Chapter 22

Tutors II

Malacoda yawned, stretching lazily as Mags stared at the silvery text still dancing in her vision. He had just spent the better part of an hour drilling down in the different Attributes—what each one meant, what impacted the level of each Attribute, and a general overview of how to use Yggdrasil’s “system” as he referred to it.

Additionally, she had asked about her Reserves Attribute. “It says my Reserves Attribute is Level E-1 but has an Effective Attribute Value of E-3 . . . What does that mean?”

“Yup, I was getting there,” Malacoda said. He was busy rotating his shoulders one at a time. “Your Reserves Attribute is still actually Level E-1. But for all intent and purposes, it’s Level E-3. Something is increasing its value artificially. Are you currently holding onto any enchanted items, armors or weapons?”

“Er, no, I don’t.”

“Often times, Soulsingers use Artifacts to improve their Attributes. So long as they have equipped or are wielding the Artifacts in question, they will effectively have the Attribute level reflected in by Yggdrasil as the Effective Attribute Value.”

“But I just said I didn’t have any Artifacts on me.”

“Right. The other manner Attributes are artificially affected is by Shedim.”

“Shedim?” Mags had never heard of that term before.

Malacoda’s eyes flashed. He crossed his arms and jutted out his chin. “Shedim are the entities that exist within the Aethereal Sea. Sometimes they are referred to as demons, but whatever they are, they wield immense power. Problem is, all that power is trapped in the aethereal plane. Once a Soulsinger gets powerful enough, they are capable of binding a Sheyd to themselves, gaining access to its power. For example, a Conjurer is called that because they are capable of summoning a facsimile of Shedim they’ve bound into the mortal plane.”

“So, Conjurers can also improve their own Attributes through binding these Sheyd demons?”

“Not just Conjurers. Any Soulsinger. But yes, bound Shedim offer a variety of benefits to their Soulsingers, including unique powers. A battle between Soulsingers is often times understanding the rules and mechanics of the other’s unique abilities more than it is a bout of raw power.”

Mags’ mind reeled, trying to keep up with the torrent of new information and its implications. “Am I bound to one of these Shedim, then?”

Malacoda pursed his lips. “Mmm, probably not. But I suspect that Angel you’re hosting is functioning in a similar manner.”

Her mind buzzed with questions, but before she could ask any, Malacoda cut in.

“Now that you’ve got access to Yggdrasil, that’s a start. But we need to work on improving your Spiritual Attributes, especially Control. There is no point in having power if you can’t do anything with it.”

Mags nodded hesitantly.

Malacoda grinned as if he could read how nervous she was. Was she being that obvious? “Control’s everything for a Soulsinger. Without it, a Soulsinger wielding fire could burn out in a heartbeat or blow up a city block trying to light a candle. We’ll start with that.” He reached into one of his many cloak pockets, rummaging around. “Now, where did I put—ah. Hang on.”

He frowned, moving to another pocket, then another. His face quickly melted into a frown as he stood there, hands on his hips, pondering something. “Wait here,” he muttered, walking across the deck. Mags watched in confusion as he scoured Skithbladnir’s deck, lifting random crates and barrels, muttering under his breath.

Finally, after a few minutes, he straightened up, something round clutched in his hand. “Found it!” He walked back to her and tossed the object lightly in her direction. “I knew I had tucked it away somewhere!”

Mags instinctively caught it with both hands. The sphere was about the size of a grapefruit, incredibly light, but it felt almost indestructible, as if it could withstand any blow. She turned it over in her hands, peering through its translucent surface. The inside appeared hollow, an empty void within the glass-like material. Although it was larger in size, the sphere object looked uncannily familiar. It reminded her of a day long ago. No. She pushed the memories down with a thought. Focus on the obstacles in front of you, she reminded herself.

She frowned. “Is this a Reverse Mana Orb?”

Malacoda chuckled, shaking his head with a raised brow. “Good guess, but not quite. This is a Daedalus Orb. Similar in some ways, sure. Like a Reverse Mana Orb, it can interact with mana and aura, but it doesn’t force anything. Reverse Mana Orbs drain you dry, triggering processes in your body whether you like it or not. This,” he tapped the orb in her hands, “is a training tool. It won’t do anything unless you make it.”

Mags nodded slowly, trying to absorb everything. “So... how do I make it do something?”

“That’s the tricky part.” Malacoda leaned against the railing, folding his arms. “Let me break it down for you. Mana is the natural energy your body produces—your life force, basically. It’s always there, always renewing itself, but it’s finite. When you channel aether, you burn through mana. The more aether you channel, the more mana you use. And once that’s gone, you’re in trouble.”

Mags listened intently, her fingers tracing the smooth surface of the orb. She knew the basics, but this was more than her mother and the other instructors at Soulgrave House had ever explained. A Soulsinger “burned” or expended their mana in order to channel aether in the environment. That much was a straightforward concept.

“When you channel aether, it creates a third type of energy: aura. Aura is what you actually use to cast Spells, as we call it. Think of it like a process: aether is a ship transporting power from the Aethereal Sea to your body—err—soul, your mana is the river used to transport that power, and the aura produced—and used to cast your Spells—is the freight fee for the transport. Does that make sense?”

“No. But I think I follow the gist of what you’re saying in any case.”

Malacoda growled in frustration. He scratched the back of his head. “I mentioned that I was never good at the whole schooling thing, right? Maybe Rubicante or Libi can do all this. . .” He waved his right hand about in the air. “Didactic theatrics!”

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“No,” Mags encouraged. “You’re doing great. I promise. Please, go on.”

“Really?”

No. “Yes!”

Malacoda’s face lit up. He stood straighter before continuing. Malacoda’s voice took on a slightly more serious tone as he continued. “The key to all of this is Control. You need to learn how to tap into your mana on command, like flipping a switch. Once you’ve got that, you can channel aether and produce aura. Then, once you can sufficiently control your aura, you can cast magic. The Daedalus Orb’s a great way to start. It has an aetheric field built into it, which means it produces a neutral, easy-to-control amount of aether. And if you can channel your mana into it, it’ll react. That’s your homework.”

Mags blinked. “Homework?”

“Yeah, you’ve gotta solve it. The Daedalus Orb is a puzzle, a mystery. Your job is to figure out how to make it work. Once you do that, we’ll move on to the fun stuff.” He winked. “Oh, and there’s another catch with your training, but we’ll get to that later. For now, put the orb away. It’s time for some combat training.”

Mags stashed the orb off to the side, tucking it away between a couple of barrels where is wouldn’t roll away and off the side of the ship. Meanwhile, Malacoda strode across the deck. He grabbed a couple of training swords from a nearby rack and tossed one to her. “Let’s see what you’ve got with a sword.”

Mags caught the weapon awkwardly. It was lighter than Mithra, her Ivaldi-wrought blade, but definitely heavier than the wooden training swords Vitomir had her and Sabo train with. The weight and balance took a quick moment to adjust to. She fell into a basic stance, her muscles remembering the drills Vitomir had taught her.

Malacoda didn’t waste time. He launched forward with a swift strike, and Mags barely managed to parry, the impact jolting her arms. She danced back, regaining her footing as he pressed the attack.

“We’re fighting,” Mags stammered, “with real blades?” Another strike from Malacoda, another parry. He was very, very fast—far faster than any opponent she’d faced before. And, rubbing salt in the wound, looked utterly bored.

“Don’t worry, the blades are dulled for training. And I won’t strike you anywhere that could kill you. Worst case scenario you end up with a lot of bruises and a broken bone or two. Scar will fix you right up.” Mags thought of the strange masked man from the previous night. She wasn’t sure she wanted him any where near her. Best to avoid getting hit, then, she thought.

Without another word, Malacoda lunged forward again. She countered one of his strikes, managing to push him back a few steps. A flicker of a smile crossed Malacoda’s face.

“Not bad,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “You’ve got some skill. Let’s see how you handle this.”

He switched to a different stance, and the next strike came even faster. Mags struggled to keep up, her parries becoming more desperate. After a few minutes, Malacoda knocked the sword from her hands with a swift disarm.

“Alright,” he said, tossing the sword aside. “Swordplay’s decent, but we’ve got a lot of work to do. Let’s try something else.”

He grabbed a spear from the weapons rack and handed it to her. Mags took it hesitantly, unsure of how to properly hold it. Malacoda grinned.

He took a wider stance, his left foot behind his right. “Take more of a rear-weighted stance, and hold the spear like this.” Mags tried to mirror him as best as she could, but the weapon felt awkward in her grasp. “Don’t worry, you’ll pick it up.”

He was wrong.

The spear felt awkward in her hands, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t land a hit on him. Every strike she attempted, Malacoda dodged easily or deflected with minimal effort. She would over-extend herself, and he didn’t hesitate to take advantage. After several minutes of fruitless attempts, Malacoda finally knocked her to the ground with a quick sweep of the spear. This was after several whacks to her back, side, and arms. She could already feel the welts and bruises forming under her clothing.

“Yeah, we’ll definitely need to work on that,” he said, shaking his head.

Mags groaned, picking herself up off the deck.

Next, Malacoda set up a target on the far side of the deck and handed her a bow and a quiver of arrows. Mags had shot a bow before, so she felt more confident in the exercise, even if she knew it wasn’t her strong suit. Sabo had always been better with a bow. She nocked an arrow and aimed carefully, releasing the string with a satisfying twang.

The arrow hit the target, but not in the center. She shot again, and again, each arrow finding its mark, but none hitting the bullseye. Malacoda watched her silently, his expression unreadable.

“Not bad,” he finally said. “We’ll work on accuracy later. Now, hand-to-hand.”

Mags’ stomach dropped. Hand-to-hand combat had never been her strong suit, even in her days at Soulgrave House. Vitomir had always focused more on weapons training, and she’d only learned the basics of unarmed fighting. And that had been years ago.

Malacoda didn’t seem to care. He squared up with her, motioning for her to attack. Mags hesitated for a moment, then lunged forward, aiming a punch at his midsection.

Malacoda sidestepped easily, catching her arm and flipping her over his shoulder in one smooth motion. She hit the deck with a thud, gasping for breath.

“Get up,” he said, his tone casual.

Mags groaned, pushing herself to her feet. This time, Malacoda instructed her to start on the ground, behind him with her hands around his waist. When asked why he would start in such a prone position, Malacoda explained that it was good to start in a variety of different positions in order to get experience in different combat skills. “You won’t always be fighting on your feet. A lot of hand-to-hand combat ends up on the ground.”

On his signal, she tried to flip him, similar to what he had just done. But he was too quick. Faster than she could follow, Malacoda had slithered out of her grip and was behind her. He had his arms and legs around her outstretched arm, straining her shoulder joint to the point of agony. If he pulled at all, she knew he would dislocate her shoulder. She desperately tapped on his arm. “Yield!” she exclaimed.

He let go and she rolled over, savoring the relief in her arm and shoulder. “Again,” he said, effortlessly rolling onto his feet.

This time, they started on their feet again. Mags didn’t hesitate. She sprang forward and threw a kick at his legs. Malacoda blocked it effortlessly, sweeping her legs out from under her and sending her crashing to the deck yet again.

“Hand-to-hand is your weakest area,” he said, standing over her. “We’ll need to focus on that as well.”

Mags lay on the ground, panting. Her entire body throbbed all over. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take.

“We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us,” Malacoda said. “But I’ll make sure you’re ready for the test.”

Mags blinked up at him, still catching her breath. “The test? The Trials at Brightwash?” Sarto had mentioned something about the first semester being an extended entrance exam period for the students who’d been preliminarily admitted to the military academy.

Malacoda chuckled. “No, you have to pass my test first,” Malacoda said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Sarto’s given me orders to test you at the end of the three months we have together.”

Mags felt a chill run down her spine. “And what does this test entail exactly?”

“A fight. You and me.”

Mags chuckled herself at that. “You really expect me to be able to fight you with only three months of training?”

Malacoda’s face split into a wide, crooked smile. “Indeed, I do! And we will be using our Soulsinging abilities. If you win—”

“You expect me to not only fight you, but win?”

“I’m going to handicap myself appropriately of course. But yes, in order to pass, I expect you to win!”

Mags was dumbstruck. She considered this new information and the challenge presented to her.

“If you pass, Sarto’s plan will continue its course and you’ll enter Brightwash Military Academy.” Malacoda’s voice was grim. “If you don’t . . .”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. Mags understood perfectly. If I don’t, Frey Sarto will personally carry out my death sentence.

She swallowed hard. Three months to train, to master powers she barely understood, and to defeat Malacoda in combat. Failure meant death. Success meant a future where she could continue to fight. To give those she lost meaning.

Malacoda met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “Let’s go get some food. I think you’ve earned it. You’ll begin combat practice with me tomorrow.” His eyes flitted to where the Daedalus Orb sat tucked away. “But until you master the puzzle of the Daedalus Orb, I won’t be training you in Soulsinging. The clock’s ticking, and I’ll be expecting you to use any time you have to complete your homework assignment.”

Mags nodded, her mind spinning. Not even a day into her three months with the Ghost Hounds and she was already on her back foot.

Mags grabbed the Daedalus Orb and joined Malacoda’s side as the two made their way to the mess hall. Malacoda was polite enough to slow his pace to keep up with her sore limp. As they walked, Mags let her mind drift. Her fingers brushed the cool glass surface of the orb. Three months, and I’m already behind.