the laws against involuntarily thralldom were regularly circumvented. Thralldom – or slavery, as it was called by people east of the Sphynx – was outlawed entirely in the lands protected by the Chateau. Still, enterprising and foolhardy slavers would sometimes attempt to cross the river in smuggler's boats intending to capture unwary demihuman travelers.

  The river was wide, and its waters flowed rapidly enough that it was all but impassable for the better part of the year. Nevertheless, fresh thralls fetched enough coin for some to risk the journey. Sometimes thralls were smuggled through the Chateau itself through subterfuge or bribery. This was often the safer option, for the Chateau regularly sunk any vessels spotted crossing the river. The river Sphynx was Cascadian property, and they guarded it fiercely.

  Despite being considered second-class citizens, thralls in the West were treated quite well. As a result, many demihumans in the West were – surprisingly – content with their position. The law in the West was very clear on demihumans: they were to be given what was reverently referred to as The Outsiders' Choice. This choice was simple: thralldom under the highest bidder or deportation to the Eastern Affiliation. Much to the consternation of those who abhorred the practice of thralldom, demihumans often chose it over deportation. Unlike in the East, their safety was assured; this was often worth any price to demihumans in the West. The work was hard, and some demihumans ended up regretting this choice, but under the law they were considered the property of their owners once they made their choice.

  Meanwhile, in the lands governed by the Chateau, a demihuman could have gone as far as any human. They could even be taken on as a Cascadian Knight provided they had the skills and talent. Here and there, Jak caught sight of such a Cascadian in his new home; some of whom frightened him, others who made him curious. Between these encounters and his history and diplomacy lessons, he had slowly become familiar with most of the races in Genesis.

  There were the orcs, a race of stupid, violent, and muscular demihumans. They were prone to great physical variation amongst tribes – one orc might have had russet skin, large tusks, and stand seven feet tall. Another might have been dull red and only come up to the chest of an average man. The reason for this variation was a matter of much dispute. Scholars in the West asserted that orcs were a soulless race and, being soulless, were perfect hosts for demons and ill-tempered spirits of all kinds. As a result, their bodies were warped to the match the temperaments of the various bugaboos inside them. Some traits were common to all orcs – for example, their skin always trended toward darker tones. They were always able to breed with one another regardless of their physical differences.

  For a time, Jak shared his dormitory – a long hallway filled with bunk beds – with a tusked, mottled green orc with ritually scarified skin. Like his brothers, this orc was covered in sinewy muscle and grunted more often than he spoke. Unlike his brothers, this one wore a pair of pince-nez glasses, precariously perched on his brick-like face, as he rumbled down the hallways of the Chateau. It was commonly thought that orcs were just savage beasts, more interested in raiding than cultivating their own civilization, but here was one that had somehow attained trainee status at the Chateau. Jak reasoned that they must not all be so savage if this one had made it here.

  This orc was not talkative, but Jak did his best to learn his story anyway. His name was Tusk – an especially common name among his uncreative people. Like many other orcish
tribesmen, he had originally come from the desert of Ourolo in the West, which lay in the shadow of the mountains of Peril and split Genesis in twain. These mottled green orcs made up the majority of the thralls in the West; their stupidity and strength made them valuable workers. Most orcs in the West, however, avoided thralldom by lurking in the wild places and raiding caravans whenever possible. The Imperium took a dim view of free demihumans in their borders and did its best to eradicate their settlements whenever it finds them.

  There were also the kobolds, a curious race of little lizard men. They stand at only three or four feet tall and have arm-length prehensile tails. Kobolds enjoyed a special status in the Western empire where they were kept as the talking pets of wealthy families. Nearly all free, or “feral,” kobolds lived deep underneath the Peril mountains, but few of those were around anymore. For a greedy, hungry kobold, the prospect of a mostly-free lunch was hard to turn down. When kobold-keeping became popular, the mountains emptied out in a historical event known as the Kobold Diaspora. As a result, the well-kept streets of Western cities were rapidly overrun with intemperate kobolds looking for homes.

  Kobolds were inquisitive and clever – far cleverer than they let on, at any rate. They were also prone to clumsiness and making rash decisions, which helped to foster the misconception that they were unintelligent. A major kobold trait was entitlement and an unshakeable belief that kobolds are the superior race. Because they tended to lack or even understand social graces, they would openly blurt out opinions that may seem ridiculous or offensive to others. It was not uncommon for a kobold to demand “kobold bits” (a specialty food manufactured in the West) and, upon receipt, immediately declare that the generous human was their slave. In the West, this sort of behavior was often considered entertaining among kobold enthusiasts. Others were easily annoyed by it – thus, many pejoratives evolved among those who found these “pets” wanting. Of all demihumans, kobolds were the most numerous, largely due to their newfound “domestication.”