“The many-sided moon demons?” I asked, vaguely remembering him saying something of them before. I took another bite of my carrot - all I had left for food, for I had not brought dinner, and the dead had only worms for their meals.
“Yes. The Jaggothim, the many-sided beings who live on the moon. Once upon a time the moon was the abode of the immortals - built by their own hands, from its moon rock to its minarets - but then the moon demons arrived, and drove them from their homes. Now it is a wild place, filled with weird creatures and wicked plants, and the only ones who live there are the Man in the Moon and the rabbit Osterhase, who pounds the elixir of immortality in solitude.”
***
One cannot, alas, negotiate with the many-sided beings who live on the moon. Legends say they can talk; and perhaps this is true, for legends always contain within themselves a kernel of truth. But if this is so, they have never been seen to exhibit this skill among the haunts of men or fey.
Other stories, more reliable, say they can be compelled or dispelled by those with knowledge of the appropriate rites, and unpleasant rumours swirl of manuscripts containing such rites. These, the stories say, are exchanged on the academy grounds after dark, when the scholarship grows far weirder and altogether more uncanny.
I cannot confirm or deny whether such unpleasant rumours are true; I can, however, confirm that on that day I was able to confirm that if such manuscripts are being exchanged, they are entirely useless. Even after being chanted three times, at increasingly loud and irate volumes.
By that point the hill that had been behind me was now a valley, and the manuscript that I didn’t have was so many tatters upon the earth. The many-sided beings who lived on the moon were all about me, whirling incoherently in and out of being, while I balled my fists in defiance. At last one deigned to step forward, twisting its head to reveal the darkness behind its face. It roared, a deep, guttural sound that I felt rather than heard.
A lesser academic would have run, for the sight of the creature portended nothing but Death - or, in my case, Re-Death. I, however, had spit in the face of Death when I was born, and am no mere academic, but a scholar. And so I girded the martial virtue required of all scholars, drew on the subtle, vital luminosity that lies within all things, and began to mutter an incantation-
***
“An incantation?” I asked. “As in, the words of power used in magic?”
“The very same,” the vampire affirmed, watching a gathering group of goblins.
“…You know magic?” I said, somewhat surprised; I had guessed, from his very presence, that magic might be real, but that the somewhat pedantic, slightly pompous scholar before me knew it was another matter.
“Of course; I minored in Science. Is that so strange? It is necessary for a student to have both breadth and depth, and know a smattering of that which is not his direct field of research; and what better for a student than Science, which after all claims to harness the eldritch forces of the universe for use in technics?”
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“…I do not believe that is what Science is.”
The vampire considered this. “You may be right. Some philosophers of science deny the existence of laws behind the eldritch forces, asserting that science is concerned only with specific theurgic techniques. Others say that it desires not the truth of its magical theories, but merely their ability to solve problems; and still others say it is nothing at all. But I prefer to follow the consensus on this matter.”
I groaned. “So let me get this straight. You fought them with magic - er, science-”
“Magic is a branch of science,” the vampire noted. “One of the four, which we call STAM - Stupa-building, Theurgy, Alchemy, and Magic… The secrets I was taught were in alchemy, however.”
And here the vampire paused, looking about the frostbitten hills in some irritation. I followed his gaze and saw that the handful of goblins who had been listening in had multiplied to a regular night parade of goblins and ghouls and ghastlies, all gazing at us in hawkish contemplation.
“It was in caverns dark and caverns old that I learned those secrets, from an ageless alchemist whose only temporal concern was the preservation of his privacy. The immortal glowed with fire and burned with light, and he claimed to be a human being. A dubious claim, to be sure, but one he took seriously,” and here the vampire’s voice took on a nasty bite.
“For once upon a time he smiled slightly, eyes misty, and told me that someday we may all be real boys; but he worried that too many would become donkeys upon the way. Doubtless because they were concerned only with the Land of Toys, and knew no more of diligence or respect.”
The watching spirits took the hint and, with nary a hee haw, went upon their way. The woods once more became as silent as the grave, the only sound that of a lost, lone whippoorwill on some long-forsaken hill; and the vampire resumed his tale.
***
I muttered an incantation and drew on that subtle, vital luminosity; there was a rupture and a tear and the front of the Jaggoth was rent apart, scattering sparks of light across the hills. The creature shrieked and swirled about, faces fading one into the other and claws circling like a storm.
The hills shimmered and glimmered and vanished within its faces, before the demon vomited out its fell load in a storm of refracted light and shadow. Lacking the time to block the blast I did a donkey roll - not being a real boy myself - dodging an attack from the other Jaggoth as I did. Backed up into a corner, I did the only thing I could: I executed the most valued role of the alchemist.
***
“Making gold from lead?” I said in some confusion.
“What? No; no one wants alchemical gold,” the vampire said vaguely, waving his hand. “No, the main reason you hired an alchemist in olden times was for his expertise in one very specific task — namely, the creation of cataclysmic explosions.”
***
Grasping at the subtle, vital luminosity, I twisted and pulled, intoning a wretched curse in an ancient, forgotten tongue. There was a moment of silence, and then the hills were consumed in a blast of flame, bits of moon demon raining down from the sky.
I burst into coughing, spitting bile as the feedback of the transmutation wracked my body. Nor was it with satisfaction that I looked upon my handiwork. The many-sided beings who lived on the moon never descended to earth; that they had chosen to do so now boded ill and, I suspected, was not unrelated to events in the Northern Wastes. Sighing, my head filled with vague dreams and foreboding premonitions, I continued to the city at the edge of the earth.