Salt : Feedback, please!

[Swimmingly he/him]

Note to all readers: This is a soft and mushy magic system. Sorry. I am no loyal Sanderfan.

The Potter and Pauper pub stunk, and was full of people wearing masks.

A good thing. In this community, only two kinds of people didn't hide their identity when out-of-towners were present: those small enough to not matter, and those big enough to not care. There were many of the first and only one of the second here.

The claustrophobia was made worse by the salt.

I could feel it, vague rivers of saline distilled in the blood of the customers, filling up my attention. Couldn't close my eyes to escape it, couldn't dampen it. Sharp accents from the salt shakers at nearby tables, a huge amount in the kitchen, at the edge of my range, and of course the thick, crusty inch that covered my skin everywhere except around the eyes.

A waitress, Sara, came by to take my order. She had some lightly invested runes on her hands drawn in sharpie, and a submachine gun at her waist. If I was any judge, the runes were forcefields, good for one hit of almost any kind of energy - and odd. They weren't really Richard's style. Still, they were useful things, though I didn't have the talent to make them.

"Sir?"

I stopped spacing out about the runes.

"Two beers, Sara. Something dark, on tap. Whatever you'd recommend, please."

She pursed her lips for a moment, then nodded and walked away, scribbling on a notebook.

My guest -my brother - arrived, invisible. I felt his blood, carrying salt through his body.

"Ghost. How are you?"

"Pretty good, Salty. You?"

"It's Saline, idiot."

I felt his arm move, and a snap echoed out of the air.

"Almost! Knew it was something like that! I don't see why I can't just call you mmphblehaghk!"

He spat out the tablespoon of salt that had leapt into his mouth, blinked forward over the table and grabbed my shirt.

"OK, what was THAT for, cremhole?!"

"Just some brotherly love. Don't say my real name in here, Ghost. Not so long as anyone from out of town's hanging around."

He backed off.

"OK, OK, geez. I'm sorry, Carl-um, Saline."

I sighed, hoping nobody had heard.

"You suck at this," I said.

"Least my magic's good for something."

"Salt isn't useless, just unconventional, and I've gotten more use out of it than you've gotten out of yours. Besides, I can do spells too. Can you, Bedsheets?"

He ignored the gibe.

"You can light a candle at best. You're the magical equivalent of a model plane enthusiast."

"And you're the magical equivalent of someone who doesn't know rust. Almost nobody with a power as rigid as mine can do any spells at all. Now, shut up. I need to introduce you to the Community."

"What does that involve?"

"You just need to swear secrecy, to defend the Community, and to respect the meeting places."

"That all? Nothing about not robbing banks, looting stores, committing crimes?"

Ghost (or Henry, as I thought of him) had a huge grin on his face; I could feel the blood in his lips stretching, though I couldn't see it.

I raised an eyebrow, even shifting the salt to accent it.

"The Community as a whole doesn't officially mind much..."

"Sweet!"

"...but certain members of it do, not to mention the police...and myself. I'm introducing you, little brother. Any help from the Community you get is coming through me. And while the Community is officially neutral on issues of crime, even criminals don't like new people moving in on their territory. If you screw up, I take a hit by association. And if you do anything stupid enough that it hurts me, you'll feel it too."

I assume he rolled his eyes, though the saline solution in his eyes wasn't strong enough for me to pick out fine details like that.

"So, the 'be a good boy' section is just implied? I can work with that."

"Not being an cremhole is a rule that applies everywhere."

"OK, OK, I get the idea."

I sighed. "Let's get our beers, and I'll swear you in."

Technically, neither of us was of drinking age yet, but belonging to the Community has benefits.

Fifteen minutes later, we stood on a raised stage at the back of the pub. All eyes, even the hidden ones, were on us; Henry had let some of his invisibility fade. He was a faint, dark outline in the air.

I knew almost everybody out there by name. Some unfamiliar faces leapt out: a 20-something woman wearing a ski mask, shifting uncomfortably; a few ambassadors wearing masks marked with identifiers for other Community branches.

I started the ritual.

"I, Saline, wish to introduce a privileged individual to our circle. His name is Ghost, and he has the privilege of invisibility and teleportation. I say he is inducted in full, and a member of the Community. Have any of you any complaints?"

Richard, the bartender and house wizard, a beefy man with dark skin, spoke up with a clear voice.

"I have a complaint!"

The whole room replied at once. "Speak!"

"He has sworn no oaths! He has no ties and no patron!"

I replied, glad that I'd traced the words out in salt on a napkin on the floor.

"I will be his patron, and his ties are that of privilege! His oaths are thus: Ghost, do you swear to secrecy what is discussed in our meeting places, unless permission is granted?"

"Yeah," Henry said.

"Ghost, do you swear to defend the Community against strife and oppression?"

"Yep."

"Ghost, do you swear to respect the sanctity of our meeting places as halls of asylum and discussion, and to attempt no harm within them or to them?"

"Sure."

"Then know that, beyond these walls, the Community will not exclude you for your actions, if those actions cause no harm. Know that belonging here will not save you should any of our members harm you beyond these walls."

"I get it."

"Then be welcome."

I raised my voice again.

"I, Saline, say that the privileged Ghost is inducted in full, and a member of the Community. Have you any complaints?"

This time, the whole room spoke again.

"None," they said. "Welcome, Ghost!"

I jumped off the stage and floated to the ground in my suit of salt. Henry blinked in behind me, and I grabbed his arm and started introducing him to people personally. We met psychics, werecreatures, minor sorcerers, supers, and the house wizard, proprietor, and barkeep, Richard. The stronger supers kept themselves masked, though fewer sorcerers did. I introduced Henry to Sara, the submachine-gun toting waitress - even though she wasn't privileged, she was an honorary member of the community.

He was visible enough that she saw his double-take at her gun. And pulled an "eyes up here" joke while she was at it.

Introductions finished, I towed him back to our table. He blinked into his chair from a few feet away, and I settled into mine.

"So, what's with all the cultist crem dung?" he asked.

"It's a remnant of when the priveleged got burned for their magic. Everyone's got to stick together, and tradition's a part of that. Mostly we just use it as a venue for discussion. If anyone tries to go too far, we reign them in. If anyone starts pulling magical crap, we take them down or induct them."

"That's a bit stormed up. It's cool, but stormed up."

I nodded. "It is. But it's the system we have."

"I had no idea the magical side of things was so organized before today, honestly. I knew you were mixed up in some weird rust, but this is kinda creepy."

The "magical side of things" was a weird place, legally. It had been illegal to practice until the early 1900s, when abilities started getting leveraged for WWI. Not openly or anything, but a bill was slipped by in the United States making it permissible, and the rest of the world followed. By the second World War, governments were using the Community as a source for black-ops operatives.

That's when we put our metaphorical foot down. The Community started actively resisting being co-opted by any government, and anybody serving for any country without the local Community's approval was shunned everywhere.

Now, the Community was a self-policing society with self-proclaimed authority over the privileged in any given area. The police didn't screw with us because our illegal stuff kept the peace, and we had police officers in our ranks.

Hence the secret society crem dung.

"It's weird, I know. You're gonna have to get used to it, and you're gonna have to make a bit of choice before we go home tonight."

"More of this crap, Carl?"

"Call me Saline here, OK? And not exactly. It's not set in stone, but it's something you should bear in mind as you go."

"What?"

"You've got a rigid privilege, kind of like mine. You're limited in the applications of your power. That means they you'll have to decide if you really want to be part of the Community. If you choose, you can promise to be discreet with your magical business, not storm with normal people too much, and walk out of here knowing that you're not going to get much in the way of knowledge or connections - you can visit any time, but unless you change your mind, you'll just see the outline of what's going on. And probably sneak into the girls' washroom with that invisibility, you little pervert."

"I wouldn't do that!"

"Really?"

"...sure. What's the other option? More of the cultist crem dung?"

"More or less, yeah. You take a role in the Community, you meet representatives from other Communities and see the business the Community does. You might even get a title and a salary, like I do."

"You get a salary? How much?"

"Depends on the job and our Community finances, plus commission. For example, I get two hundred bucks now and a cut of your pay as long as I'm your patron, if you do choose to work for the Community."

"A cut of my pay? That's crem dung!"

"So you'll do it?"

"I might...what about school?"

"Take it up with Mom and Dad. If you want to be part of the Community, consider this an apprenticeship."

"...this is why you're so cagey about your job with Mom and Dad? Cause you're part of the Magical Mafia?"

I winced.

"There are kinder ways to describe it."

"crem dung," he said, and faded from view. I felt the salt in his blood leap across the room in a series of blinks. He appeared just long enough to give me the finger from the door.

I sighed. Little brothers are a pain. Plus, now I had to pay for his beer.

As the Community members drifted off, the induction ceremony over, I walked over to Richard. The big black man was the owner of the Potter and Pauper, the usual barkeep, and was the local Community's strongest wizard. He'd taught me a few tricks with magic, though my strength lay elsewhere. Though he maintained the pub, his real business was the de facto leader of our Community branch.

"Congratulations on the induction, Carl. The boy wasn't looking too happy as he left, though."

I winced, a little, and let the salt flake off my face until it was just a thin mask.

"Sorry about that, sir. He's a bit of a rebel. I may have presented him with an employment option. He reacted poorly. Besides, he's my brother."

"I may have overheard the 'magical mafia' bit."

"It's a way of looking at what we do."

"I suppose. Anyway, I have a favour to ask of you."

"What is it?"

"You're patrolling the borders tonight anyway, and it's been quiet. I was wondering if you could take a trainee?"

"Their patron isn't training them?"

"Her patron is a precognitive - Joan, I believe you know her. Clara's abilities are similar to yours, but with less of the instinctive magic you use and more spells. She has some instinctive flame magic, but her gift lies with protective runes."

"Sara's? I noticed them earlier."

"Yes, you have a good eye for this sort of thing."

Richard's own spells focused on boundaries and relocation. He could monitor nearly the entire area claimed by the Community from the pub's back room, and teleport you to certain points he kept running. More abstract enchantments defined the pub as safe ground and attracted supernatural visitors to it before they ended up somewhere dangerous.

"Clara, you said?"

"Yes, she's over here."

He waved someone over, the 20-something in a ski mask that had watched the induction. I began to cover my face again, but Richard gestured to stop.

"I can vouch for everyone here, Carl, the ambassadors are gone. You can give her your real name."

"I have misgivings with that, sir."

"It's your choice. I'd ask that you do unmask if she does, however."

I raised my eyebrows, but nodded.

Clara approached, pulling off the ski mask as she did so. I shot Richard a look, but did the same, salt from my head merging with the coating on my body.

"Clara, Carl. Carl, Clara. This is who you'll be mentoring."

Clara was a bit older even then she'd looked with the facemask; she was plain-looking, with a round nose and a suspicious twist to her mouth.

"You're mentoring me?" she asked.

"I know he looks young, but he knows some spells and focuses on his instinctive abilities, and has three years of experience with us," Richard said.

I didn't like having to be defended because of my age, but it was a valid concern. Better to let it slide, then, and go on with what I was supposed to do.

"May I ask how much experience you have?"

"A month or so."

"How did you find out?"

"My neighbor, Joan, ran into my apartment and made me stick my hand in a bucket of water for three hours at gun point. When my hand caught on fire, she dropped the gun, hugged me, and dragged me to this place. I've been practicing with Richard since."

"That sounds like Joan, yeah." I turned to Richard. "How did I miss that?"

"You were playing ambassador to Montreal for that weretiger situation?"

"Oh, yeah."

I looked at Clara again. "So what can you do?"

She held up a hand, rolled up her sleeve, and focused. A moment later, it burst into pale blue flame.

"I can do that with my hands and feet. I know some basic runes and some more advanced shielding spells."

She blew on her hand, and it went out.

"I saw your work on Sara. Nicely done."

She smiled. "Thanks, Richard had me do that as a project. Took me all afternoon, and Sara wasn't too happy with it either."

"Good to know. You understand our duties on patrol?"

"Check boundaries, maintain a presence."

"We get to do a bit of vigilante work, too, if we need to."

Clara frowned. "That wasn't what you told me..." she said, turning to Richard.

Richard, however, was gone.

I sighed. "He does that, sometimes. He's a leader and figurehead. Technically, the Community is only supposed to work against magical threats, and of those only large-scale ones. Some of them do. Most do a bit of peacekeeping on the side, however. That's what leaks out to the public. Richard can't really tell us to do that without overstepping his authority. He can turn a blind eye to it."

"Superhero stuff?" she asked.

"No, not really. We're more of an unofficial police force. Anybody asks, we're on Community business. Anyone with magical connections can contact us directly, anyone else can tell the police and they get ahold of us. Just don't do anything too illegal."

She frowned. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this."

I shrugged. "It is how it is. You've got some shield runes on you?"

"I can survive one, maybe two gunshots."

"You'll be fine, then. Gunshots are a worst-case scenario. I've been shot at once during three years of patrols."

She still looked skeptical, but followed when I walked towards the back door.

The door was old, metal and rusty. A sheet of paper was taped next to it, a marker on a string taped besides. I looked at the sheet, a list of names and dates with checks beside them. A hum of magical energy resonated in the entire business.

I stepped back, let Clara in.

"You know how to use the Back Door?" I asked.

"Richard showed me, " she answered. She checked today's date with my name written next to it, then added a complicated little squiggle.

"The spell was primed for one crossing," she explained. "I just tapped a bit of energy to allow two."

"I swear, that guy turns everything into a test," I grumbled.

"This was a test?" she asked.

"That or he forgot to prime the portal."

"Well, it's working now. We're going to the west border?"

"Yeah. Watch your step."

The door opened onto a foggy residential boulevard, a row of trees down the middle. It was around 10 pm at this point, and the streetlamps were all on, casting cones of yellow illumination downwards in the fog. Small white signs flashed along the far sidewalk - boundary markers for Richard's domain.

"This is where it ends?" Clara asked, rolling up her sleeves.

"Not exactly. This is the hard limit of the main detection and protection spell Richard's got on our territory. We'll do a sweep along the border and maintain the posts, but our main work is going to outside of the limits Richard can work in directly."

I focused on the salt crusted on me, and about half sloughed off, collapsing on the ground before rising into a sort of scoop-seat. I gestured at it.

"My control isn't that fine, sorry, and I don't have much to work with here. Have a seat if you don't feel like walking."

"And you?"

"I can fly, sort of, if I'm covered in salt."

"No offense, but that's a really weird power," she said, sitting down.

"It is. Useful, though. All sorts of side benefits you'd never expect."

I started drifting slowly, picking up speed, pulling the chair behind me. We slowed next to the first of the boundary flags, and I knelt to check the rune on it. It seemed fine, though a bit faded.

"Clara, if you wouldn't mind touching up this rune?" I asked.

She walked over and traced it with her sharpie. "We have to do this for every single one?"

"No, not really. I'm just getting you used to the shape. Usually there are a few damaged that actually need repairing, though."

She nodded and got back in the seat. As we drifted towards the next one, I began chatting.

"So, Joan's your patron in the Community, then?"

"Yeah, she got me contacts with some friends, set me up with Richard, all that. I've been getting a wage for helping Richard with his projects. He says I'm a bit of a prodigy with runic magic and shields, close to his own stuff."

"That's good. Richard's probably the strongest wizard for a hundred kilometers; he'll be a good teacher."

"Did he teach you?" Clara asked.

"Some. Most of what I know comes from a summoner that died last year. Shaun Crane."

"Sorry."

"It's all right. It was old age."

There was an awkward silence as we got close to the next marker. Clara jumped out, knelt to check it.

When she looked up, her face was white and terrified.

"Come look at this," she said.

I pushed myself forward, letting the chair collapse into a pile of salt on the ground. As I got closer, I could sense a thin coating of dissolved salt, clinging to the white sign.

The rune was obscured by blood. It was dark brown, dried there, but it had to be less than six hours old; that had been the last patrol.

I felt a flicker at the edge of my range.

My head snapped up. Jogging down the street, edged weapons and guns at their belt, a crowd of six or so men moved toward us, only thirty feet away. They hadn't noticed us yet through the dark and the fog, but they would soon. I recognized the ornate bracelets they all wore, flashing in the streetlamps: the Spectre was sending his thugs through warded Community territory and destroying our defenses.

He was declaring war.

"Clara," I whispered, "don't look up. Now, how long will it take you to make a ward against bullets?"

She jerked, startled, but started tracing patterns in the ground and whispering back. "Two minutes, I can make something that can take five shots or so. It'll be useless against anything but guns, though."

"Do it."

I felt for the currents of salt marking the position of the Spectre thugs, and shifted the salt on the street until it formed rings around the group - carefully, levitating it a centimeter above the ground as I did so to hide the sound.

Then I spat out a Word.

Some magic uses runes to pull forces into the world. Some magic uses objects and commands. Summoning uses circles, bindings, and Words.

A cloud of smoke about three feet high and six feet long sprung out of the air in the middle of the thugs. Something slashed at them from within it, rolling smoke over their eyes and gouging at their skin.

Clara was still focused on her ward, but she caught some of what happened.

"What the everstorming storm was that storming thing?" she muttered.

"An imp. It'll keep them busy for a moment."

I was overconfident, unfortunately. One of the thugs drew a machete and slashed the imp with a sound like steam evaporating. Another swung a cudgel and knocked it backwards; it bounced off an invisible wall above my circle of salt. The black devil crumpled to the ground and disappeared in a puff of smoke, which blinked into nothingness itself a moment later.

The thugs began looking around, shouting and searching, while I frantically pulled the dirty salt out of their sight and around between us. I levitated it into a shifting, white cloud that hopefully looked a lot like a dense bit of fog.

"How much more?" I whispered.

Clara grunted.

The salt cloud obscured vision, but I could feel the warm currents on the other side. A few shots were fired, none coming near, and the thugs regrouped. I felt them leave my radius at a dead run, but I kept the cloud in case they looked back.

"Done!" Clara whispered proudly.

"How wide's the radius?"

"Four feet. It's a dome, by the way, so duck."

I did, pulling the salt cloud closer to us and opening a head-sized hole. The thugs were disappearing into the distance, running in a disorganized group.

Clara was breathing hard, exhilarated.

"Is this what it's like all the time?"

"Not before. I think things are going to change."

"What was that?"

"The imp?"

"The attack. That machete was treated somehow, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. They were Spectre's guys. He's a wizard specializing in making cheap magical weapons. Usually, he keeps his gang out of Community territory."

"I thought the Community was responsible for all this magical crem dung?"

"We are. We just only have so many resources, and different Community branches might as well be rival gangs by the degree of cooperation we have."

"Wow. Flawed system, huh?"

"Very. Now can you fix that rune or do we need to write it off and get Richard to replace it?"

While Clara worked on the broken rune, I got my phone out and called the Potter and Pauper.

"Potter and Pauper, Sara speaking," said Sara.

"Hey. Can I talk to Richard, please?"

"Sure, Carl. He's in his office, I'll fetch him."

Richard got on the line. He voice got deeper when he was worried. Right then, he could have been calling whales.

"Richard, Carl here. We just scared off a patrol of Spectre's thugs, but they've defiled the runes on the border. How's the spell holding up?"

"Are you sure it was Spectre?"

"Yes."

"You know what this means, then."

"These next months are going to be hard on us, yeah. The monitoring spell?"

"They smudged it, and I wasn't looking closely enough. How's Clara holding up?"

"I think she finds it exciting. She built a bullet ward in a minute thirty seconds."

"She has a gift."

"What's the status of our patrol, then, sir?"

"Stay put and defend your position. I'm sending you backup, and replacement runes. Mirage and Louis will come through the Back Door. Louis will join you and work on the runes, and Mirage will escort Clara back to the Potter. I'll phone the Williams brothers and see if they'll take their squad car by your position."

"Thank you, sir."

"Best of luck, Saline."

I hung up and looked at Clara. "Any luck, there?"

She shook her head. "The rune was obliterated by the blood. I'll need to start over."

"Don't worry about that, then. We've got reinforcements on the way with replacements. I want you to focus on improving the protection ward."

"Yes...sir," she said, a funny smile on her face.

"Something funny?"

"My hand lights itself on fire, and now I'm in a magical gang war? I remember wishing my life was more exciting the day before Joan made me hold my hand underwater at gunpoint. Maybe I shouldn't have said it aloud."

"Focus on the rune, Clara. I'll try to hide us."

[Two McMillion he/him]

You need to include "...said" tags in the long areas of back and forth dialogue. It's easy to get lost without them.

[Swimmingly he/him]

Noted. My writing in the past has been characterized by monosyllabic dialogue, so I was trying to convey more with it. If you notice any more issues with the dialoguing, please note them.

[Two McMillion he/him]

Noted. My writing in the past has been characterized by monosyllabic dialogue, so I was trying to convey more with it. If you notice any more issues with the dialoguing, please note them.

 

I'll try to get through this again later. I got lost in the long stretch of talking at the beginning and so can't give a fully informed opinion quite yet. My conception of the setting thus far is western.

[Swimmingly he/him]

I'm about 2500 words into a rewrite, trying to make the setting, concepts and characters more clear. It's alternate-earth, set in a town about an hour west Ottawa, though that's not clear yet.

[el_warko he/him]

Loved it.  Really enjoyed it truley.  I'd buy it.  The cremling references kinda pulled me out of the story for a bit and the brotherly interaction felt a little forced (but that could be becasue I don;t have that sort of relationship with my brother).  My two cents regarding saids is it is needed in three or way way conversation.  Alternatively, you could try adding a movement by teh character - stretching yawning etc. as too many saids can get clunky.  Also, I imagine there will be more on Salines power set in later installments?

 

What's the plan going forward, novella or full blown novel, if you don't mind the asking. Oh, and if you find yourself in need of readers please keep me in mind. 

[bartbug he/him]

(A little bit of warning: I'm Mormon, and therefore, more than a little bit a prude).

 

When you dropped the f-bombs, it kind of threw me off. For purely marketing reasons, unless you want other explicit content (sex, really crazy violence), I'd recommend getting rid of them. It sends off a really strong vibe that may not be what you want.

 

That being said, I really appreciate you getting them out early. One of the things that I passionately hated (I still love the book) about The Wise Man's Fear was how, without warning, it upped the content from The Name of the Wind from PG-13 to R. The sex, the fiddlers f-bomb, all of those things felt more than a little out of left field.

 

So: If your book is going to be this type of book, then by all means, keep it. I may end up reading it, depending on how much it goes. But make sure to keep it in mind.

[Swimmingly he/him]

By the way, all weird swearing was the site's language filters. Ignore it, please.

[Swimmingly he/him]

And I have no idea on the length. Mostly, I'm making a fantasy kitchen sink world with a few basic rules that I can put anything into. I don't expect it to be any good. I do expect it to get me some practice with writing. It'll be the first project beyond about 5000 words I've ever done if I keep it up. Unfortunately, there may be some delays due to school things and my own inexperience with writing.