Zachary held his sword straight out in front of him. He could feel it shivering under its fingers, but he couldn't decide if it was happy or worried. It was a little awkward because Devon was close behind him and Seraphim, in an attempt to stay as far away as possible from Victoria, was close up to Devon, but they managed.

The passage was long, and it never got any wider. Finally, though, Zachary saw the end of the tunnel. His sword started humming loud enough for the others to hear; no, it was definitely not happy. Whatever was there wasn't good. Well, obviously, Zachary thought. It took out a whole town, didn't it? They reached the end, and Zachary gestured for them to stop. “I'll look out first. If it's safe, I'll get you guys.”

"Good plan,” Devon whispered back. “Good leadership skills.”

Zachary ignored him and walked out of the tunnel. He was on a high platform: the majority of the place was underground. He walked to the railing at the edge of the platform and gasped. A huge training ground lay below him, probably about the size of a football field. That green mist drifted everywhere- wild magic. However, it avoided squares that appeared to be placed at random around the room: they were lit from beneath, and on each one stood a witch or warlock wearing the same clothing as in Devon's mirror. They were all stretching and moving as one, and the green mist pulsed in time with their breathing. It was eery.

Even stranger, though, were the large machines that lined the walls. Zachary had seen nothing like them on Caradine: everything here was made of wood or stone, but these were refined metal, if a little old-fashioned. Little lights blinked on and off all over, and a stream of paper flowed from one corner. He wasn't sure what they were supposed to be- some kind of computer, maybe?

"Oh,” said Devon behind him, his voice a weak whisper. “Oh, dear.”

"What happened to me getting you?” Zachary whispered back, although without much force. He gestured at Seraphim, who was peeking out of the edge of the tunnel, to join them.

"Plans change,” said Devon. One hand drifted to his heart and gripped the fabric over it. “Oh- oh, dear.”

"What's wrong?” Zachary awkwardly patted the old man on the shoulder when Devon didn't answer right away, concerned that he might be having a heart attack or something. “What's the matter?”

Devon took a few deep breaths and got himself under control; the color returned to his face- not that that was saying much. “Things are just much worse than I thought,” he whispered.

"What do you mean?” Seraphim asked. He had not reached the edge of the platform yet, but Victoria was already there. She had slipped out in front of him and now stood with her hands clapped over her mouth. Her eyes were wide and horrified. Seraphim looked at her with something almost resembling concern and joined her at the railing. “Oh. I see now.”

"What is it?” Zachary demanded. It was very irritating being the only one who wasn't from here and didn't know anything. It wouldn't be half as bad if someone else didn't have a clue, but as it was he was always left out of the loop. Everyone else just assumed that everyone present knew what was going on.

"Sorry, Zachary,” said Victoria, as though sensing his thoughts. “It's just... we've never seen anything like this before, not here. Caradine... we have magic, not technology. We don't need it, so we've never developed anything like this. That this is... here... with these people... it can only mean very bad things.” She shook her head and shuddered. Turning away from the spectacle, she hugged herself.

" I don't understand,” said Devon, “and that's not something I say often. The technology... it must have taken years to build- unless there was some magical hand in it. And anyone who would know how to build this sort of technology wouldn't know how to use magic... it suggests that someone was working with the tech expert- but that doesn't make any sense either!” Devon ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath.

"Well, if warlocks go rogue so often, why couldn't one of them do it?” Zachary asked. He was a little afraid to put that out there; since neither Victoria nor Seraphim had asked that question, it suggested that the answer was probably obvious and Zachary was just ill-informed, rather than it being a likely prospect.

Devon shook his head. “No, it's not possible. We keep a very close watch on our own- we know when someone snaps, and if he's dangerous, we send him to the Sands. No one’s ever escaped from there... and survived, anyway.” He drummed his fingers on the railing. “No, it couldn't be a warlock...”

"No chance of it being a witch, either,” said Victoria. “The mind link's too strong. We'd know if a coven was going mad, and we'd fix it.” She said this with a slight air of superiority, but the men around her ignored it for her sake.

"So then what?” Devon murmured, resting his chin on his fist. “What?”

"How about we find out?” Seraphim demanded, gesturing at the stairs that led down to the training grounds. “We could stand around talking all day, or we could just go down there and look for ourselves.”

Devon nodded slowly. “Ah, yes, that is quite brilliant. Let's go.” As if it had been his idea all along, he led the way. Zachary sheathed his sword as they started down the steps; it was comforting to have it in his hands, but the vibrating was starting to hurt. It felt like the swprd was going to jar the bones out of his fingers. Before stepping onto the training ground, Devon paused. “We should proceed... quite cautiously, I should think. It isn't called wild magic for no reason, after all, and it would quite hinder our progress if one of us were to turn into a fish.” That said, he continued forward.

None of the witches or warlocks took any notice of them; their eyes were fixed on something only they could see, and whatever it was, it wasn't nice. Their mouths were drawn tight in grimaces, and worry lines were etched deep on each forehead. Still, the group kept to the sides, avoiding the squares and the machines. Zachary noticed that some squares were empty- deceased members, or holding spaces for possible new recruits? Either way, grim thoughts. But it was hard to think anything but with the green mist swirling around his ankles: it was like walking in a swamp. He half-expected each step to squish and trigger some terrible smell.

When they were about five yards away from the platform, Zachary realized that not all of the wall was covered in machine: there was an opening just ahead of them, and he could hear a voice coming from it. When he focused on the voice, his sword let out a high keen that no one else seemed to hear- the source of the trouble. It had to be. “It's in there,” Zachary whispered.

"Yes,” said Devon. “I believe you should take the lead again- just in case we do have a warlock on our hands.”

Zachary drew his sword and stepped in front of his friends. The jewel in the pommel was giving off a faint light; the green mist shrunk away from it. There was a definite advantage to having a magic sword.

"No, Didier,” said the voice. It was a man, somewhere between Devon's and Seraphim's age, and heavily accented- French, perhaps. “You mustn't touch that.” Zachary wrinkled his nose. The voice was a gentle scold, almost like a parent reprimanding a child. He hoped that it wasn't; things would no doubt come to a fight, and he didn't want to have to hurt someone's father. The tone changed; now the speaker was talking to an equal. “What do you think, Annette, mon cher? Does it need adjusting?” A pause. “Yes, yes, that's quite right. Very good.”

Zachary glanced back at Devon, who shrugged and gave Zachary a gentle push. Adjusting his grip on his sword, Zachary stepped into the doorway. A man in his late fourties was the only inhabitant of the room. He was surrounded by large, clunky computers- from Earth, one would surmise, judging by the Apple logos on some of them. None of them looked like they had evolved past binary, but the man was studying each one in turn nonetheless, checking things and clicking his tongue every now and again. Once in a while, he would turn to a large screen on the left wall and enter something in it, muttering to himself all the while.

When the man realized he had guests, he turned toward them. There was salt in his black hair, and the distinct tinge of madness in his hazel eyes. Livid scars ran along his hands and shoulders, disappearing under his shirt. He frowned, wrinkling his nose. “Do you four have an appointment? I'm a very busy man, you know.”

"Busy with what?” Devon asked. He stepped up next to Zachary and extended his hands, as though trying to indicate that he was a fellow scholar and therefore a friend.

"The plans, of course,” said the man, turning his back to them. “Everything is going according to schedule, I believe, and soon my goal will be accomplished- at least, that's what I've been told. Personally, I'm not sure what the work I'm doing here has to do with bringing people back from the dead, but he knows better than I do- got me here, didn't he?”

Zachary looked at his friends to see if they were as confused as he was. They were, with a few variations on the theme: Seraphim looked bored and slightly amused, and Victoria's eyes were filled with pity. Well, there was some comfort, anyway.