“Wordchains are the original form of magic, according to the Palace of Unbreaking. I would take that with an ocean full of salt, because the Palace’s stance is always that wordchains are better than everything else and you might be an actual demon if you disagree.”

Lute was sitting sideways in the green velvet chair, stretching his fingers one by one. Behind him, the light panel on the wall was flickering slightly behind its shade, as if the privacy booth really was a train car and a changing landscape lay just beyond the fabric.

“Anyway, they’re way old. And they work based on a simple concept—equal exchange. I give you my sense of balance for three hours. You give me yours for three hours. I take your strength today. You take mine tomorrow.”

“You told me they were common sense,” Alden said from where he was sitting on the love seat. “And that it made Chainer a common sense class.”

Lute nodded. “Aulia wants to obscure every minute detail partially because it’s so simple. I’m not an evil old politician, but I think she’s afraid people will realize that we don’t actually get…ah…that’s still an ass tattoo matter. Back on topic—my boss says the more people make successful exchanges, the more solid the chain becomes, until it’s so strong it’s doable for even less accomplished people. A person says these magic words and they get peace of mind. Even little kids and species without fingers can make some of them work.”

He pointed at Alden’s ledger. “But what happens when a wordchain is brand new? Or when it’s been forgotten? What happens if nobody ever uses it? Or if everybody only wants to use one half and so they never speak the other and always let it snap back?”

Alden’s eyes widened. “That’s so obvious.”

“I know it is. But we take wordchains for granted. Like they’re…light switches maybe? Not that many people sit down to ponder how the electricity got to them when they flip the switch. My boss tells me that Artonans, as a society, used to be very serious about wordchain maintenance. Ancient aliens would perform multiple ones every day, like it was a chore they had to do to keep the lights on for themselves and their grandchildren. Now, even though they’re still in use across the Triplanets, they’re not being cared for with the same level of dedication. So tons of them have broken, or they’re on the verge of breaking, or they’re just weakening.”

He reached over to grab the wooden case on the table beside him.

“The Palace of Unbreaking is dedicated to wordchain preservation. Scary dedicated. As part of that, they do their best to restrict access to wordchains based on their fragility. They want everyone to do wordchains all the time. But only if they’re going to do them in the right way. So when chains start to fail, they try to make sure they’re only being taught and shared with responsible people who are going to strengthen them instead of weakening them further.”

Alden lifted his new ledger from his lap. “So you’re supposed to make sure I’m not stacking up tons of debt.”

“That’s right. And don’t lie, man. If you miss listing properly completed ones every now and then it’s fine. Or if you let a few snap and have to fess up to it, that’s fine, too. But don’t neglect to mention the snapped ones and don’t say you completed one fair and square if you didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t.”

Lute nodded. “Parethat-uur has an absurdly high opinion of you, so I think you’ve probably got a lot more leeway than normal. And they don’t demand perfection from beginners anyway. But the thing is…if you do become a problematic user, there can be serious consequences for you after you’ve signed this with me. You wouldn’t like them at all.”

Alden looked back at the first page of the ledger. “Are the spaces for the teacher and student names some kind of contract?”

“No. They told me it was more like an honesty pledge. It won’t make either of us do anything or prevent us from doing anything. It’s just an official record of the fact that you agreed to be a responsible wordchain user and I agreed to be responsible for you. I send a copy to the Palace of Unbreaking as soon as you sign. If you get caught avoiding debt too often, they take away one of your rights, and if I get caught neglecting you or letting you cheat…I’m pretty sure I get yelled at. And they don’t let me have another student until I’ve sucked up a lot.”

“What right do I lose?”

Lute looked uncomfortable. “You know how when I shared the wordchain with you, you had to agree to it through the System?”

Alden nodded.

“That one.”

He took in Alden’s expression. “No! Don’t think I’m horrible! I wouldn’t actually do anything to you, it’s just that I’d be able to…and so would the rest of my family.”

“I don’t think you’re horrible,” Alden said. He cleared his throat. “I was surprised. That’s all.”

“You look like someone who’s stuck in a tiny room with a serial killer.”

“No I don’t.”

“You—”

Alden tossed one of the silk throw pillows at him. “Lute, it’s fine. I wondered about the System permission thing when it popped up. It’s not like Sways have to get our permission before they do shit to us. It’s not like Lexi has to get permission before stabbing us with Writher. That’s not how Avowed classes usually work, so I thought it was strange that you had to use a consent form before laying a wordchain on me.”

Lute was still eyeing him nervously. “The Palace of Unbreaking won’t let Chainers bestow a wordchain—whether it’s beneficial or not—on unwilling people under normal circumstances. It’s counter to their entire ethos.”

Hazel didn’t have to get my permission before she sniped me, though.

The fact that she was calling in a debt that already belonged to Alden must’ve made it all right in the Palace’s eyes. Or else she got to play by her own rules for some reason.

“Your class would be something if you didn’t have that restriction.” Alden looked over at the pile of books on the bed. “You could lay endless types of disaster and reap endless positives in return.”

“But I can’t do that. And I wouldn’t.”

“I believe you.” Alden felt like he was missing something though. “Why does your grandmother not want people to understand even the basics of why wordchains are restricted? I don’t see any benefit for her. A lot of people seem to dislike you guys because they think you’re wordchain hoarders who refuse to share with others so that you can maintain your power. But you actually just work for the hoarders. And the hoarders are hoarding for a good reason.”

“Wellll,” said Lute. “We do hoard. Some. There are a lot that the Palace wouldn’t mind people using that just haven’t filtered down to Earth yet. Mostly odd effects. You could probably crack open one of those books and find a dozen. And we do get access to some particularly strong, delicate, or difficult ones just for ourselves. Aulia, for example, has The Gloss. Which she does not mind the family telling people is very extra awesome and only for her.”

Imagine that.

“Why don’t other Avowed who visit the Palace come back with all this info, then?”

“Oh. Now this is interesting. I can answer this question but only in a misleading fashion. Your friend the wizard will be able to answer it fully.”

Lute looked like he very much wanted Alden to ask.

“What’s the misleading reason?”

Lute rose to his feet and looked down his nose at Alden. “No Avowed but Chainers may work for the Palace. I’m terribly sorry, pleb. You’re never going to be summoned there, so you’ll have to take my word for all matters wordchain related.”

Alden narrowed his eyes. “So that’s it. They don’t summon anyone but you guys to wordchain central.”

“We’re special,” Lute said in the same snobby voice. “The Artonans love us so much, and we’re so special.”

“Never? None of the wizards there have ever wanted a Rabbit masseuse? They don’t want a Rabbit floor cleaner to make sure the people who prostrate themselves before you don’t get their faces dirty?”

Lute pointed at him. “You say prostration one more time and I’m not signing that ledger with you.”

Alden grinned. “Prost—”

“Oh look,” said Lute in an airy voice, “Parethat-uur sent you a present. He’ll want to know how you liked it. Here you go.”

He grabbed one of the cases and presented it to Alden with a flourish.

Alden opened it. There was a big white papaya-shaped fruit inside. “It’s a wevvi fruit,” he said.

“You recognize it from pictures? Good.”

“I’ve had one before. A juiced one anyway.”

Lute tilted his head. “A real one?”

Alden nodded.

“What the hell? I thought for sure it was just my family. They told me you basically have to have some kind of ritual event to even get your hands on…never mind. It’s you. Your oddities keep stacking.”

“Should you be saying that to me?”

“Eat up, my new beholden one, in a fashion that honors your Artonan ancestors!”

“I don’t have any of those.”

“Parethat-uur does not care.” Lute smirked. “You’re supposed to eat the whole thing. No utensils. Wasting the skin or the seeds is forbidden in this instance.”

“No juice?”

“Whatever you can gnaw out of its fibrous hide before swallowing.”

“It’s kind of large.” It wasn’t quite ham-sized, but it was close.

“I actually felt a little sorry for you when I first saw it.” Lute said, staring down at the white fruit. “He was trying to be generous. You can do it while I teach. You should be able to manage it in a few hours, right?”

“Do I really have to eat the whole thing? That’s going to make me sick, isn’t it?”

“Fine. I’ll help. I don’t want to lie to Parethat-uur about what happened to it, and I can spin us sharing it into something nice for him.” He pointed at Alden. “I get the best bites.”

******

The wevvi was tasty. It just wasn’t fun to chew up, and the quantity was intimidating. Alden could see why juice had become the standard way of consuming it rather than whole fruit.

While his jaws worked, he listened closely to the words of the chain as Lute repeated them for him. It was significantly longer than the weaker wordchains he was used to. And poetic, as he’d anticipated.

There were six problem words; he could say them, but Lute assured him he wasn’t saying them well enough. It was going to take a while to get those right and then a longer while to synch up the hand signs with the words properly.

“You promised you wouldn’t be angry if it didn’t work,” Lute reminded him.

“You’re still worried about that?” Alden asked after he’d swallowed his latest mouthful. “I’m not going to be upset.”

They’d both signed their names in the ledger, using a brush dipped in dark green ink. Alden was supposed to keep the ink and use it for his record taking.

“I’m grateful you’re tutoring me,” he added. “If anything, I feel guilty for asking you now that I know it’s more serious for you to teach someone than you implied.”

Lute couldn’t have another student for restricted wordchains until he and Alden had both proven themselves responsible—Alden by not lying about accidents on his chaining ledgers and Lute by making himself available to help complete a chain when necessary. The less frequently used a wordchain was, the shorter the time frame before the debt came due. Very fragile ones needed to be paid off almost immediately.

According to Lute, self-mastery was currently running at about three weeks, but in the interest of looking responsible, Alden would be trying to pay it off much sooner. If he couldn’t complete the payments himself, either due to miscasts or the wordchain just refusing to land for him, Lute would be using his skill to bestow the debt to him so that their ledger stayed balanced.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Lute. “When I found out I got to have students and realized I could weave around some of my tattoo restrictions because of it, I thought I was going to be the Velra family member who spread knowledge and ruined Aulia’s monopoly…then I realized most people suck too much to teach. They suck at doing the wordchains. And they suck even more at wanting to pay them back. I’ve taught people non-restricted ones before and watched them, and I arrived at the conclusion that I couldn’t be friends and teach them the kind of chains I’d be obligated to monitor.”

“Aren’t they just hurting themselves if they make the chain slap them with the debt at a random moment?”

“People procrastinate on things they don’t like. And they all imagine their future selves being a more self-sacrificing version of who they are. They want the good right now, and the payback feels like a problem for another person…so they take it. And then it turns out Future Them doesn’t miraculously want to spend several hours being weak or frightened or clumsy either.”

He went back to showing Alden the various gestures and words. Alden set his half-finished wevvi aside and repeated them after him. Toward the end of their six-hour window, the gremlin was starting to take an interest.

“I think I’m getting it,” Alden said after finishing several attempts on his own.

Lute was draped over the foot of the bed, head hanging down toward the floor while he watched. “I think you are, too.”

“Is it a problem for me to cast this in public? Do I need to hide out in bathroom stalls or something?”

“It’s a gray area,” said Lute. “You can cast it wherever you want, but I generally cast in private until I’m good enough to mutter or even abbreviate them. I think if other Avowed do pick them up from us and use them incorrectly the Palace might assign a Chainer to give them a talking to…and that doesn’t sound like fun for me. Obviously don’t go out and have a tutoring session like this with someone else until you’ve gotten permission to be a teacher, too. And—”

“I get permission to teach at some point?” Alden asked in surprise.

“I assume you do. The Palace lets all of their Artonan members teach restricted chains once they’ve made it out of the novice echelons, so I don’t see why they wouldn’t let a human do it, especially if his heart contains all the light of the sun within it.”

“Prostration,” said Alden. “Prostration. Prostration.”

“Just don’t say it in front of the girls, jerk.” Lute looked like he was on the verge of falling off the bed. His blonde hair was brushing the rug. “Do you like Natalie?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“‘Of course,’ he says. ‘I have both my eyes.’”

Oh he meant like that.

“We’re friends. I’m friends with all of them.”

“I know. But…if I’m thinking about developing a crush on one of them, I want to make sure it’s someone you’re not into. That wouldn’t be cool.”

“You plan your crushes in advance?” Alden asked with interest. “I’ve never heard anyone mention that was an option.”

“I got burned last time. I could like Emilija. She’s funny and cute. All your intake friends are hot. And she’s seventeen, but she didn’t treat me like a kid. She didn’t make a big deal out of any of the things people usually care about…probably because she’s not from here. And I don’t think she was mad when my self-confidence chain made me tell her she looked amazing in the bikini.” He bit his lip. “She seemed happy I’d complimented her, right? It wasn’t too much that I looked up how to say it in Lithuanian?”

Alden was growing more and more sure that the self-confidence chain was dangerous.

“I must’ve missed that one while I was watching the fireworks. It’s fine with me if you develop a crush on Emilija. She isn’t dating anyone as far as I’ve heard. Do you…am I supposed to ask her if she likes you back?”

That sounded so awkward.

But Alden had encountered a lot of people asking about crushes recently. Maricel had asked her roommates if they liked him. Her roommates and others at the party had asked him if he liked her. Jeremy had a serious girlfriend. Maybe it was just time for them all to be doing this kind of crush-checking regularly?

“I’ll murder you if you do,” said Lute

Or not.

“Just offering,” said Alden. “Anyway, go for it. I heard she scared some assholes who were giving Natalie a hard time into leaving intake early, and she’s so positive about everything on Anesidora, and she’s good at <<funny-mean>>. I think she’s cool.”

“You just use Artonan in casual convo sometimes?” Lute shook his head. “You really are in the wrong language class.”

******

Before their last few minutes in the privacy booth were up, Lute gave Alden two jewelry-sized boxes. One had an inch-long silver piece of metal in it, shaped like a rounded rectangle with a hole in the center.

“It’s a chain link,” said Lute. “Symbolic. You can earn more by being a good wordchain user in the Palace of Unbreaking’s eyes. It doesn’t do anything or get you anything, but you can string them together and feel proud of yourself.”

“Like earning badges or gold stars?”

“Yes. But alien,” Lute said dramatically. “Don’t throw it away. You’re supposed to keep it with you at all times. I don’t even do that with mine. Just shove it somewhere where you won’t lose it. I keep them in my closet.”

The second jewelry box had a flattened piece of cloudy crystal about the size and shape of a checker.

“I was surprised when he said he was going to give you this.” Lute stared at it. “Apparently, it’s because you’re an Avowed. They don’t give them out to most of the palace members. Just some people. It’s more inconvenient than the chain link. If you don’t want to use it, you should give it me, and I’ll do it for you.”

“What is it?” Alden asked.

The small piece was heavy in his hand. It reminded him of the material the trading table had been made of in the consulate building.

“It’s an Opposite stone. If you have it with you while you perform a wordchain, it glows for the person that has the other one. It’s really just symbolic in your case. I checked. They don’t know what you’ve cast, and they don’t become your literal Opposite for chains. It’s going to be a notification toy for you and the person who has the other half. But…it probably means a lot to that person. Because they got a stone suddenly when almost nobody else gets one.”

“I need to do it every time?”

“No. But if you’re not going to do it at least every few weeks, I’ll take it.”

Lute held out his hand.

Alden looked at him. “Do you want me to give it to you?” he asked. “I will. But it won’t be trouble to stick this in a pocket or something while I cast.”

“If you’re sure you’ll do it, that would be best,” Lute said slowly. “But I know it’s a pain to keep track of a little thing that’s not actually significant to you. I ran mine through a washing machine a few times because I forgot about it…which was very crappy of me.”

He’s serious about the rock, thought Alden.

That seemed odd. Lute was even pretty casual about the ledger. He didn’t think it would be a big deal to Parethat-uur if Alden botched wordchains every now and then, but he clearly didn’t want him to mess up with the Opposite stone. Even though he’d just said it was only a toy.

“I’ll be careful with it.”

Lute was still staring at it.

“I’m great at carrying random objects. It’s what I do. If I’m not using wordchains for a few weeks, I’ll pass it off to you. How about that?”

Lute finally dropped his hand. “That would be…it’s better if it’s you. Your Opposite will be so honored that it feels wrong to lie about who’s making their rock blink. But they might be crushed if the rock never blinks. And I don’t know if they get to keep being your Opposite if you lose your stone. They might assign you someone else for some crazy Artonan reason.”

“It’s a religious artifact for them. I get it. I’ll be careful.” Another thing struck him suddenly. “You said the Palace is giving it to me because I’m an Avowed. And you think the Opposite will be honored. They’re not a wizard, then?”

It was the natural conclusion to draw. An Avowed got the special rock when most ordinary wordchain students didn’t. And regular people could cast wordchains. The Palace probably had a large non-wizard class membership.

“Most likely not,” said Lute. He sat down on the green velvet chair again and started putting on his shoes. “…it’ll be someone your age. Born on the same day as you, as close to the same minute as possible. They go all-in on the matching if they can.”

“Oh,” said Alden. He smiled down at the stone. “So they’re a kid.”

An Artonan exactly his age should be physically and emotionally closer to human twelve.

“That’s amazing—imagining that someone born the same minute as me might be holding their stone right now, too.”

Lute finished tying his laces, then stood up. “All right. Money spent. Tutoring completed. Bed jumped on. Alien gifts given. Some Chainer secrets revealed.”

“Crush selected,” Alden added, reaching for his own shoes.

“Crush selected,” Lute repeated. “Wevvi fruit…”

He craned his neck toward the case the fruit had come in.

“I just finished the last bite,” said Alden. “And because of that, I may need to stop by a dispensary when we leave for another one of those ‘unruly stomach’ injectors. My guts are wondering why I’ve chosen to put a whole raw custard-flavored pumpkin in them on a beautiful Saturday.”

<<We all make sacrifices for the Unbreaking,>> Lute intoned as he collected all the things they’d be taking with them when they left.

“Thank you for teaching me. This was awesome of you. It’s great for me, but you’re getting nothing out of it except for tons of my company.”

“It’s not like I have a glorious social life. I would just be sitting around playing my harp and studying.”

“Still…” said Alden. “If you think of some way for me to return the favor, let me know.”

“Tomorrow. The girls—”

“That’s just me having a good time with all of you, Lute. It wasn’t a favor last weekend, and it isn’t this one either. And now I’m asking you to spend even more time on the phone with me while I go down to F and possibly piss off a mind-controlled Brute lady.”

Lute was quiet for a second. Then he said, “Well…that’s just me having a good time with you, Alden. I’ll watch you piss off Brute ladies every weekend. It sounds very entertaining.”

Alden laughed. “Sorry, but I hope it’s boring for you. I want to get to her apartment and find out that she’s not even there. If she’s at the healing hospital right now getting checked for mental manipulation like I recommended, that would be the best possible outcome.”

“Fine. I’ll root for that this weekend. But next weekend I’m rooting for a Brute lady to take a swing at you.”

Alden stood and looked around the privacy booth. He made a decision.

“Hey, the thing on my profile that made your boss excited…”

Lute’s eye fixed on him.

“It’s not something I’m embarrassed about, but it doesn’t feel like me. I don’t know how people will see it, and I definitely don’t want to introduce myself to everyone I meet that way and then have to, like, prove it with every breath I take.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Anyway. It’s just a commendation.”

“A commendation?” Lute’s fingers tightened on the box that held Alden’s new inkwell and brush. “You mean…one for fighting chaos. Like the kind Haoyu’s mom has?”

“Does she have one? I didn’t know.”

“Two. I think she got one before he was born and another when we were in seventh grade. His dad has one. I’ve heard him mention them before. And there were a couple other people in our school whose parents had one.” Lute looked away from Alden to stare at the cut-crystal sconce on the wall in front of him. “Most of them were really proud.”

“Mine’s not for fighting chaos,” said Alden. “I was sitting in a little bit of chaos for months and trying to stay alive, and then I was running away from it. The commendation is for taking care of someone while I was there and taking her with me when I left. I think. They just gave it to me. It’s not like there was an explanation.”

Lute didn’t say anything.

“I figured you were probably curious. And I’ve learned a lot about your Chainer stuff,” Alden said. “I’m sure the faculty know, and I trust you more than any of them so there’s no real reason to keep it a secret…I just don’t want people to look at me and think ‘Guy with Alien Accolade’ instead of ‘Guy Trying to Remember How to Do High School.’”

“Yeah, you’re terrible at that,” said Lute. “You speak fluent Artonan, you study way too much, and you try to save cultists. You need to get some chewing gum stuck to your learning cushion next week, accidentally set one of your rugs on fire, and fail to turn in homework. Then you’ll be cured.”

Alden felt relieved. “I did set a shirt on fire.”

“Oh right. The tag tried to kill you so you defeated it with your spell impression.” Lute gave him a half-smile. “Thanks for telling me. That’s…it’s cool.”

“It’s just a thing that happened.”

“Which commendation is it?” Lute asked. “I know there are different ones.”

“It’s for Exceptional Bravery in the Absence of Obligation.”

“Well that confirms that your heart really does burn sinners to death.”

“Shut up.”

“I can’t help that words have meanings, man. The meaning of those words isn’t open to interpretation. No one made you be brave, and you chose to do it anyway.”

“It really is just a thing that happened.”

“I won’t bother you about it,” Lute said. “I do understand wanting to be High School Guy instead of something else. And it would be peculiar to introduce yourself to people with, ‘Hi. I’m Alden the Commended One.’ Don’t do that. Everyone will think you have issues.”

Alden snorted. “I’ll try to avoid it. By the way, I don’t want Haoyu and Lexi to hear about it yet.”

Lute looked surprised. “You haven’t told Haoyu?”

“No. I only told you because we’re getting to know each other and your boss was acting like I had a supernova in my chest. It was nice of you not to push for info.”

“You should tell Haoyu. You two get along so well and he’s going to be thrilled. He’ll probably carry you home to his mother like, ‘Look! I found another one of you! Compare stars while I take notes!’”

“I’ll tell him if it comes up naturally. I’m not desperate to keep it from him or anything. I kind of want to do better in gym before it comes out, though.”

“That’s random.”

“I’m positive they only let me into the hero program because of the commendation,” Alden explained. “And not because it says I’m brave. They didn’t talk about bravery at all in my interview. I don’t think they consider it the most necessary quality. They were just afraid of making the Artonans mad or something, so here I am. I’d like to show all of my classmates I don’t suck before they find out about the star and start guessing about it.”

Lute’s expression darkened. “I hadn’t thought of that. Being the class weakling is…bad. Being the class weakling and having something that will make other people jealous? That can ruin your whole life.”

“I’m not the class weakling!” Alden protested. “I’m doing well. I just think I can do even better.”

Lute gave him a look. “Be realistic. You could be levitating a meter off the ground, weeping diamonds, and exhaling clouds of poisonous gas, and some of those privileged little rankists would still know right down to their bones that they were better than you because you’re only a B.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“They are,” Lute muttered. “Trust me. I know several of the people in your program. Some of them are better than others, and not all of the ones who buy into that mindset are dicks because of it. But it’s like…this is the puddle we all grew up swimming in. Even if they understand that it’s wrong and they actively try to reject it, they still default to thinking that way a lot of the time.”

A chime sounded through the room suddenly, and the lights flickered.

“That’s our two-minute warning,” Lute said. “Before they open the door and kick us out.”

“I’m ready to go when you are.”

Alden grabbed the wevvi fruit case. None of Parethat-uur’s gifts had been sent in anything that looked remotely disposable. The cases, chests, and small boxes were all wood and leather with embroidered cloth interiors.

Rich people need to stop giving me things that are too expensive to get rid of. I don’t know what my dorm room’s going to look like a year from now at this rate.

Dozens of boxes full of lavender and alien curios probably. At least he was going to smell good.

Lute’s fingers hovered over the latch that would open the privacy booth’s door. Alden waited, but he just stood there, facing the paneled wall.

“I do think it’s amazing,” he said as the lights flickered again. “The fact that you earned a commendation. I feel like I need be clear about it. I think it’s amazing, and I’m glad you made it back to Earth and that you’re alive.”

Alden raised his eyebrows. “Thanks. You don’t have to say stuff like that, though.”

“I do,” said Lute, still not looking at him. “Not to make things weird for you or anything, but just so you know…I mean it. I think it’s terrible something bad happened to you, and I hope nothing like that happens to you again.”

He hooked the latch with a finger and pulled before Alden could ask what the sudden change in tone was about.