Apocalypse: Fairy System Macronomicon (a book to read txt) 📖

Gale glanced up at the Roil in the distance, watching the way the invisible sheets of boiling magic stirred up the horizon, making the last light of dusk shimmer from a thousand different angles as time flickered wildly back and forth inside, making a picture of rainbow-colored light.

The Roil itself was invisible, but its effects were not.

Behind all the chatter and joking, there was always The Sound, the constant sound of the storm—the sound that seemed to tread the line between a voice and an object travelling down a metallic tube. It started inaudible, then gently worked up the scale until it was a crystalline tinkle, then it went back down again. Always, it sounded like it was on the edge of resolving into a voice, but it never quite made it.

Gale tuned it out. You either got used to The Sound or you did not and tried to murder yourself and others. It was a legitimate excuse to be dismissed from service, but few people faked the sickness. Being a Roil Chaser was too well-compensated by the empire, and they all had people back home.

Gale kept talking and laughing with his friends until he noticed The Noise growing unusually louder.

He glanced up at the storm again. The scintillating rainbow of hundreds of different suns peeking through the storm was much taller than it had been a few seconds ago.

Is it…moving towards us? But we were directly behind it. Gale frowned. The entire time he’d followed the storm, he’d never seen it change its course more than about fifteen degrees at a time.

Behind the storm is the safest place to be. That’s what they said.

Other people noticed the growing storm too, standing to get a better view of the rapidly-approaching storm.

Gale’s superior, for one.

“Get on your mounts and ride, you fools!” the man bellowed, sprinting for his tarruk. “Leave everything behind!”

The aging melas’s words shook Gale out of his stupor, and he leaped to follow suit, mounting his tarruk and spurring it directly away from the oncoming Roil.

Try as they might, the storm kept growing larger behind them, despite the ground-eating sprint they whipped their tarruks into. Out of the corner of his eye, Gale saw the sergeant motion for them to split up and flee in different directions, in the hopes that some of them would escape to warn Solmnath.

Gods, let it be me, Gale prayed as the land around him and his mount began to shift rapidly between desert and grassy plains, summer and winter.

The Noise was starting to sound like a voice.

Gale put his reins in his teeth and clapped his hands over his ears, his mount’s legs straining as he focused on bearing his rider at top speed.

***Jebediah Trapper***

“In light of the Mark, the Truthseeker-witnessed statements, and the testimony given by these law-abiding humans, I formally instruct the prosecution to drop the charges of Reaping and slave abuse against Jebediah Trapper.”

The old judge gave a phlegmy cough and clacked his judge-sticks together, and Jeb relaxed in his seat. Jeb’s new judge had directly benefited from him discrediting the other guy, including a pay bump, and an open slot for the man’s grandson to start climbing the political ladder.

Maybe this will be relatively painless.

“Now we move on to the civil penalties for failure to register the slaves, and operation of an orphanage without a license.”

Goddamnit, I should stop thinking positive things, because it’s nothing but a damn lure to attract bad shit. Jeb clenched his teeth. He hadn’t really expected any better from the bureaucratic keegan though, so he’d come armed.

“If it pleases the court, I didn’t spend the last week fruitlessly. Here are the licenses and slave registrations in question,” Jeb said, patting the folder resting on the table beside him.

The judge motioned and the bailiff handed him the documents, which the old man read, peering down his gold-rimmed bifocals at the documents, his jaw moving as he read to himself.

“It all appears to be in order,” he said, handing the folder back to the bailiff. “Your willingness to abide by the law is appreciated.”

“Your Honor, a non-Citizen cannot own a business or non-profit that has more than ten beneficiaries.” The prosecution spoke, aiming for any little nitpicky thing he could latch onto.

The judge blinked. “He doesn’t.”

The prosecutor frowned.

“What did he mean by that?” Zlesk asked, sitting next to Jeb.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jeb whispered, waving it off.

“Quite a heroic decision, sheltering the children of a Stitched species, Zlesk Frantell. Really stepping up to the oath of Citizenship. You do us keegan proud, and I wish we had more like you. Let’s discuss the fines you’ll be required to pay for your first two weeks of unlicensed operation.”

Jeb bit his hand, trying not to laugh as Zlesk loomed over him. That would get him hurt and damage their credibility.

“Did you use my signature again?” Zlesk whispered so the judge and prosecutor couldn’t hear.

“I asked if you were prepared to do what was needed to keep kids out of reaper hands,” Jeb whispered back. “You said yes.”

“That didn’t mean I wanted to own and operate a gods-damned orphanage, Jeb.”

“They wouldn’t accept a non-Citizen owner. There’re so many different ways they could’ve taken it away from me.”

“Then apply for citizenship, you fat little—”

“Is something wrong?” the judge asked.

“Nothing, Your Honor. There was some confusion, but it was quickly cleared up,” Zlesk said, suddenly on his best behavior.

“Good,” the judge said before coughing and spending several seconds clearing his throat. “Then we will continue. In light of the quick response on the part of The Admiral Orphanage, and the special circumstances surrounding its creation, it’s the opinion of this Judge that the penalty be struck down to the