The Everburning City

Act 1, Part 2, Chapter 2

Cameron

They pierced the earth and cleaved the sky.

Poets still utter that revered passage when they look at the Spire. The heart of the City, the fire that held back the Gloam and let them endure the centuries long siege, blazed with light brilliant enough to rival the sun. Especially here, in the Agora, barely a mile away from the wound in the earth where the Spire rose from, there was little room for anything other than awe.

The light of the Spire bathed anyone standing this close to it. The side of any building facing it was blackened over the years, as the punishing light rent concrete and cooked stone.

It was impossible to actually see the Spire. Worse than the sun, the light would carve the sight from someone eyes in minutes. A lingering glance could leave a man with his hands over his eyes, gasping in pain. Even for a Crafter, who could stir a crucible of molten metal as if dipping their hands in a sink, the sight was difficult to look at.

So it was strange for Cameron Aster to find his superior sitting on the steps of the Agora, facing the Spire.

"I can think of a dozen ways to get out of this assignment that would be easier than going blind from staring at the Spire," Cameron managed to mutter as he approached, careful to keep his sight focused on the steps until he could turn around to face the older man. The light and heat felt like someone was pressing a hot blanket on his shoulders, the weight and heat both uncomfortable and surprisingly heavy. The air he sucked into his lungs left like his head was in an oven, and his clothes felt brittle and stiff.

Mackaroy O'Fallow had his eyes closed, his face relaxed. He didn't move or even twitch to respond to Cameron, with his hands resting on his knees, his legs crossed, and his clothes so warm thin tendrils of steam were rising from the sides of his coat.

This was also Cameron's first time that he could get a good look at the scar on the side of Mackaroy's face. A small crisscross of a dozen squares, each about the size of a thumbprint, ran from the side of his eye socket to his ear on the right side of his head. The squares shone like marble tile, reflecting the wash of orange light more clearly than the rest of his skin.

"Gotten a good look yet, Evaluator Aster?" Mackaroy asked, without opening his eyes. He didn't even change the tilt of his head. "Get your fill now. Hopefully you stop looking at it when you think I won't notice."

Cameron flinched, embarrassed and a little ashamed at being caught and called-out. "How did you know it was me?" he asked.

"Your gait has this rather pronounced clap as you walk. You sound like a child wearing his father's shoes," Mackaroy replied. He moved his right hand and tapped a small bundle of paper beside him. "This is for you. Your assignment dossier from the Bureau."

"What is it?" Cameron asked as he reached down to pick up the papers. The bundle was already quite warm to the touch, with small tendrils of steam rose from the top sheet. The first page was inscribed with a stylized 'O', the simple seal of the Bureau of Oversight.

His bureau.

"Your assignment. Read through it as quickly as you can, we should muster in another ten minutes," Mackaroy said.

Cameron stepped around Mackaroy, and picked up the stack of papers while the older man kept up his blind vigil. The stack of paper was fairly thin, and a quick glance showed Cameron that there were, at most, a half-dozen hand-written reports inside the folder.

"Why in the abyss are you sitting out here, Mack?" Cameron asked.

"It's a reminder," Mackaroy replied, and he gestured with his hand towards the Spire. "The Crafters made that thing. A hundred of them, or so the legend goes. Drove them mad the moment they did it, but the founders were smart enough to have people with knives standing near them. That was the moment our Bureau was born."

"Not the first time I've heard the story, Mac," Cameron said tersely.

"Not sure you're getting the lesson. Close your eyes and face that fire. Take it in for a moment. And remember that Crafters are extremely dangerous."

"Every idiot knows that," Cameron said, barely able to contain his anger. His hand was already bunched into a fist, and he was thinking of how satisfying putting his boot into the scarred old man would be. "And I'm not new at this, I've been with the Bureau for years."

"You've had reject duty for four years. The difference between the people the Guild of Flamecrafters fail and a graduated Crafter is the difference between a child and an armed soldier. Tonight's assignment is the second most dangerous assignment we could ever give an evaluator. Second most dangerous, and the most important," Mackaroy turned to face Cameron, and opened his eyes, but the man's gaze was lingering on Cam's boots. Though the old man's eyes also drifted up to linger on his fist.

Mackaroy scoffed, and scowled in what might be profound disgust. "And for some damn fool reason they think an untested, unscarred child like you is seasoned enough."

Cameron's eyes widened, and he looked back at the bundle of paper in his hands. As much as the old man's insults rankled, he knew Mackaroy O'Fallow wasn't fond of idle conversations. "What do you mean it's the most important assignment we could ever get?"

Mackaroy shook his head. "Ash stains and smoke, you are thick. We're mustering in the burning Agora, at the request of the Lord Captain, the supreme commander of the City's armies. We'll be standing beneath the Tapestries of the four previous invasions while he explains our assignment. And we're being assigned to Crafters. What do you think is happening right now?"

"I..." Cameron stuttered, unable to form words. His thoughts, and his last breath, had been caught by the old man's choice of words, when he said 'previous invasions'. As if there were a current one.

"The Crafters are being sent to war. And not just Crafters, the most powerful Crafters in the Guild. The Fifth Invasion has begun, and Golems are at the walls. The only more dangerous assignment Oversight has is putting down a raging Crafter," Mackaroy said. The old man still wouldn't meet Cameron's gaze, but he pointed his finger at the knife at Cam's belt. "And if you bungle this assignment, you could create the most dangerous assignment we have, which is trying to put down one of the City's strongest Crafters. So if you don't feel up for this, look over at the Spire and hold your eyes open. I'll fill out the paperwork to make sure you collect a stipend and you aren't moved into the fringes."

"No boss," Cameron said, as he finally turned his attention back to the papers in his hand, opening it to the first report. Mackaroy seemed to make a contented nod, closed his eyes, and turned his face back to the Spire. "I can handle this. So who's my assignment?"

"Crafter Olivia Polden. She's only had the coat for six years, but she was apprenticed to Garland Kohl, who is the closest thing the Guild has to a battle master. Since she's young, she's probably the least likely Crafter to be damaged by her power. Not that it makes her any less dangerous, especially since she's as untested as you are. Read through that file as carefully as you can. It's pretty thin, which is both good and bad."

"Good and bad?" Cameron asked.

"Bad because we simply don't know enough about her. Good because when we know, it's usually because they'll need to be put down soon," Mackaroy said as he stood up, and turned away from the Spire. He didn't open his eyes until he turned to face Cameron, and when the old shadow opened his eyes, there was nothing in them but pain and rage.

"Remember this, kid," Mackaroy said as he gripped Cameron's shoulder. Cameron had been waiting for the old man to make eye contact, had wanted to prove he could meet the old evaluator's gaze. Now that he had, his confidence evaporated like a cup of water in a furnace. "You don't threaten a Crafter. You think one of them needs to be put down, your knife goes from your sheath to their throat."

"I know, boss. That's basic shadow stuff," Cameron said, slipping into using the slang term for an evaluator. A shadow, the mocking name for someone who followed a Crafter, waiting behind their backs with a hand on their knives at all times.

Shadow wasn't a term evaluators used to describe their compatriots. Cameron flinched, realizing the slip contradicted his words.

"You think you know, but every time you open your stupid gob my scar itches. Go ahead and take another look," Mackaroy said, turning his head and pointing at the deep burn that glistened in the light. "That's what happens when you succeed. When you fail, you're just smoke."