The Oconic Prison: The Oconic Gates

By Lexel J. Green

He avoided going to prison. Now he's breaking into one...

Varo Pinetta has had his scrapes with the law, but now he's a caster - a legionnaire trained to wield magical 'oca' in service of the Empire. He thought he'd put his criminal past behind him. But then his Sergeant ordered him to bust into a prison to rescue an old friend.

Not just any prison. A 600 foot-tall tower of rock called a Pillar, its location unknown, a portal gateway the only way in or out.

Led by a beautiful thief, Pinetta and his fellow prison-breakers hatch a daring plan that involves an explosive heist and a clever fraud. The trouble is, the prison governor knows they're coming…

Can they rescue the oconic prisoner? Or will they die trying?

The Oconic Prison is a page-turning fantasy thriller that's part Ripper Street, part Stargate, with a touch of The Italian Job. It's set in the same world as the fantasy fiction books in The Oconic Gates series, which begins with the military action adventure novel Once Called Magic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: GCC Books
• Release date: Oct 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540196347

Book preview

ABOUT THIS BOOK

The Oconic Prison is a novella in the Oconic Gates sequence. It’s set in the same fantasy world as the novel Once Called Magic, but you don’t need to have read that one to enjoy this one. But if you do want to read it (there’s a cool twist at the end), know this: it’s a fast-paced fantasy thriller with a slice of steampunk, where swords are museum pieces, the old wizards are long dead and everyone can do magic. In fact, casting spells is as easy as cracking open a can…

With thanks again to Sean.

THE OCONIC PRISON

A novella by Lexel J. Green (v2)

Definition: Oconic Gate:

"A portal powered and sustained by magical energy (more modernly referred to as ‘oconic’ energy). Oconic Gates are manufactured in pairs, each one a curved metal door frame with a standard Portal Binding cast betwixt them. Upon a successful casting of the Portal Binding, the connection between the Gates remains active even when they are split apart and regardless of distance.

In its dormant state, the portal connection is a rip in the fabric of the world little bigger than a pin prick. Only when a bigger oconic charge is directed into the Gate (using an approved Mark II or Mark III series oconic capacitor), will this tiny rip expand to fill the door frame. It does so until the portal is large enough to walk through…

Taken from The Elements of Modern Oconics, Fourth Edition.

1. PRISON BREAK

WHAT I'M GOING to ask of you is illegal, dangerous and quite possibly treasonous.

Caster-Sergeant Arron Vellar of the Old Hundredth sat at a rough-hewn table in the Yarborough Inn. An open fire crackled behind him, logs spitting and popping. He beckoned the two casters seated opposite him to lean in closer. Should we fail, he said in a low voice, looking each man square in the eyes, we could be imprisoned, even executed.

The Yarborough’s saloon was dim and hazy, wood panelled walls painted scarlet (’so the blood don’t show’, its proprietor claimed), mosaic floor patterned with black and white diamonds, sticky with spilt beer. At this time of day, the inn stirred together tanned farm hands and sallow-faced bale-breakers, loudmouth cotton carders and boozy loom winders. A feisty stew of the city’s working classes.

That city was the Briar, capital of Mulai, the oldest and grandest city in the Empire.

The Empire Vellar was sworn to defend.

The Empire he now found himself plotting against.

The Caster-Sergeant reached for the jug of ale he’d ordered, a foamy black brew named after some one-legged dog. He topped up everyone’s glasses.

If you need me, Sergeant, I am ready to serve. Caster Gustus Bordo puffed out his chest, his expression stern. At least as stern as a legionnaire could look with a golden-coloured bandana tied about his head. Bordo insisted it was an ancient symbol of courage worn by the Knights of Dawn during the Oconic War. Vellar thought it looked more like a neck tie. A cheap one at that. But who was he to judge? What a man wore when he wasn’t on legion duty was his own business.

Rakou’s Balls, Gustus! Next to Bordo, Caster Varo Pinetta shook his head in disbelief, greased-back blond hair barely moving, like he’d set it overnight in a pudding tin. You ain’t even heard what the sarge wants us to do yet.

"Does it matter, Pinhead? Bordo scowled at Pinetta, bushy eyebrows arching over black-rimmed eyes. We’re casters."

Who are supposed to defend the laws of Empire, not bloody break ‘em!

We do as we’re ordered to. No more, no less. Or haven’t you grasped that simple fact yet?

I like to know what I'm getting into—

Hey! Vellar kicked Bordo under the table and the caster shot him an angry stare. Keep it down. I expect better from you, Gus. Leave the boy be.

He wondered whether he’d made a mistake pairing the two casters together. Bordo was eager to please, a career caster who’d happily march to the edge of the world if Vellar ordered him to. Probably over it. Pinetta was younger and cockier, full of questions, still adjusting to the rigours of legion life. Vellar knew the other casters picked on the boy. Didn’t trust him. Called him ‘Pinhead’. He’d hoped to keep the boy’s past a secret. But somehow Bordo and the other men had found out where he’d come from and what he’d done.

Vellar glanced around to reassure himself that nobody was eavesdropping. Two men at the next table over seemed to be conducting a 'who could cuss the loudest' competition, tankards spilling the slops of some pale booze. The other side of him, a lusty couple smooched on a bench against the back wall, eyes closed, lips locked, oblivious to those around them.

Satisfied no-one could hear, Vellar reckoned it was time to reveal the truth of their meeting. You’re probably wondering why you’re here, he began. The thing is, I need your help. We’re going to finish the mission that Colonel de Calvas set us before he left.

Pinetta’s eyes widened at the news. He leaned in closer, almost whispering. So you’ve found Merilla?

Vellar nodded. We have.

Where? Where did you find him?

Wait. Bordo held his hand up, brow furrowed in confusion. Who, or what is a Merilla?

Alhaz Merilla, Vellar explained. Civvie administrator to the Colonel. Nabbed by the Justices and unjustly imprisoned, not guilty of the murder they hold him for. He noticed that Bordo was poised to say something, but he ploughed on before Gus could get a word in. Look, the details aren’t important. What matters is the Colonel told us to rescue him, ‘whatever it takes’. Those were his words weren’t they, Pin?

Pinetta nodded, seemingly lost in thought, both hands clasped around his glass.

Which means, Vellar continued, that we, as sworn casters of the Old Hundredth, the Colonel’s own regiment, are duty-bound to carry that order out. In fact, preparations are already underway. But it’s a big undertaking. I can't rescue him alone…

Vellar looked expectantly at Bordo.

You can count on me, Sergeant, Gus said quickly, almost missing his cue. I’ll do anything for the Colonel. You know that. Proud to be asked.

Good man. Vellar smiled, slapping Bordo on the shoulder.

So why am I here? Pinetta asked.

Smoke from the fire drifted in a haze across the room and Vellar breathed it in. He loved the smell of burning wood. Most of the taverns in the Briar used oconic heaters these days. The Blackiron cans contained compressed oca — what the clans once called magic. The cans were designed to spout their oconic energy upwards, where it would coalesce into whatever pattern had been pre-cast into them. A stream of fire, a blast of air or, as in this case, the constant emission of heat.

Sure, an oconic heater was effective. The legion used them every time they camped out in the open. But you couldn’t beat a real fire. Vellar liked the feel of the heat on his back, the hiss of the wood. You didn’t get that with a can. The Yarborough’s fire reminded him of home, of his father stacking logs in the old hearth, gently breathing life into the flames.

You were one of the Colonel's men that night, said Vellar, reluctantly shelving the memory.

Briefly. Pinetta fiddled with his half-empty glass, looking down at the table, avoiding Vellar’s stare. He sent me away.

That was true. Vellar had picked Pinetta as one of six men sent to help the Colonel that fateful night. However, Lokke had decided to use him as a messenger rather than a fighter. As it turned out, the decision probably saved the boy’s life.

You still know what happened. Vellar knocked on the table, making Pinetta look up at him. You know it ain’t right what the Watcher did to him. You might not be a veteran caster like Bordo here. But as it happens, I have need of your old skills.

Pinetta’s head dropped again. He took a swig of his ale. I’ve worked hard to put that part of my life behind me, sarge. I ain’t no thief. Not any more. I’m a caster.

A caster who can pick locks, which is what I find myself in need of this night.

A man laughed loudly at a nearby table, snorting like a hungry pig.

We have oconics for lock-picking, Sergeant. So what do we need Pinhead for?

Bordo was right. They had Snap Cans back in the armoury at the Hourglass. Touch one to the outside of a lock, recite the words to complete the can’s oconic Binding, then fizzing tendrils of Ampa would rattle the lock’s tumblers and shake its pins until it clicked open.

True. Vellar rubbed at his grey beard, not sure how much he should say. But our oconics can’t crackle the high-end Blackiron locks that are now mandatory in all of the Briar’s lock ups.

Ah-ha. Bordo drummed the table with his fingers. Now we get to the meat of it. You're suggesting a prison break?

Keep your voice down, hissed Vellar, glancing about him to see if anybody had heard. But the men were still cussing; the couple still snogging. It’s a bit more complicated than breaking Merilla out of a prison. They sent him to the Pillars.

Vellar saw the reaction on Bordo’s face. The slack jaw, the disbelief in his eyes. Everyone feared the Pillars and with good reason. Janos Crick’s revolutionary prisons were soaring columns of sandstone and quartz, hundreds of feet high. There were no cells atop them. No bars to hold the prisoners in. They didn’t need them. The Pillars were like mountains, sheer-faced stone towers, each one unclimbable and inescapable.

Fuck. Pinetta shook his head. Planning a prison break is madness enough, but tackling the Pillars? That… Well, it can’t be done, can it? I mean, nobody even knows where they are. And even if we did know, they’re guarded day and night and the inmates on ‘em are chained to the top. The only way in and out is by oconic Gate. Pinetta leaned