Siobhan
Month 9, Day 30, Thursday 10:00 p.m.
Unfortunately, the journal spoke no more of the matter before moving on to the personal flight spell she had been researching before, but hadn’t yet fully understood or tried to cast.
This kind of magic really needed to be free-cast for optimal use, and after Damien had revealed his suspicions about the nature of break events and the increase in Aberrants, her research into it had slipped by the wayside. But now, she had already free-cast her first spell. If she could first figure out how to cast the flight spell with a written Word, she might be able to free-cast it within a reasonable timeframe.
Now, she wanted to learn it even more because being able to fly, even poorly, was another tool that could keep her safe in extreme situations.
She also paid extra attention to Myrddin’s subsequent development of a flight backpack, since the concepts were closely aligned enough that understanding one might help her understand the other.
There was another note mixed in with Myrddin’s work that she had jumped past when she skimmed the book before. This one filled the whole page.
I imagine this spell-set would also allow me to delve into the depths of the sea, where I suspect I might find some components that would be equally useful in space flight. However, the crushing pressure is a somewhat opposite problem from the dangers of space, and water is too dense for my divinations to reach the bottom of the deepest ocean trenches. I hypothesize that some may reach as deep or deeper than the height of a mountain range—though not the bizarre Starpeaks.
The thaumic requirements for a full-size human to resist the pressure at those depths are insane, not to mention everything else one would need to build into the spell to allow exploration and preserve your bodily functions. The cost would be many millions of thaums per second. I have not been able to test my own capacity recently, but it seems inevitable that I would die if I tried to forcefully descend that deep with the help of magic alone. At the very least, I would need to create a physical protective structure to anchor my spellwork to and frankly, I have little confidence even with that. But I must explore how magic works when one is on the outer boundary of the world, if there is any change. Understanding is the key to control, after all. Perhaps I will find a clue.
Siobhan paused and read aloud again, “Understanding is the key to control.” The words resonated with her, almost as if they were something she had written herself. Myrddin’s note continued:
When I reach the limit of my current Conduit, I will consider delving. I must make a note to explore creating celerium from beast cores again before that point. I had forgotten it after finding the current one, since it was no longer so urgent, and all I met from the experiments was frustration. In another few decades, my general expertise will have grown. The Work is no small project, and like a dragon, must be eaten one bite at a time. It has been forty years since everything went wrong, and I have only laid the groundwork and taken the first, toddling steps. An understanding of the greater whole always affects one’s understandings of the specifics. Perhaps the answer requires some paradigm shift that time and a different perspective will grant me.
However, I am somewhat worried that I will not find any beast core large enough to support my capacity at that point. Even dragons and sky-krakens have limits.
Perhaps I will have to search for another untapped celerium source and hope to find an unbroken chunk of an even greater size.
Siobhan could only hope that Myrddin had gotten back around to it by the time he wrote Oliver’s entry in this journal series. At least this was confirmation that the ancient man had been working on the problem. But another thought drew her attention.
If Siobhan’s attempt to date this journal had been correct, forty years before would have made Myrddin approximately one hundred thirty-five years old when he stared whatever big project he felt the need to be so mysterious about. ‘Did something happen at that point?’ Perhaps history held some clue as to what might have triggered the Work, and thus to what the Work might be. She searched her memory and found…nothing. In fact, she couldn’t remember any accounts that would have been dated around that time in his life.
When she moved on to transcribing the set of spells that combined to create incredibly detailed composite images of things as large and far away as the moon, she realized that from another perspective, these could simply be labeled a high-end, long-distance reconnaissance suite. If used by the military, it could allow a country to spy on enemies from outside their borders. One just needed to be able to fly high enough to overcome the barrier caused by the curvature of the planet.
Her eyes narrowed as she considered several immediately applicable uses.
When her Will grew too tired, she practiced light-refinement under the window cut into the angled roof and continued to play around with shadow and light. When the stars rose, she even practiced the dazzler Thaddeus had taught her.
The next session of transcription began with Myrddin’s sudden and seemingly unrelated fascination with the migratory patterns of birds, but one of the pages she was seeing for the first time gave her a hint about what had led him on this tangent.
His looping, overly ornate handwriting said:
I wonder if all bird-concept spirits might have absorbed a bit of this ability to navigate through a sixth sense. Perhaps this was why Northern Wind managed to carry me to such unusual and unknown places. Of course, Northern Wind is a white crane, which are long-distance migrators by nature. I’m curious about the abilities of bird-concept spirits based on messenger pigeons and the like.
Siobhan made a mental note of this, in case she ever needed to take a long trip through the spirit realm, and remembered the children’s tale about him riding a northern wind to the edge of heaven to meet Night. She couldn’t help but suspect a connection between that and the spirit he mentioned, Northern Wind.
She continued painstakingly on until she found another new gem during the time that Myrddin was painstakingly dissecting and theorizing about the origin of the cockatrice.
Magical creatures, including the cockatrice, all grow beast cores, while none of the humanoid species do. This is why none of us can safely cast through our own flesh. Except for the brillig. But look how they turned out. Their nature was not a blessing but a curse. Certain advantages come with irreconcilable downsides. Even I, with my small measure of talent, have to deal with the side-effects and would never dare to cast through my own flesh. I even refrain from heavy transmogrification unless absolutely necessary.
In examining the creation of the beast core, I have gained some small insight, but something continues to elude me.
Siobhan had wondered before if there were some connection between those who were able to split their Wills: herself, Myrddin, and the brillig. Now, she tried to piece together everything that might have been a clue toward whatever side-effects Myrddin was hinting at.
Myrddin had once said that transmutation didn’t have the same power in his hands that transmogrification did, but he had also more than once abandoned an idea that he could only complete with transmogrification.
Siobhan hadn’t heard anything connecting the brillig and transmogrification, but she also knew that their species had been wiped out almost four thousand years ago—so long ago that natural science wasn’t even an established concept, and the distinction between transmutation and transmogrification hadn’t become standard.
The brillig were said to have been prone to madness, but also physically twisted and hideous, but she had always taken those accounts with a large spoonful of skepticism. After all, history was written by the victors, and no one would want to admit to the genocide of an entirely innocent species simply out of fear of their superiority.
Myrddin did not seem particularly mad—merely a bit eccentric—and no accounts of him mentioned any hideous deformity. If anything, he was often noted to be unusually young and handsome for his age—likely responsible for the myths that he’d been aging backward. But obviously, he had been struggling with something.
She gritted her teeth, wishing that Myrddin’s thoughts had been a bit less flighty and disordered, so that she didn’t constantly have to guess what led him to certain tangents.
Was there some other similarity between the brillig and Myrddin? Perhaps one that she didn’t share? ‘I’m not as talented,’ she admitted, and for the first time, that seemed like it could, possibly, be a good thing. She, too, would never dare to cast through her own flesh. So, perhaps she would be safe. Still, she would be wary for signs of madness.
Her thoughts had trouble settling, so she set the journal aside and bent all three branches of her Will to practicing gesturan magic, focusing so hard that she had no room left for anxiety.
The third branch made everything easier, allowing her to focus on the movements, control the intent of the magic, and still assess her own performance in great detail. After a few attempts to force the more difficult elements—Radiance and Fire—to form into a ball and then stay coherent when launched at her bathing tub, she managed it.
However, she still struggled to get any of the elements to form a spinning disk and then burst outward, so she paused her practice to set up and charge a light-reflecting spell on one of her bare walls. She spent a few minutes calculating the parameters that would create a large mirror effect, with part of the mirror bending out at ninety-degrees, so that she could see herself from the front and the side at the same time.
This helped immediately, and within a few dozen tries with each element, she found herself succeeding again and again. Within the safety of her warded walls, she allowed herself to laugh like a maniacal villain in a play. Somehow, she was so excited that she kept practicing until halfway through the night, when she suddenly realized that her body was exhausted and aching.
She forced herself to stop, ate a meal and sipped on a nourishing draught, and returned to transcribing Myrddin’s journal in a fresh miniature copy, where he was working on a flying vehicle design. He delved into sealing spells to protect the interior against harsh conditions and extreme pressure changes, environment spells to recycle air and waste products, and most importantly—a potion that could make food taste and smell like anything you wanted, as long as you properly set the source during the brewing process.
Myrddin planned to use this to make non-perishable rations palatable, but Siobhan couldn’t help but think of its applications for something much more disgusting. “Scabroot!” she exclaimed aloud.
Not only was this the perfect solution to that revolting-but-otherwise-perfect food source, it was a simple enough concoction that even she could brew it!
She memorized the directions while transcribing them, promised herself she would test it soon, and continued.
After Myrddin had what she hypothesized was a fight with a sky-kraken while testing his little airship, he really did design that artillery spell that he’d suggested for anyone interested in high-altitude flight, and then loaded it into a cannon artifact.
Each activation shot a high-speed sphere of pure magic the size of her head, which would have been damaging but not necessarily deadly to something as massive as a sky-kraken, except for the fact that they exploded upon impact, sending jagged shards of compressed gas spinning wildly through whatever they touched. When they had expended their energy, the shards exploded again, filling the wound with extremely high volumes of ultra-cold air that forcefully took the place of the enemy’s internal organs and, if they could resist that, flash-froze the flesh, further compounding the massive internal damage. Myrddin called them “gelid fragmentation rounds,” and assured that they could kill almost anything made from flesh and blood, and probably most elementals, too, but would be particularly effective against any animals that lived in high-pressure environments, like the ocean. A slightly smeared note in the margins added:
While meant to be effective, these are rather overkill for most magical beasts. If used on something too small, apparently results in a massive explosion of frozen meat-chunks that can cause unintentional collateral damage. I’m sorry to all the pack members of that enraged troll-bear, as well as that team of adventurers in the woods nearby.
Siobhan imagined the scene, cringed on Myrddin’s behalf, then wondered how many thaums it took to cast the spell. Myrddin never mentioned things like that, perhaps since he knew he could cast anything he developed himself.
Near the end of the journal, she paused again on that incredibly detailed map that stretched beyond the known lands, on which several points of interest had been marked. Even when she looked carefully through the surrounding pages, she found no legend explaining what the marks meant or why Myrddin had placed them where he did—often in the middle of nowhere, and some well beyond the borders of the known lands.
What she found instead of a legend was an angry note.
It all started with that fey bubble realm. Those overweening, sadistic bastards! If any still live, may they find themselves breeding with swine. If they have the misfortune to meet me, I will curse them with a drop of my blood, sweat, and tears. I vow it upon my name—one of my names. Merzhin probably works best for this.
He had been called Merzhin in the lands of the East, where several thaumaturges had grown famous for their ability to cast generational magics—like curses that would still affect your grandchildren.
What was a “fey bubble realm?” Surely not a place where they fey were still living in secret? Unfortunately, she had no idea which point of interest on the map might have been indicated, or if he’d noted the location at all. And even if something had existed during Myrddin’s time, that didn’t mean it would still be there now.
But that didn’t matter. She wanted to travel to these places. She wanted to see what Myrddin had seen.
Of course, there was a reason why imported goods were so expensive and, even after thousands of years, they had not yet explored to the very edges of their planet. Travel was dangerous, and travel into the unknown lands even moreso. Without the protection of the ward stones along officially maintained roads and the clearing patrols of local armies, magical beasts could destroy an entire caravan in a single night. She and Ennis had traveled more than most people, and even staying on the best-maintained roads and trying to stick with larger groups, they’d had a few frightening experiences.
Even if she could find an escort of thaumaturges strong enough to ensure her safety, most of these places would take more time to reach than she could spare away from the University.
‘What about Legion?’ she wondered. ‘Is there any way to speed up travel by going through the spirit realm?’ She quickly realized that wasn’t a real solution. ‘If anything, travel through the spirit realm would be more dangerous than through the mundane plane, right? And Legion isn’t even good at navigating, so we’d probably get lost. Even if they could manage it, how am I supposed to provide enough energy to fuel their strange magic?’
She continued through to the end, where he had just started to develop the idea for Carnagore.
Myrddin never answered any of the questions he’d raised about magic’s properties at the edge of the planet’s atmosphere or on the moon, nor about whatever side-effects he had to manage.
‘There’s so much I don’t understand. Let’s not consider reaching Myrddin’s level of skill, but even with access to the University library, it will be years before I can even begin to catch up enough to be able to understand his ideas. I don’t have years. Which means I need help.’ The idea would have made her more uncomfortable, but when she mentally phrased “help” as “subordinates,” it became a little easier. Besides, she had already decided to share some of the knowledge as incentives for those who would aid her. This was just one step farther. Really, she could consider it taking advantage of others’ expertise to grant her access to restricted knowledge that she had no way to access on her own.
Siobhan put away the miniature book she’d transcribed the last section of the journal onto and saw the grey-pink hint of an approaching dawn in the sky above. The city was still and quiet, and the air held a faintly damp chill, while fog crept like a hunting beast through the streets below. Being awake while the world slept was special, and not just for all the extra work she could get done.
‘I have to meet Thaddeus soon.’ The thought popped into her mind unbidden, and all her quiet wonder curdled like milk tainted with a dollop of vinegar.
She turned to the mirror spell on the wall, which still hadn’t run out of power, and modified it a little, adding a function that allowed the mirror to modify what it reflected. Then, with the ability to watch what she was doing in extreme detail, she began to practice her illusion work.
She wove another face over her own, backing the light with shadow to make everything seem hyperrealistic, hoping to achieve such perfection that even people’s subconscious minds—so good at distinguishing humanoid faces—wouldn’t notice anything wrong. Ideally, she would be able to fool even a prognos.
She perfected the features one step at a time, from properly textured skin, to the fine vellus hairs, to the reflection of light off the textured surface of the iris. Eyelashes and eyebrows both cast subtle shadows, and strong light could shine through the thinnest areas of skin, like the ears.
Then, she practiced matching the facial movements while she talked, occasionally switching her illusion to display some new random face.
She kept going until she even managed to impress herself, and tested out her skill by watching as she walked past the support beam in the middle of her apartment, switching from a peach-skinned woman to a swarthy, broad-nosed man in that split second during which she was out of sight. She even slightly changed the color and fit of her clothes.
It was so seamless it was astounding. A lot of her improved skill had to be attributed to having another branch of her Will, which would have been like a master chef growing a third hand—and maybe an extra opposable thumb, too.
“I’m a genius,” she told herself proudly, staring into the face of a heavily made-up courtesan who was popular at the Silk Door. It didn’t matter if she was naturally this skilled, since she was the one who’d managed to avoid dying and split off a third branch of her Will in the process. She’d paid for this, by any measure of the term.
With a deep breath, she dropped her illusion, stepped closer to the spell-mirror, and began to practice her facial expressions. It was too easy while she was alone, so she created an illusion of Thaddeus standing at her side.
He raised one skeptical eyebrow at her, looking distinctly unimpressed.
Immediately, her heart began to pound, her palms and the small of her back grew sweaty, and she lost some of the feeling below her knees.
Now, she could practice her facial expressions in a way that might actually be useful. While two-thirds of her Will held the illusion, she turned the other third to better controlling her own body, trying to force a sense of calm and control.
Thaddeus could not be allowed to suspect that she knew anything she shouldn’t. Unfortunately, he was too observant. Any small clue might give her away.
For hour after hour, she practiced the conversations she imagined they might have, improving the realism of her illusion every time her nerves began to feel too settled. She felt almost sick by the end of it, but the dread leaking poison from deep within her core was still not resolved.
She stared at Thaddeus’s face for a long while, then covered him with a suit of armor and a clear face-plate. She gave him that same expression he’d had as he hunted her down and violated her mind.
And then, beside him, she spun up a second illusion of a middle-aged man that looked a little like Sebastien, but with a confidence that came from sheer overwhelming power and a jaded look deep in his eyes that came from having lived too long and failed too many times. She didn’t know what Myrddin looked like, but she imagined him something like this.
Myrddin reached out and crushed Thaddeus with a single gripping motion, turning the man into a small black ball of burning coal.
Something inside Siobhan unclenched slightly, but it wasn’t enough.
Myrddin disappeared in a spray of glowing particles, and her shadow rose up in his place. It took her form, with its eyes glowing amber, and smiled at Thaddeus with a distinctly sadistic glint.
Then, a black hole opened up without warning beneath the man and dropped him directly into the spirit realm. The hole disappeared as quickly as it had formed, and she imagined Thaddeus on the other side, screaming in horror as his mortal body began to succumb to the effects of the spirit realm.
Without a piece of something like Claudio to use as a component in a spell to stay whole while traveling where he was never meant to go, and without her mom’s mirror to give him a way out, how could he possibly survive?
That poisoned spot in her core eased a bit more. She half-collapsed into a squat, hugging her knees, and cried—quietly at first, and then with great, wrenching wails that made her voice hoarse and gave her a headache. No one would hear her.
After a long while, she looked up, watching dust motes float through the air in a beam of light through the roof window. Slowly, as if her body’s movements were lagging behind the instructions from her mind, she used a handkerchief to wipe away her snot and tears.
Siobhan let out a deep breath, rested her cheek on her knee, and stared up at the sky through the angled window. “If there is a next time, I’ll kill him,” she promised herself. “I won’t be hurt again.” Even slower, each word clear and distinct, she repeated, “I will kill him. I can kill him.”
Author Note: Remember, no chapter next week as I'm taking the first Thursday of the month off, but I'll be back again on Thursday the 14th.
Guys, if you have been reading something enjoyable lately, please recommend it for each other (and me) so we can have good stories to tide us over while waiting. Also, I've got a Recommended and Similar page on my website that might have some stories you'll enjoy if you like PGTS.
Weekly chapter discussion thread on the Alcove: https://alcove.azaleaellis.com/t/chapter-290-weekly-discussion-haunted/928