Chapter 9
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To Err Is Human
Tìr Bruadar is an odd realm. A corner of space in which almost anything is possible. It is at the nexis of the planes of possibility and impossibility, of material and immaterial, of cognisance and incognisance. Truly, it is an incredible place, full of possibilities and dangers; both of which are often overlooked as it is also the place which sleeping souls venture to in their dreams. Familiarity, it is said, breeds contempt.
I was surprised, therefore, when I witnessed a demon - a creature who is soulless, able to attack Eoin in his sleep. My whiskers rose in startelement when this demonic general appeared and transfigured what would have been a sweet dream, filled with wistful recollections, into a twisted nightmare, designed to confuse and torment.
To top it off, this interloper used the tenuous connection that had been formed when Eoin killed the wolf, infected with a demonic madness, to not only torture my human-self but also threaten him in such a way that, despite the realms natural defence of forgetfulness, he would still recall it when returning to the waking world.
As soon as I asked myself, why can this soulless demon enter the plane? I knew the answer. Demons were like leeches that stole the souls of those they killed; destroying them, tearing them into shreds and digesting them.
In this way, they were able to gain the perverted illusion of a soul, the strength of which was used to classify and compare. The more souls one destroyed, the higher in demon society they became and the more power they gained.
This allowed demons of sufficient power to enter Tìr Bruadar, though not without difficulty as sleep was not natural for their kind. The demon who, for some reason, was so fixated on killing Eoin, had tracked him down in his sleep and imposed upon him a deadline. A time by which they should meet and fight to the death, lest his family be slaughtered.
Why?
This time, there was no answer forthcoming, no information dancing irritatingly at the edge of my awareness. For although I comprised the entire universe and everything in it, the thoughts of others were not within my domain. Thoughts, afterall, are not physical, they do not exist within this reality - if they did, I would have been destroyed at the turning of the age, when the void was both nothing and everything.
I found the absence of immediate knowledge at once both exciting and unnerving.
Excitement sprung from the unknown; throughout my short existence I had been trying to limit myself. Hell, the body of a cat which I had chosen to inhabit was one such limitation which added a new perspective to the universe.
It was unnerving as, up until this point, I had found nothing that, if I tried, I couldn’t bend to my will. That said, surmising this demon general's motives from his past actions was well within my abilities… and yet, I hesitated to do so.
I was curious as to why an invader on the planet of Gaius was targeting my human incarnation when, truth be told, he was nothing special.
Eoin wasn’t impressively strong, he wasn’t skilled enough with a sword to come close to threatening the demon, and, although he was gifted with great magical potential, he knew nothing about the art of the arcane. The boy was years away from even being considered competent by the lacking standards of the relatively young civilizations of Gaius.
Unless… There was only one thing about Eoin that was particularly special, his soul. The part of me that had created it had done so with the intention of it being able to endure a hundred mortal lives without being washed clean in the cycle of reincarnation.
But if the demon was after his soul, why not just hunt him down and try to take it? Why the theatrics? I wondered, as I tore open a hole back to my perch above the world of Gaius.
I decided to ponder this as I returned to my vigil. Eoin was just waking up and my curiosity was roused. What will he do next?
✯
Eoin came to, not in a burst of fright and adrenaline as one might expect, but in slow stages. The memory of his nightmare was fleeting, the details fluttered away long before he was fully continuous, but one memory remained. He had to return home for the first day of spring, he had to fail his quest.
A year spent away from home, seeing the wider world firsthand, was said to turn a boy into a man but no man would turn his back on his family. Eoin recalled the barest edges of what that towering demon had subjected him to and, as the layers of sleep slowly peeled away, tears filled his closed eyes.
The feeling of watery frustration slowly unwelding his sleep filled eyes and dripping down his cheek was the first thing Eoin was conscious of. The second was the shuffling wool that moved beside his entire length as he stirred. Its roughness was harsh against him but its warmth, comforting.
Eoin was grateful for Reithe’s presence. He took several minutes to put his mind in order before it could truly accept he was awake. Once the trauma of the night had settled, for the time being, Eoin was able to question where he was and what was happening.
The last thing the young man recalled, he had agreed to join another seventeen year old, a Shepherd like himself, in a journey to find the cause of the plague which took his parent’s lives. To that end, they had traveled to the hidden home of a Witch who had been blamed for the ordeal.
That was when things became hazy and Eoin’s head hurt as he struggled to remember what happened next. After a moment, the fog of recollection cleared. He had been engulfed in a miasma of rage and, as a result, had attacked the woman Dorcha claimed to be a Witch without hesitation. Now, with a clear head, he felt horrible for his actions.
Eoin had drawn his sword. Before he could work himself up into a panic, he recalled the events that followed. Despite being attacked by a deadly weapon, he had been bested easily by the unarmed woman; blood rushed to his cheeks as guilt was replaced by embarrassment.
The rest of the events that occurred slowly returned in the minutes that followed. Eoin had thought that his head was hurting from struggling to remember the day before, but even when he relaxed, having regained most of his memories, the pain persisted.
In fact, it grew as the layers of unwakefulness finally fully subsided. It was the overwhelming sensation that came with his awakening to the magical world.
Eoin’s now open eyes stared up at the rafters and he could see the faint yellow glow of, what he assumed was, some kind of life mana that still resided in the wood. His ears assailed by the spinning winds which licked across his skin with each sleeping breath Reithe took.
Speaking of his skin, it too was inundated with sensation. The straw of the cot, into which both he and his sheep were squished, pricked at his skin - the feeling of its mana a mix between the tickle of gentle summer grasses mixed with the stale dryness of a sandy desert.
The shout of crackling fire enticed him with its inflammatory secrets, even in this quiet room at night, it was nearly too much.
Eoin closed his eyes once more, seeking a respite from the overwhelming nature of this magical world which had continued to attack his mind with its vastness. Surprisingly, after a moment to breathe, the pain that had been building in his head - a sensation much like a hangover - receded somewhat, until it was bearable.
Somehow, Eoin’s mind was able to ignore the overstimulation he was feeling, though if he was distracted by any of the sights, sounds, or smells that the mana of this world gave off, the headache would begin to return.
Eoin had no idea how he achieved this, the technique just seemed to come to him. However the young man had gained the skill, he was not inclined to look too closely into the mouth of this gift horse.
Now that all the new sensations were able to be ignored, Eoin focused back on his regular senses. He looked out over the edge of the bed and into the room in which he found himself.
It was small, no larger than his own home’s main room, though it was much better appointed. Eoin recalled that this building was made of clay brick, an oddity in Caorah - an area filled with slate.
The inside walls were clad in wooden panels, stained a dark colour. This gave a far more grand appearance than the sheepskins which coated his walls back home. There were even glass windows, through which Eoin would have been able to make out the night’s sky if another fog hadn’t rolled over Hoofstuck marsh.
Beneath the window was another straw filled cot, in which Dorcha slept soundly. Eoin let out a sigh of relief, glad the lad was unharmed.
There were a series of wooden cabinets and tables made as a part of a set, with ivy themed carvings skirting their edges. It spoke to the occupant's wealth, as did the silver jug and mug that had been placed on a table near the head of his bed. The polished pair reflected the warm light of a fire that blazed beyond the foot of his bed in its stone-surrounded place.
Feeling an acute thirst, Eoin reached a hand out of the bed and poured the contents of the jug into the chalice-like mug. As he did so, Eoin noticed that he wasn’t wearing his thick winter coat, and that after several days on the road his armpits had become quite ripe.
The liquid that poured forth was crystal clear and made Eoin feel the dryness of his throat as he swallowed. The sound of the water drew his attention to the other sounds in the room. Eoin concentrated, not wanting to open his ears to the constant whispers that the mana in all things gave off.
Besides the pouring of water and the crackle of fire there was another sound, one unfamiliar to him.
Tick.
Tock.
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Tick.
Tock.
Tick
Tock.
The sound came in a slow and rhythmic mana. Eoin’s curiosity one out over his thirst and he set the silver drinking vessel back on the side table as he scanned for the source of the noise.
After a moment of searching, unwilling to leave the warmth of the rather cramped bed, Eoin finally concluded whatever it was, it wasn’t coming from his side of the room.
With a sigh, he heaved himself onto an elbow, so he might look over his sleeping friend, to the other side of the room.
From right to left, there was:
* A charred bookshelf, filled with the sodden remains of books.
* A map of the Island of Caorah, about his height in size, plastered to the wall.
* A desk covered in scraps of paper, again showing signs of both fire and water damage.
* A Witch sitting in her arm chair and staring at him intensely.
* A large brass pendulum which swung freely and clicked at the apex of each swing.
This last was the source of the mysterious ticking he had been hearing and it stole Eoin’s attention. The young man had never seen anything like it. It was held off the floor by a simple wooden frame and was attached to a dial by a series of gears—
Wait? Eoin thought as his tired mind finally caught up to the second to last thing on his list. Slowly turning his head back to the left, Eoin confirmed that he wasn’t mistaken. There was indeed a Witch, the same one who he had attacked and whose house this no doubt was, staring straight at him.
Eoin paled as guilt filled his heart, and he found himself unable to meet the woman’s eye. He looked over the rest of her face, trying to determine her mood, but her features were stoney and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t break through the facade to see the emotion beneath.
After she confirmed that he was looking at her, she patted the chair next to her, indicating that he should sit.
Not wanting to disobey the woman, not only because of her power but because she had clearly been hospitable to both himself and Dorcha - despite the fact that they had attacked her unprovoked - Eoin pushed himself out of bed with a silent groan and plodded his shoeless feet over around the room and towards the Witch.
His steps were shuffled, his eyes shifty, as he approached the nobly dressed woman, uneager to learn his fate. When he came within a few paces, into an area defined by its two plush, red armchairs with a table between and a woven carpet beneath, Eoin noticed an odd sensation brush over his skin.
It took him a moment to realise that the sensation came from his new found sense, that of magic, and it took him a moment more to relax his rampant mind as it began to question just what that feeling meant.
Luckily he was able to reign in that impulse before the splitting headache could get any worse. The woman, whose name Eoin didn’t know, cocked her head when she saw him wince in pain as he crossed the boundary, she muttered something as he awkwardly sat.
A silence fell upon them as she dropped the matter and returned to staring at the young man icily. The guilt of his actions weighed heavy on Eoin as he sat there, squirming. He was shaking by the time she finally spoke.
“I am Celyn Cailleach,” she began.
Eoin sighed inturnaly, relaxed slightly, and mopped at the cold sweat that had formed upon his pale brow. If she was introducing herself, that probably meant she wasn’t planning to eat him.
“The Witch,” Celyn finished.
At this, Eoin’s back straightened and he felt like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a wolf. Up until this point he hadn’t been sure but now she had confirmed it he didn’t know what to think. Witches were evil, everyone knew that. The stories the hardy people of Caorah told always said so. There couldn’t be smoke without fire, there had to be a reason they had such a reputation.
“I’m sorry,” Eoin stammered, the mixture of fear and guilt forcing the words out.
Nothing up until this point seemed to have fazed the stern woman but this actually seemed to startle her. Mrs. Cailleach’s stoney exterior cracked slightly. Seasing the opening, words began to pour out of the young man like water from a carafe:
“I’m sorry, I never meant to attack you, I wasn’t even supposed to draw my sword unless I was in a life or death situation, I don’t know what came over me, I mean I saw that angry red mist but I don’t understand what happened, please don’t hurt me or my friends, I was just trying to help, Dorcha over their, he’s like me but not, I heard his story when I found him, I mean I found him and I wanted to help, his family, they all died and there was a plague and the people said it was a Witch and I’ve heard the stories, everyone knows a plague is exactly the sort of thing a Witch would do and I’m sorry and I didn’t want to hurt anyone…”
Once the dam was broken, everything spilled forth and Eoin had to hold himself back from tears. Although he was now officially a man, he was still young. The events of the past day, combined with the vague outline of the dream that still lingered at the back of his mind, all conglomerated. It was just too much for the young man.
Celyn was taken aback by this sudden onslaught and now she looked to be the one taken aback, uncomfortable with her situation. That was until Eoin stopped rambling, sucked up a tendril of snot and asked a question.
“Why can’t they hear us?” Eoin asked, having noticed that, despite his outburst, neither Reithe nor Dorcha had stirred in their sleep.
Venting like that had actually helped the young man and as soon as his mind was given the slightest bit of room it started thinking of an endless stream of questions once more.
“Errr,” Celyn began adroitly before her face hardened and her cold demeanour returned. “That is because of the sound ward that surrounds us, you noticed it as you walked in.”
“Oh yeah,” Eoin replied, trying not to think about it, knowing if he pondered too long on the spell which surrounded them he might try and peer once more into the unseen. Not wanting another bout of migraines, Eoin changed back to the topic at hand.
“Despite not being in control of my actions, I’m sorry for what I did and I am prepared to accept any punishment you deem necessary,” Eoin said sincerely, bowing his head to the Witch.
“Any punishment?” Celyn asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes,” Eoin confirmed, without hesitation. Now that much of the emotion which grasped his heart had streamed away, he was far more resolute.
The Witch, Celyn Cailleach, was actually impressed by this boy's response, though one wouldn’t be able to tell from her expression. Having briefly lost control after being caught by surprise at his apology (as long as she had lived in Caorah she had never received such a thing) Celyn was determined not to allow her schooled features to slip once again.
She had been planning to force him to work as an apprentice until she decided whether or not he was suited to her style of magic, the potion she had made would insure compliance, but upon seeing that he was offering himself up she wondered if she should be more lenient. Maybe she could pay him for the work she would have him do?
Eoin was starting to squirm in his seat as the silence dragged on, he was never one to sit still at the best of times. Unable to take it, he asked another question.
“What is that thing?” he asked, pointing at the swing pendulum.
“Hmm,” Celyn said, returning from her pondering, “Oh, that's just a Pendulus Magicuni, that’s what my teacher called it,” she said, somewhat offhandedly.
“What does it do?” Eoin followed up after another brief pause.
“It swings in time with the amount of mana in the area, the more, the faster it swings. It nearly broke with the events that transpired yesterday.”
“Oh,” Eoin replied, then murmured, “guess that means the sound ward only works one way.” The continued ticking had drawn his attention in the quiet of the firelit room.
Celyn smiled slightly at that, though it was nearly imperceptible.
“I have decided upon your punishment,” she declared, before Eoin could get distracted by something else, “You serve as my apprentice for a year and a day, in that time you shall do everything I say, without question,” on this point she was rather firm.
Eoin moved about uncomfortably when he heard the judgment.
“If you have something to say, then do so,” Mrs. Cailleach said, with some flinty hardness entering her voice, “Do you not stand by your word?”
Eoin tried to say something but found his throat quite dry. He swallowed. Noticing, Cailleach poured a goblet of water from the jug on the table next to her and thrust it into the young man’s hands. Eoin was going to protest, but when he looked over to the cup he had already filled, it was missing.
Furrowing his brows, Eoin drank the refreshing liquid before dismissing the issue.
“I fully intend to honour my word, and that’s the problem,” Eoin began, “I promised Dorcha that I would help him find the cause of the plague that spread through his village and I can’t do that if I’m stuck here.
Don’t get me wrong, I would be delighted to learn from you - it feels more like a reward than a punishment. I know I have some connection with manna and I would like to learn to be safe, I have already experienced what it is like to use a weapon you don’t know how to,” he said, looking at the bandage on his arm.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
“It’s a struggle just to ignore all the sights, sounds and feelings I can only assume are connected to magic. And you don’t seem as evil as I was expecting, I mean you didn’t ask me to fetch newborns for your supper,” Eoin said with a chuckle, trailing off when Celyn didn’t respond.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
“Yes, you do seem to have some aptitude for magic,” Celyn began and Eoin’s face lit up, “And you will need to be trained, so you are not a danger to yourself and others… any more than you already are,” his face fell slightly at the reminder of his actions.
“But that doesn’t mean I would keep you locked up here doing chores. When your friend, Dorcha, came here the first time he said that this plague was magical–”
“He’s been here before?” Eoin asked, confused.
“Yes,a few days ago,” Celyn responded, before continuing and ignoring the look of shock and puzzlement that crossed the young man’s face upon hearing this, “As I was saying, a magical plague is exactly the sort of thing I, as a Witch, am duty bound to investigate. We get our power from nature and something like this twists it, it cannot stand.”
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Eoin took a moment to pass what she said. When he did he replied, “Then I can agree to your terms, there are no other conflicts,” he did not however disclose his plans for the coming spring. The thought of it made his stomach drop, he would have to learn everything he could about magic in the short time he had to hopefully stand a chance against that demon.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Is it just me, or is that Pendus Macani thing getting faster?” Eoin asked, finally recognising the sound.
“Pendulus Magicuni,” Celyn corrected before thinking about what he said, “That is curious, I can’t think of anything that would–”
Before she could finish the thought, something caught her eye. A black mist was slowly seeping out of Eoin’s body, only visible to the magical eye. Its aura, heavy and sinister.
As the Ticking and Tocking grew louder and more insistent, Eoin’s nerves began to rise. Was this another dream? When he turned back to Celyn, intending to ask what she thought the cause of this was, he was shocked to see that her eyes were glowing a bright purple.
As he watched, lightning began to crackle around her arms as a thunder cloud manifested above her head.
“Wait,” Eoin said, raising his arms in a feeble attempt to protect himself. Has he been wrong about her? Was she just playing with him? That’s certainly something the sort of Witch he knew from the stories would have done.
Before Eoin could act, electric death burst forth and enveloped him.