“That’s double awful!” Ms. Tara exclaimed.
Sheela made a face like she wanted to puke. “I am not going to fucking cycle that thing!”
“Well, all the impurities have been removed, you see? Do you know how large Titan poop can be? Do you know the process it goes through to become a Bleeding Hand? It is compressed tightly and squeezed until all the impurities are out of it. Then it is reshaped into what you see now.”
“Are you sure it was the poop that was squeezed out?” Csala asked, still laughing.
“Whatever…” Sheela muttered again in disgust. But she stood up and went to the side to begin her meditation.
Thankfully, Ms. Tara joined her without a protest. She had no qualms absorbing essence from The Bleeding Hand. He thought he’d have had to coarse her into doing it.
Jerome took Csala aside to discuss privately as the female Sprouts settled in for a long night of meditation.
“So?” he asked.
“What?” She looked at him as if she couldn’t be bothered by him.
“All three of you are acting rather nice and cozy with each other. I thought there’d be a little friction. What with you three just meeting?”
Csala looked at him as if he’d lost one and a half of his two brain cells. “I met Sheela a day or so ago.”
Jerome gave her a look that said, ‘you ain’t fooling me.’
Csala shrugged nonchalantly. “We’re women — beautiful women at that — with one man in our midst. We have to stick together just in case.”
“Just in case what?” Jerome asked. “You think I’d try something with one of you… or maybe you think I’d try something with you.”
Csala glared daggers at him.
“I know you can’t wield essence, Csala.”
Csala stiffened at that. She had suspected that he knew, but having it confirmed still made her wary and defensive. “What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice tinged with fear. If Jerome tried to take advantage of her, she’d bolt. He couldn’t catch her — probably.
“I was thinking about finding a way to help you with that. Maybe a binding of some kind that can help to gather essence for you to wield,” Jerome said with a thoughtful look on his face, seemingly not noticing anything out of the ordinary. “I haven’t worked on anything like that before but, I think I can manage it.”
Csala looked at him as if she was seeing a mad man. She had feared the worst, but it seemed her fears were unnecessary. She knew it was impossible for her kind to wield essence. She had tried and discovered long ago that she could only sense it. Essence was forever within reach but she was unable to hold it, talk more, use it.
“It’s not going to work,” she said, looking away from him.
“We’ll see.” He picked up a fallen branch and focused on it. With its weight, it felt like a twig in his hand.
“Are you really being honest?” Csala asked.
Jerome turned to look at her. He could see hope in her eyes, even though she tried looking nonchalant. “Hm-hm. It’s also gonna be a challenge for me…and I love challenges.” He smiled and turned back to the branch in his hand, extending his senses to scan the piece of wood.
“Take this,” he said, handing her a pack. “It’s bedding for sleeping.”
Csala took the pack and left him to his practice.
He took his time to slowly feel its surface. Then the inside, layer by layer; from the bark, sapwood, heartwood, and finally the pith. With a tiny push of essence — a trickle really, he covered the bark with his essence and attempted to push his essence into the wood. It disintegrated in his hand, turning to dust in an instant. It was unable to bear the potency of his essence.
“Maybe you should try with something bigger, Xerae,” Achilles chimed in.
Of course. He stood up and looked around. There was a fallen log of wood not far from his position and he went over to test his skill with it.
“Have you thought of a name for your spear?” Achilles asked.
I do have one in mind — Charybdis. Either that or Devourer. I’m not good with names.
Achilles chuckled. “I like my name.”
“Of course you do. You like being a pain in my ass.”
Achilles chuckled. “But I understand Charybdis…and your love for classical myths.”
“Ah, yes. I had nothing else to do but read in my previous life. In the Odyssey, Homer’s epic poem. Charybdis is described as a huge sea monster — or whirlpool — that was said to swallow oceans of water—”
“Oceans of water! Really, Xerae,” Achilles interrupted.
“Ahem.”
“Sorry…you may go on.”
“As I was saying… It swallowed ships, and even entire islands! A spinning vortex that posed a grave danger to sailors traveling across the Strait of Messina. Ships that came too close to Charybdis would be swallowed by the vortex and obliterated. Therefore, Charybdis was viewed as a devourer. A voracious natural force in Ancient Greek.”
“Of course this is all a myth, Xerae. As you yourself believe. If you don’t believe so, then I wouldn’t believe so either. After all… I’m inside your head. Ahahaha!”
Jerome scowled. Damn mind reading AI, he thought. How do you even know how to make jokes and understand humor? That sho—
“...Shouldn’t be possible?” Achilles asked with a chortle.
“Who are you talking to?” Csala asked from afar, breaking the awkwardness of the moment. Her voice still reached him, soft as a whisper even from a dozen feet away. “The bed is prepared.”
Jerome raised an eyebrow at that. “That’s actually yours. I’ll make mine myself!” Jerome called back. I gotta learn to do that.
“I hope to one day see ‘Charybdis’ — that’s what you're calling the spear, right? I hope to one day see it evolve into a massive sea monster; swallowing seas and islands,” Achilles mocked.
Shut the fuck up, Achilles.
Jerome knelt down by the log and placed his hand on it to feel it. As before, he extended his senses around and into the log. He could ‘see’ the beginnings of rot on its surface. The rot hadn’t eaten into the log but it was just a matter of time.
With a loud exhale, he pushed his essence slightly — a fraction of what he pushed into the branch. Jerome saw it in his mind’s eye the moment his essence seeped into the wood like ink staining a piece of paper. His essence was a foreign invader and the wood began to slowly disintegrate. Jerome pulled on his essence and twirled it around the bark. The bark of the wood was shaved off in an instance. The little bit of essence he used to achieve that didn’t dissipate which surprised him a little. He willed it to push on the log.
A slight depression was made on it and his hand sank a little into the wood, as if into a semi-solid material. Jerome smiled at the hand print that was left in the wood. He stood up and went back to camp to prepare his bedroll.
“Exactly how much can you do with your essence?” Csala asked, stomped at his display of powers. She must have seen the depression he made in the log.
Jerome just smiled at her. He wasn’t going to tell her everything about him. They weren’t friends so he had no reason to reveal secrets about himself to someone who had been trying to drain him of his vitality a few cycles ago.
Csala also didn’t ask again as she saw he wasn’t willing to share.
“So, how do I do what you do?” Jerome asked after they had rested a bit.
“First, what’s your understanding of psychic energy? I know you humans call it mental energy, but that sounds shallow. So we would use our word for it: psychic energy.”
Jerome nodded at her suggestion, grateful she cleared that up. She wasn’t wrong. Mental energy did sound shallow; it didn’t convey the depth and meaning of what it could do. “I know that psychic energy can be used to perceive things without the eyes — even through walls or solid objects. It can also be used to hold up, or carry solid mass.”
“Is that all?”
“Well, apparently it can be used to carry sound to someone's ear…” Jerome trailed off as he remembered the Sovereign and his daughter, Princess Aeldra, conversing without words during the Royal Banquet. “...and it can be used to communicate without words.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Hmmm. It can do a whole lot of things but your psychic energy is not evolved enough to do those things, even though it is very powerful,” Csala said, not surprised at him revealing that little bit of information.
Which meant that she could either do it herself or she knows it can be done. Which wasn’t surprising since succubi were one of the most powerful psychic species in Terra Praeta.
“So mine is like a big baby with flabby muscles?” Jerome asked jokingly.
Csala shrugged, smiling. “Let’s get to it,” she said, sitting up. “Sink into your mind and center yourself.”
Jerome did as she said, closing his eyes. He didn’t cycle — just sat there centering himself.
“Now imagine using your psychic energy with your voice. The vibration of your voice is the medium through which the energy would pass. You must preserve that vibration until it gets to your desired location.
“First start by humming. Loudly.”
Jerome hummed aloud, feeling the vibration of his vocals and transmitting his psychic energy to it. The ground beneath him shook and cracked underneath his bedroll as a result of his psychic energy being transmitted through his voice. The cracks spread outwards around him for at least three feet from end to end.
“That was too much,” Csala said. “If you had spoken, you could have destroyed my eardrums — if I was as weak as a human.” Csala mocked.
Jerome scoffed at that, looking over at Ms. Tara and Sheela to make sure he didn’t disturb them. He healed the crack underneath him so as not to cause a landslide. “So I just have to reduce the intensity of my psychic energy,” he said, more to himself than to Csala.
He hummed again, this time reducing his psychic intensity by more than half. He was going to have to figure out the limits of his abilities in relation to everything around him. This time the air vibrated around him.
“Hold it. Sustain it. Keep the pressure on your vocals stable, because your psychic energy can magnify the vibration in your voice.”
Jerome struggled to do as she instructed for a while. At times the vibration of his humming seemed to fade out a little but when he pushed, he caused the intensity of the vibration to increase. This continued for a long time before Csala switched to using speech.
Jerome understood the science of it all. Transporting the vibration through the air to his desired destination could be achieved, but he needed to work on his control of psychic energy. It always came back to control and fine tuning to use little to do more. But knowing how to do it, and actually doing it were two different things. What he ended up learning to do was how to make his voice louder even when he whispered.
“You’re doing good,” Csala said. “It took me almost a moon to learn how to project my psychic energy with my voice. But it seems you already know how to do it. Let it drift towards me; don’t try to force it.” Csala watched as Jerome tried and failed to project his voice with his psychic energy.
Jerome grunted in frustration. He had started by swirling the energy in his throat, then when he spoke, he visualized sending his voice to Csala’s ears. The vibration of his voice diffused in the air every single time, instead of moving in the direction he wanted it to. To his senses, it felt like he was trying to herd wind with ordinary hands.
After hours of practice, Jerome decided to rest. At least he’d learned how to magnify his voice, even if that wasn’t what he’d practiced for. He remembered Grogg, the Islander he fought outside Nandene. This was how he was able to magnify his voice. At the time, Jerome had thought it was something mysterious and powerful. He chuckled at his misgivings.
They had a long day ahead the next day and Jerome needed to conserve his strength if he wanted to fly all the way to the Northern hemisphere. He also had a feeling Ms. Tara and Sheela wouldn’t be here when he woke up the next day.
He got up and went to the edge of their camp. Squatting down, he began drawing scripts on the floor to create a domed shield for protection. But instead of using his hands, he used his psychic energy.
“It’s all about fine control,” he muttered to himself.
“Yes, Xerae,” Achilles said. “I’d teach you myself but I don’t have curves and a pretty face.”
Jerome chuckled at that. “You’re gonna hold that against me forever, aren’t you?”
“Your words, not mine, Xerae.”
Jerome worked around their camp, carving each intricate script in a circular network that spanned the area of three bedrooms. Next came the binding. He reached deep into the earth and pulled on rich mineral-filled rocks. Jerome pulled them up and began compressing and heating them up. The huge mass of dirt and rocks hovered a foot above ground, morphing and shrinking as it folded in on itself. Jerome removed all forms of impurities from the rock and flattened it, rounding the edges. He took a step back to admire the floating disc of black hard crystal remaining. It was quite big, big enough to be used as a plate. The black, glass-like surface of the crystal plate was beautiful and smooth, as if polished to a shine. A black diamond.
Quite impressive don’t you think, Achilles?
Achilles snorted. “Too big. A simple material binding should be able to fit in the palm of one’s hand.”
Say what you will. This is cause for celebration. So, this brings me up to Initiate, right?
Achilles snorted again. “Apprentice is all I can still afford you for this, my unruly pupil. I’m being very generous as you are yet to rune and empower the binding.”
Jerome scrunched his face in displeasure. He had wanted to ask Achilles to help him rune the crystal to create a proper binding. This was a part of the process he wasn’t sure of his skill. Achilles said nothing; just waiting to see if he’d ask. The damned AI could read his mind and always took every opportunity to take advantage of his thoughts but now that he needed his help, he was as silent as a graveyard.
So you’re gonna make me ask?
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Xerae. I’m still waiting for the completion of the binding though. I’ll just be here, encouraging you.” Achilles gave him the mental equivalent of a thumbs up.
An owl hooted in the distance. The sound was sustained longer than usual and ended with something that could only be described as the chirping of a cricket.
Strange.
“Chop, chop, Xerae. The Night Owl is a nuisance you don’t want in your camp.”
Jerome exhaled loudly, steeling himself. He noticed Csala watching the hovering plate curiously. He activated the runes in his eyes so he could zoom in to see every detail of the work he was about to do. Taking hold of the plate, he formed a thin claw of living steel on his right index finger and began carving runes into the top of the diamond plate — runes whose Authorities he was strong enough to contend with. Even with that he was sweating bullets a few seconds into the activity. It was like the runes were resisting him, trying to stop him by forcing the weight of their Authorities on him. Jerome knew all this was normal as he was still Sprout. He was like a toddler trying to physically move a big barrel filled with wine on his own. Yet he endured.
Each rune would be directly linked to the scripts carved around their camp, so as to create a feedback loop of essence and information. This would be done through electromagnetic waves in the air, which still have to be taught how to move due to the fact that electromagnetic waves only transported light and heat energy. However, a simple spell could make everything run smoothly. Hence, the runes would take a few loops to force the electromagnetic waves to comply.
Using scripts around the camp for the barrier and then runes for the binding may seem inappropriate to one with an unlearned eye. Runes were better at powering scripts than scripts since they held Authority. Also, if anyone with an eye for wards stumbled upon their camp and saw the scripts, they might think it was done by a novice. They would be in for an unpleasant surprise.
Jerome sunk each rune deep into the plate with his skill in manipulating earth essence. Then he gathered ambient essence into a ball, at the center top area of the plate, right above the sunken runes. The runes flickered, absorbing the essence and lighting up the plate from within. They would continue to absorb essence without his assistance until he decided to turn them off. He whispered his spell and the different network of runes and scripts aligned into an impregnable domain around their camp.
Csala gasped where she lay, sensing the instant change in the air. He looked at her and smiled but she huffed and turned away, making him chuckle in amusement.
The script around the camp hummed with the crackle of energy and a transparent, golden barrier flickered in place before dimming and turning invisible. Jerome sunk the binding into the earth in the center of their camp near the fire.
Csala snorted. “Was that supposed to be a barrier… flimsy.”
Jerome didn’t respond to her taunting. He knew the barrier was still there, just receded below the visible spectrum. He walked to the edge of their camp to survey his work. He touched the air in front of him and the transparent gold film appeared again before slowly vanishing. Csala walked up to him and did the same.
“The barrier is a transparent golden film that appears when touched,” he explained. “It wouldn’t easily be detected, unless someone comes in contact with it. Other than that, it is invisible to the naked eye. And since it’s powered by ambient energy, it’d be very difficult to perceive with psychic energy.” It would be up till dawn, when they rose to travel to the Northern hemisphere.
“Brilliant,” Achilles praised. “Took more time than expected but brilliant all the same.”
“Maybe you do have some skill,” Csala said nonchalantly, walking back to her bedroll.
Jerome nodded appreciatively. A domed shield like this could probably only be created by the best masters of wards in Vorthe; he didn’t know enough to judge, but he understood it would be the case. The knowledge he’d gained wasn’t common knowledge after all.
“It’s not just the knowledge you’ve gained, Xerae. Part of it is also your understanding of natural phenomena and the relationship of things that eyes cannot see in the world. I believe you call it physics in your former life.”
Jerome smiled at that. I wish I could take the whole library with me.
“You can, Xerae. Even Sanctum, if you had a void world instead of a void space.”
“But that’ll mean Terra Praeta…”
“Terra Praeta would stop shuffling people around. The main reason for that was to prevent those who weren’t chosen by Mother Nature, entrance into Sanctum. But now that Illyrrah’s Chosen as arrived, that function is not needed anymore.”
Maybe we should hold off on that for a while. It should be possible for me to come and go as I please, right?
“Good call, Xerae. And yes, it is possible. Also, if you want to stay in Terra Praeta after it ejects everyone else out, you can do that. But maybe follow them all out so as not to arouse suspicion.”
“That’s for the best,” Jerome said, walking over to the campfire. He stretched before lying down on his bedroll adjacent to Csala.
“Sleep tight,” Jerome said.
“Sleep tight? Is that something you humans say to each other when you go to sleep?” Csala asked, befuddled. She turned to face him, welcoming the warmth of the flame on her face. “One needs enough bed space to enjoy sleep, why tell someone to sleep tight?
Jerome smiled at that as he turned to face her as well, “It’s just an expression. You could say it means, ‘have a good night’s rest’.”
“Interesting…”
“Interesting lot you are, Xerae — you humans,” Achilles chipped in, earning a chuckle from Jerome.
“And what do you Terra Praetans say to yourselves before going to bed?” Jerome asked.
“I don’t know about all Terra Praetans as a whole, but we succubi say, ‘rest well’ or ‘good eve’.”
Figures, Jerome thought with a shrug.
“And when a loved one is sick and needs to stay in bed we say a prayer for them, ‘may Tialana’s affliction pass you by this eve’.”
Jerome could hear the pain in her voice. She must have lost someone dear to her. Maybe a sister. Were succubi even social creatures? Did they socialize with themselves? The only other succubus Jerome had come across had tried to take Csala’s body for herself to prolong her life.
“That sounds foreboding,” Jerome said. “Who’s Tialana?”
“...Good eve, human,” Csala replied, turning the other way. It had taken her a moment to speak those words because she didn’t want to sound wimpy. She was not going to appear weak, not before a man. Not before this man. He may have all the power now, but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had it.
Jerome sighed. The succubi had a lot of secrets they didn’t want, getting out. He understood the secrecy and he supported it. But it made holding a conversation stifling. And now she was back to calling him ‘human’. He turned to lie on his back and let the sounds of the forest lull him to sleep.