Seed 13
June 18th, 2032.
Going to see a healer in the Calafia Isles wasn't as different as one would expect from going to a doctor’s appointment in the Human Realm.
The Cruorpool Healing Ward was just as clean. But this was done using magic instead of disinfectants. The Craft of healing involves using khi to boost and enhance the natural processes of the body, redirecting energy paths, working smoothly with wounds and illnesses. Using certain elements as a catalyst, or for the more advanced, using pure spiritual energy to heal.
It was often a complicated balancing act, as bacteria and pathogens had their own life force that needed to be either stifled or boosted. Healing magic was used to stifle and kill off germs so the ward smelled earthy from the abundant plants. The walls themselves were painted in cool muted hues of blue, green, and purple.
The CHW, or Chwa, had a nice waiting room so I sat down next to Ultima. She was reading a newspaper made of shimmering paper. We were waiting for an appointment with a Healer Addams, who had taken care of my mentor’s health for years so was trusted with my own health with how most of my time was spent in the Woven Realm.
“It's a nice place.” I acknowledged the quality of their healthcare system, a knee bouncing as I fiddled with my belt.
“Appointment for Celia?” A nurse called out, a blonde pastel werewolf from the looks of things, fangs hidden beneath plump lips. Ultima paused her reading and stood. Placing a hand on my shoulder that grounded me.
“Yes.” I said meekly.
The werewolf smiled. “Healer Addams will see you now in room seven,” she motioned towards the double doors to the right of her station.
My mentor guided me through the doors, down the halls, and into a room with the number seven carved into it with claws. It looked like a fairly modern office, including a cushioned examination table. I examined a few posters of basic witch anatomy and the anatomy of otherkind.
It displayed the twenty extra phalanges, little floating bones which would slide in and out of the previous finger bone, their claw integrally attached to them. I could see their chambered stomach. I closed my mouth at the teeth and pummeling tendrils displayed within the processing chamber. I noticed some redundancy in anatomy displayed on the grotesque poster. The witch was pulling their skin off to reveal their beautiful insides.
Thumb-sized pumps along major arteries, inflatable digestive sacs along their two-chambered stomach, and subtly different joints and muscles, and I noted the spaces in their skull to house their semi-retractable fangs, and the reflective tissue in their eyes stemming from a… symbiotic organism lining their retina.
“I see you're interested in witch anatomy.” I flinched when I heard a voice slide into reality with their owner. The door silently shut where a witch was now standing. A short man with faded brown skin and inky black curly hair, dressed like an unsettling Victorian corpse painting. His face was all smiles with a single gold fang and a pudgy jaw, with a smell like smoke and brimstone, and honeyed pupils surrounded by black. He wore all black and I noted a whipping devil tail and horns.
“I am, it's different from what I'm used to.” I said honestly, lips tugged into a subconscious smile.
“Healer Addams is a pretty well-accomplished biologist and healing witch, there's a lot you could learn from him.” Ultima explained with… nostalgia I think?
Addams nodded with an unsettling smirk. “I've had decades of practice, from treating this one and her family, another generation is just more data for me.”
Ultima coughed and I narrowed my eyes. “Healer Addams, my student here just needs a full physical. She's human so having a more in-depth idea of what she needs on the Isles is important.”
Addams just gave Ultima a soft disbelieving look. “Of course, her name is Celia, is it not?” He gave the two of us a significant look I couldn't read. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen, I was born on… September 17th of 2013. By your calendar, it would be Novemes 17th of 5832?”
“I imagine dealing with a teenager is quite challenging I'm sure.” Addams was all sincere smiles as he gestured for me to sit on the examination table.
I did so, folding my hands together as I watched the healer look me over. “So what do you need?”
“I mostly need to ask some basic questions, allergies or health conditions, and so on.”
I nodded. “Pollen can be a problem sometimes. It's mostly just sneezing and coughing. But that's all.” Did being on patches count for anything?
“Have you had any reactions to anything local to the Woven Realm?”
“I know I have a very limited tolerance for food from the Nightshade family outside stuff grown for small children. Gargoyle meat makes me throw up rocks, and I have a list Ultima and I made.” I pulled out the list out of my utility belt, handing it out to Addams.
He raised a brow. “Quite detailed, and from the days marked on here you've been here for approximately four weeks?”
“Yep. We caught most of these reactions early on, and we do have some access to human food.” Ultima added her own info with a shy grin.
Addams lifted his arms, which began to swirl with elemental energies. “May I?”
He pressed his hands just short of my body, multicolored streams of light surging like fire onto my body. I could… feel my own body ringing like a bell, and he glanced at a pane of magic glass which began to fill with images.
“As I thought, it seems she lacks certain liver enzymes witches have to break down most natural poisons, and has a thinner stomach lining. So most foods that contain natural poisons would be an issue without more intense cooking.”
I felt uneasy. “Doesn't that apply to like half of everything in the Calafia Isles?”
Addams nodded with a grin. “Fortunately I've compiled a general list of foods you can digest. You don't seem to be suffering from any malnutrition, and while there are biological differences they are minor. Less organ redundancy, more slow-twitch muscles, built more for endurance than burst power.”
Ultima replied back. “We’ve written up some of those differences, humans are a bit fragile but take longer to get tired.”
“Anything else?” I asked, eyes darting back and forth across the face of the medical professional.
The healer nodded once more. “If anything changes. I'll write up a nutrient potion prescription to keep yourself healthy if needed. I'll also be prescribing a loken-inhame potion if that's something alright with you?”
Loken.
I went as stiff as a board, staring at the healer with a whine building in my throat, anxiety making my skin crawl and my heart beat like mad.
Ultima’s eyes widened with both recognition and… quiet joy. “So you're pretty certain about it working on humans as well as witches?”
Addams smiled. “My family has a long history, Ultima. Enough to have had humans as patients when natural portals brought them here, the data is a few centuries old but it's irrefutable, and well documented.”
“What is loken-inhame exactly?” I didn't enjoy being talked over.
“An ancient and well-established healing remedy for the loken who prefer a more feminine nature. It is rich in healing energies capable of reshaping the Self, as well as the needed physical precursors the body needs to change. It's only needed for one to four years before the body no longer needs it.”
“Y-Yeah. Give it… I want that, more than anything.” I wanted to cry, just for a moment.
Addams just gave a warm smile. “Then that would be all for now at least.”
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I closed my textbook shut when the door of my— Ultima’s house fell to reveal the pissed-off expression of Althea. Her jaw snapping in a snarl. She made a low growl that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
She marched forward wildly, lupine claws flexing out in anger. Ears pinned up in an aggressive motion. She threw herself onto the couch cushions on my left side, slamming her head into it, just short of touching my thighs. She screamed into the couch we were now both sitting or laying on.
The door silently shut itself, and I licked my lips at the spooky action. I had noted the strangeness of Ultima’s home, how it seemed to pulse with strange life and purpose, even the dimensions of the rooms seemed to shift from time to time.
“What's wrong Althea?” I asked bluntly, going for a direct approach.
She glanced up, pale gold eyes blazing with frustration and anger, kicking her legs up and down. Claws trembling against the couch. She just growled and I sighed and offered a hand.
Hers engulfed mine, and I noted how her hands and fingers were longer than human-typical for her height and size. She was about 5’9, yet her hands had to be at least eight and half inches in length, about an inch above average for a guy of her size.
I breathed out through my nose, goosebumps spreading out from where curling claws tugged carefully on sensitive skin, offering a strange but comfortable pressure.
I didn't hate it.
My amulet glittered in the light, and I swore I saw something within the facets of black carbonado.
Althea sighed but didn't leave me in suspense, gently kneading my hand. “I had a hard time at school, you know how it is. People our age find it fun to insinuate you being a heathen who's going to be put down by the Chantry. Doesn’t help that werewolves are often considered wild, and unpredictable. Especially one who hasn’t shifted yet.”
I felt my grip tighten. My face burned with rage, and I had a sudden urge to murder some people my age.
“Well, fuck 'em. They don't know shit about you, and your magic is amazing and beautiful. Being able to see and speak with the spirits the way you do is amazing. And you have Hakim now don't you?”
Althea lifted her head again, meeting my eyes with her own, a soft gaze I couldn't really read. “I do… and I've got you, right?”
My mouth went dry. “You do, it's uhh… why I've been doing research on chamán, seeing if there were any records of people like you.”
Althea just stared, pupils going wide and her wide lips peeling back to reveal a fragile sunny smile. “What did you find?”
“The Shamans,” I gestured to my book, which was written in Old Tongue and had many words clearly derived from native languages of California, as well as Spanish and Arabic. “Are witches of the wild, like the Smiths, the Weavers, they deal in the Craft of culling favor with the spirits to perform esoteric feats, acting as caretakers and guardians of both worlds. They have a soul able to invoke their power.”
Althea stood up, eyes wide as she leaned against the sofa, refusing to release her grip on my hand. “I'm… supposed to be a protector?”
“Well you can invoke spirits, can't you? It comes as natural as breathing?” I said easily. “All magic involves the spirits to some extent since they make up everything, but witches draw on their own energy instead of the spirits. Shamans are those able to directly negotiate with the forces of the Spirit, and that sounds important. It's often the purview of a really strong witch to be able to be a shaman.”
“I… so why are people so afraid of me?” I tightened my grip at the thick emotion in her voice. “If shamans are so important, and able to do what I do. Why do spirits need to be so controlled, why is my magic considered tainted?”
I grimaced. “Ultima remembers shamans being far more common in her youth, her Mentor was a shaman, an Elder who protected Caudalann from malevolent spirits and cultivated friendly spirits to shield them from harm. Many joined the Circles of the Chantry and were never heard from again… or were labeled lawless witches and executed. Ultima lost track of her mentor years ago, but kept many of his books on shamanism that he said would be important.”
Most of them were basic guides for new shamans, not for Ultima who was more of a dabbler who had established her domain and its house-spirit, a guardian for her home. Althea’s ears were pinned back, and I smiled to offer reassurance, despite how crooked and awkward it probably was.
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“I'm a shaman… and the Chantry denies our existence,” her voice was hollow. “What am I supposed to do?”
I squared my shoulders, trying to project confidence. “You've got a place here if you need one. Ultima knows a fair bit about the spirits, we’ve got the books from her old mentor. Worse case there are some places in the Human Realm that might be safe for you.”
Althea looked at me again, her eyes wide, and ears lifting up with a faint darkening of her cheeks. “You would do that for me?”
“We’re friends, aren't we? I… want you to be happy and safe.” I licked my chapped lips, trying to project as much reassurance as my autistic ass could manage. “You’re a shaman, which means you have a different way of expressing your magic. If I have the means to help you I should at least try right?”
Althea nodded quietly, her expression unreadable. “What did you have in mind exactly? I've been playing it by ear for years, but I seem to work with Evocation and Correspondence magic, I've managed to summon Otherkind pretty easily, I summoned a vengeful ghost once by saying her name a few times.” She looked uneasy. “But I'm not supposed to use more than one circle of magic.”
Concern filled me, while dabbling in more than one circle of magic wasn't illegal. It was discouraged. Only the highest witches were allowed the honor of being taught in all fields of magic.
“And? If you already can invoke them with your prayers… incantations can't you? That's still a good place to start.”
Althea nodded. “Anything else?”
I stood up from the couch, continuing to hold onto her hand. “We can take this outside I think. I can set something up.”
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My nose twitched as we found a small space on the outskirts of Ultima’s property. It smelled… wild, a strange clash of what I knew to be a swarm of eager, wild spirits. They had clearly been watching, and I felt my skin tingle with electricity.
Ultima said every living being could use their sixth sense, using their own soul to perceive magic, often abstracted through one of their main senses. She had been running exercises with me. On how to sense and channel the flow of my own energies.
The very basics of manipulating magic required it, an oddity one could feel under their skin and in the air, a sensation of power coursing through my body. But one could push their sixth sense to show them things relevant to their Craft.
Ultima had given me many examples, the existence of minor spirits everywhere and their general movements, symbolic representations of damage, seeing emotion, dreams or even the approach of death. It was a tool within the arcane machinery of the soul, the part of us that is more spirit than soul.
A city is a pile of bricks, I mused to myself. Complex networks of lesser spirits laced together to form something greater than the sum of its parts.
“So what kind of ways are you able to map out spiritual sensations? You've got the World Eyes as a shaman, so you can see them directly but what else?” The World Eyes was a more shamanistic variant of magical sense.
“Smell?” Althea muttered. “Yes, I can smell spirits. Fire spirits smell like charcoal and smoke, water spirits like a fresh spring or a salty breeze, lightning spirits smell like petrichor.”
I nodded. “Yeah, keep that technique in mind, it pays to be able to smell magic and spirits. I've started figuring out how to sense magic myself, since it doesn't involve extending my soul outside my body.” My soul was always touching and measuring the world, no human was except from that rule of reality. “Shamanism is heavily instinctual, you work the spirits to gain influence over reality. Just call out to them what you need, ask for their help. It's something you already know.” I was just giving her something more specific with the journal on shamanism that my mentor’s mentor had left behind.
Althea nodded, and I took a breath, in and out, remembering all the times my body had felt the call of magic. I remembered what Ultima had said about how the most basic magical sense is seeing magic as auras, the light of the soul. An extension of the self, the barcode of a living entity.
And it happened.
In my magical sight, in my sense of the spirits, Althea was utterly enveloped in a strange vaporous haze of aura, waxing and waning and rising and falling, that haze itself made of countless threads and strands weaving together like cloth. Her magic seeped into the ground and into the air, connecting her to the fine motes dancing in the air around her.
Spirits.
Althea cupped her hand around a spirit with a giggle, her magic gently caressing the spirit being who responded with a quiet pulsing chime. It was a spirit of earth, threads of rock and stone, of matted rust, firmly latched onto Althea’s hand.
It sang with a rumble of crumbling rock and shifting soil, and with a gentle pop it manifested itself into the material world, forming an outline of a humanoid figure made of rust-colored pebbles.
“Oops?” Althea said with a shocked expression spreading across her face.
“I mean you did it before with the tree spirits didn't you?” I wasn't telling her anything she didn't know already. Just giving her space to safely unpack it all.
The earth spirit rose quietly, forming eyes made of polished black stone, and it spoke in Old Tongue. “This one greets the Apprentice of the Wandering Abyss, you have done a glorious thing, telling the witchling of her heritage. Peace be upon you.” It bowed its head, with a rumble of rocking stones. “The False Martyr has taken much from us, to see a young shaman learning her truest Craft is a wonderful moment. Especially one of the moon-children.”
Althea blinked. “That’s not Common… but I can still understand it? Who's the False Martyr?”
“The true Earned Name of the Pale King, witchling. The mask he has chosen to bear.” The spirit spoke in Common, and the unadulterated hate was inhuman, a raging animalistic fury. “There are so few of us who Remember, hunted, culled or imprisoned, so we hide in the deepest wildernesses and the domain of free witches.” He gestured to a large boulder, about the size of a semi-truck. “There are no shamans to guard the two worlds, to protect those of spirit and flesh.”
“But I can become a shaman, can't I?” Althea’s magic went wild, spreading even deeper into the flow of spirits.
“It is a dangerous path if that is your choice witchling,” the spirit spoke honestly. “Shamans were deemed lawless, an insult to Calafia’s will, to let her flesh-less Children run rampant.”
Althea just gave a nasty fanged smirk. “Well, it's not like it would change anything for me. I was already a pariah before, it was only a matter of time.”
I blushed at her confidence, at how she stood so strong. She looked…
“So you're going to be a shaman then? You want to learn the Old Ways?” I asked seriously, knowing it was a big decision.
Her fists clenched as she chewed her lip. “I do.”
“So be it, and so shall it be,” the earth spirit spoke once more. “There is one lesson I must impart.”
“Yes,” I said as did Althea and the spirit grinned.
“The heart of Earth is Compassion.” The manifested spirit pulled back, collapsing down into nothing, and… was that…
“A glyph?” Althea breathed out in shock, and the symbol etched into the ground.
Well, well, well.
There was so much I still didn't know.
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“Back here again?” I said quietly as I sat down on the ashy sand surrounded by fields of dried mud and soil. I remember Althea making the choice of becoming a shaman and leaving her to her business of reading the journal on shamanism, and having her stay over.
I passed out on my bed and here I was.
Nothing much had changed, the same echoes of trees drifting in a silent breeze, and a golden sky painted with… were those eyes?
That was new, wasn't it?
Something drifted at the edge of my vision and my neck cracked in protest as I turned to face it.
“A glyph?” I said aloud, as the magical symbol lazily floated and bobbed in the air.
It was the glyph of water, of engua. I touched it, and shuddered at the feelings and sensations it gave, blood rippling. It was a relentless tide, push and pull, change, the flow of energy, it felt like family and community, Moon and Ocean, it was death, it was the essence of life, the ties that bind. I saw my parents and felt my eyes water at the phantom touch, three memories, all but one lost to me. It was love and connection. What held me up in this world, protected and guarded by family and friends. I pulled myself from the relentless tide, and moved away.
Water was an immovable defense, so I moved to its opposite in an unrelenting offense. Frazo, the glyph of Fire. Flames blanketed the glyph, banking against my soul, my stomach spilling out its insides. Fire was passion, it was power, determination, and the will to fight, live, and loyalty before all else, it was life and destruction, a duality of purpose, the fires that drive life forward.
It was what drove me forward, it felt like the manic energy and passions that made me feel alive, the love and protection that Ultima radiated with her every action. The loyalty Althea and Hakim gave me freely with no need for reward or words. That burning will that was Dinah’s heart and soul, hunting me for her people, for her clan and kin.
I smiled and let the glyph fall away, touching the newest addition, Erset, the glyph of Earth. Dust floated in the air, coagulating into hard stone and rock and I felt my bones ache and quiver. It grounded me, gave me a solidity of purpose binding me to the world. Earth was substance, diversity, and strength of tradition and ideals. The deals and contracts that bound a people together, chained under a heart of compassion. The endurance, resilience, and patience to take it step by step, the substance that laid the foundations of life.
It was Arali’s stubbornness, my mother’s resilience, Hakim’s endurance against ridicule, and Althea’s sturdy refusal to cease being herself. It was what kept me grounded, the sheer bloody-mindedness that kept my passions from burning out, kept me focused on magic, on learning about the world, and compassion before all else.
I didn't need to see… to know the void lingered between all of them, tiny knots of sifra glyphs defining, dividing, and divining the form of the Elements. The ontological emptiness from which Form could arise, the pale wisps of spirit, thought, and creative energy which I used to pull at the world.
It was that element that let me see the figure crouched over a transparent tree, aged and wrinkled branches spanning and casting a barely-there shadow. The same Starchild with gleaming tusks, the skin of segmented ribbons of starscape, and the aura that burned with Light.
I smiled carefully. “Hello again.” They jumped at my greeting, teeth chattering with the aching crackle of cleaving neutronium crust. “Your name was Chara wasn't it?”
The being shifted closer, the ground beneath her feet contracting and expanding at a glance, existing in more than four dimensions. They cleared their throat, a song ringing with the harsh notes of rust and screeching steel.
“You… remember me?” The voice that came out was feminine and youthful, with a hint of distortion beneath it. Not the voice of a child but not grown either, perhaps closer to my age?
I blinked, tilting my head. “When I'm here, yes, but it's foggy and distant when I am awake.” I rubbed my face as I thought about the implications of this place, why was I having these strange dreams, visions, walks through the ether?
“The void is the answer,” Chara said quietly but seriously, a bright hope lingering in eyes made of living stars. “It connects everything that Is, that is how you found this place, when holding the seven-fold key, following the void which is the connection, definition, division, and expression of the soul.”
“Seven-fold key, you mean the amulet right, that strange artifact?” I asked carefully.
Chara smiled warmly. “It is, it was made by my… mother a long time ago. I don't remember much, I just remember going to sleep for a long, long time and waking up here in this place between, without a vessel, without…” Her lip quivered and I could hear a heartbeat speed up, roaring in my ears as the ground pushed and pulled to the tune of the heart.
“I'm sorry,” I said, looking at the small being. “I'm not sure what you've gone through, but I'm sorry.”
Chara trembled, swallowed their words as I walked over to them, then lowered myself to sit down with them.
“Everything has moved on without me, I can only see fragments, the stars, and their children are empty, they sing no longer, and only remnants of their essence remain, echoing from the High to the Low.”
“I don't really know what that means,” I said bluntly, and her smile was heartbreaking. What had she lost to look so empty?
“I can't remember, but it was home, and now it's gone. And I'm alone.”
I don't know what came over me at that moment. But I took the being’s hands into mine, trying to offer comfort despite my own… foibles. Those starry constellations flashed bright in a blush, as I tried to ground her.
“Well,” I shrugged helplessly. “I can keep you company when I dream at least can't I?”
Chara smiled brightly, almost bouncing, her frame poetry in motion as stars danced and orbited on her skin. “I would like that, not sure there's much to do here though. My power is restrained here, muffled, silenced.”
What about the glyphs?
I cracked my knuckles and splayed out delicate precise fingers. Ruffled by the manual labor of crafting and constructing, with pits and lines of scars from clumsy mishaps and years of writing and drawing. Building hand-to-eye coordination was a work of pain, effort and love.
I scratched at the dirt, forming a perfect circle, willing my fingers not to tremble, not to mar my work.
There is a circle, the first step. Then a very slight upside-down parabola within the circle at the southern hemisphere, followed by three angled lines, spearing down to a second upside-down parabola which seals off the southern pole and extends past the borders of the circle for a mild distance before ending.
Earth.
To my surprise, the earth rippled into existence, a simple pillar of stone emerging silently into reality. I hadn't been sure it would work, with what I knew of magic and glyphs. Magic at all times had a connection to the threads of magic weaved by the spirits, which compose everything, so summoning earth would involve infinitesimal spirits forming the matter, not conjuring it wholesale from pure magic which was the purview of greater powers.
This was not that… this place was broken, the laws of reality loosened, folded away into this space.
“How did you do that?” Chara asked, eyes gleaming with starlight, star bright.
“It's just glyphs, not sure why they're working here either,” I said with a shrug. “My Mentor said they act as hallows, vessels for the threads of magical energy which run throughout the universe.” The Titans were said to be a collection of spirits with the machinery of the soul, a union that had broken apart into an infinite number of spirits with their deaths.
Chara beamed, bouncing and flouncing like a loon. “Then you can make more stuff for me… us to play with! I haven't… gotten to do much in a long time. Can you do that?”
Oh god, she's... they're an extrovert.
But… but she was alone. And I was here.
“I can try, but don't expect me to be a good player. I'm not the best with people.” Chara nodded with an appreciative crystalline chime.
I placed my finger down on the ashen sand, and began to draw glyphs, one by one.
And the dream went on.