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First published June 1, 2011
"Boy."
The word stopped him in his tracks as he stepped into the passageway. No one had called him that since he was twelve. "I need your name, to send word." Nesre's eyes held flat disinterest, dismissing any evidence of Ume Sky’s existence.
"It’s Cillian. Cillian Rede."
"I create many things here. Whether art or invention, I find it more satisfying to use my hands than to merely manifest my thoughts with divine speech. I have engaged an engineer on occasion to help me bring my ideas to fruition, so that they might live on beyond the scope of my words. Power that may be harnessed by the ordinary man, such as light and locomotion."
"The winds of time have brought this change. Old ways must abdicate before the new, just as convention must concede before innovation." He motioned toward the incandescent lamp. "I once spoke light into being. Now any man can invoke it with a touch."
"They don’t believe," said Ume. "They don’t understand what you can do."
"It doesn’t matter." He kissed her, staining her cheek with his tears. "I must rest now."

Cillian Rede put little store in the magic of gods, but devils he believed in. At seventeen summers, he’d seen more than his share. Turn left or right and you would stumble over one in the city of in’La; among the marsh grass and the fragrant trees, intrigue and corruption were as likely to grow.