Two orcs, one Bolt.
“Canto – Fortia – Asta!”
A single, invisible projectile hurtles through the air and craters my target’s skull, but the second orc’s head remains undisturbed and intact beside it. Resisting the urge to heave a sigh, I give my finger gun a once over to make sure everything checks out. It’s one finger and a thumb, so not much room for mechanical error, but you can never be sure. Technically, I could use any hand movement I like to trigger the Spell. I chose quick-drawing a finger gun because it’s fun, and no one said otherwise, but I noticed Captain Jung uses a finger flick, which is just heaps faster and less obvious, so now I’m thinking I should switch over to match. Would take a bit of practice and effort to change the somatic component to a Spell I already learned. Ain’t no harm, though there ain’t much of a benefit either. Even if the somatic component of the Spell completes faster, you still gotta time it to the verbal component and the flow of Aether through the Spell Structure. I seen casters point, wave a hand, snap, and do all sorts of different movements to sling a Bolt, but it don’t change much when it comes to results.
Least that’s what I thought, but now I’m not so sure. See, being a finger gun and all, I’m starting to wonder if my choice of hand movement has got my thinking all messed up. I know a real Aetherarm can’t shoot two Bolts at once, so might be the facts got my subconscious mind interfering with my ability to sling two Bolts with a single Cantrip using a finger gun. Maybe I ought to add an extra ‘barrel’ to my finger gun and see if that helps. It might, or might not, as it could be an issue of me squeezing the Spell Structure in all the wrong places, figuratively speaking.
See, when Captain Jung slings four Bolts with a single Cantrip, she ain’t using a different Spell Structure. It’s the same as the one I got locked up in memory, except she uses it better. It’s no different from the Minor Illusion Cantrip really, in that practice makes perfect, except there ain’t no real technique to share. The reason being is Aetheric dynamics, and how they come together within a Spell Structure to produce a Spell. Even though the structure for a Cantrip requires only three dimensions to function, namely length, width, and height, it still exists in four-dimensional space. And fifth, sixth, and seventh mostly likely, though we ain’t got proof positive to say for sure. As those lights move along their set pathways, forces beyond our ken interact in ways we cannot perceive to create magic, and it is those ineffable forces which we must manipulate into order to get more out of our Spells.
And since ineffable literally means indescribable, it makes it real hard to explain how one goes about manipulating those imperceptible forces to get a discernible effect.
Gets even more complicated considering how most Spells behave in completely different manners. There are some similarities, usually within defined Schools of Magic, but those are categories people gave to the Spells, rather than ones set in stone, so they don’t always make sense. Take Ablative Armour for example, which conjures up a set of armour made out of Ectoplasm to protect the caster. Sounds like a Conjuration Spell to me, or maybe Abjuration, but it’s neither. Instead, it’s a Transmutation Spell, because the Spell works by altering the base physical structure of the caster’s skin, flesh, or even clothing to add extra Ectoplasmic ‘padding’ to absorb damage. It differs from Mage Armour, an Abjuration Spell without any physical aspect to it, and Conjure Armour, a Conjuration Spell that creates armour of the purely physical, but magically Imbued variety. Complicated is what it is, and things don’t always make sense at first glance, which means any tricks learned to modify a Spell are typically unique to that Spell and that Spell alone.
Course there are exceptions to that rule, with Bolt being the most common. Unfortunately, as much as I love Evocation Spells, they don’t love me back, which is why I liken modifying one to trying to ride a bucking bronco. Ain’t no real control about any Evocation Spell, as it is a wild, barely contained energy hungry for a target or outlet. There’s no slow build up and incremental development like there is with Conjuration, no reaching out and taking in like with Divination, not even a sense of general shape and solidity like with Abjuration. No, Evocation is all about a quick growth under pressure and a quicker release, like catching a hot potate and passing it on. Less control and more power, which makes it great for killing what’s in front of you here and now, but not always the optimal choice for a sustained fight.
Reason being is that the low ambient Aether concentration levels does more than limit Spellslingers to Third Order Spells. It also restricts how many Spells they can manually cast on any given day. The closest analogy would be like trying to run up high on a mountain, where the air is thinner, so every breath you take bring in less oxygen than it would down low. Exhausts you faster since you getting less air, or something to that effect. Most experienced Spellslingers keep things close to the vest and won’t outright tell you all the Spells they can use or how many times they can cast it a day, because they know that knowledge is power. That being said, most Magi (being the traditional title for Third Order Spellslingers), typically max out at 6 or 7 Third Order Spells a day, with 13 to 14 on the extreme high end before reaching Grandmagus status after learning Sixth Order Spells. Not too bad, but not great either, especially considering how those same typical Magi could sling 10 or 11 Second Order Spells, or 20 plus First Order Spells instead.
Has to do with how the costs of Spellslinging scales, quadratically, with cost being n squared, when n is Spell Order + 1. That’s why Spell selection is so critical. A Second Order Spell costs more than twice as much Aether and effort as a First Order Spell, while a Third Order Spell is about four times as much. Means if you wanna use a Second Order Spell, it best be more than twice as effective as two First Order Spells, whereas a Third Order Spell needs to be at least four times more effective to make it worth the cost. So yea, Fireball might be the first Spell that comes to mind when you think about magical warfare, but it ain’t the be-all-end-all Spell that most regular folks see it as. It’s great as an opener, and looks great too. In terms of Spell selection however, there are more efficient ways to spend your Spells, with the gold standard being Entangling Growth, Web, Grease, or something else to hold your enemy in place while you shoot them dead. Ain’t a Spellslinger alive that can match a modern Aetherarm in killing effectiveness, because all you need is a good eye, a steady hand, and enough ammunition to see you through the fight.
Ain’t technology grand?
If we talking solely Spells however, then Evocation Spells are typically the worst in terms of bang for buck. Sure, a single Fireball can take out a good amount of Abby in one go, and same with Lightning Beam, Frost Nova, and all the other big-ticket items in the same school, but only under the right conditions. In contrast, a Second Order Flaming Cloud has a much smaller radius, only about 1.5 metres across compared to Fireball’s 12m diameter, but it’ll scorch anything it comes close to and set them magically aflame. That there is a death sentence even for the chonkiest of bugbears given enough time, though the Flaming Cloud itself only lasts a full minute at base duration. Course, extending that time comes with practice, but the Cloud itself can be repositioned by the caster at will, sweeping through the ranks and catching the enemy off-guard when they try to go around it. It’s also highly versatile, as you can send it down a tunnel to clear the way, park it in a tight space to block it off, or any number of other things that a single, instantaneous Fireball can’t do. When you boil it down to strict numbers, a properly utilized Flaming Cloud can rack up more kills than a Fireball in battlefield conditions, unless you only killing gobbos or the like, at which point Fireball is overkill anyways.
Sure is satisfying to sling though, and efficiency ain’t the only metric to measure by. Bang for buck is how you get the clap after all, so there is such a thing as going too far. I’ve heard arguments for using more Cantrips in extended firefights, as they cost nothing to sling except time and focus. Both of which would be better spent on aiming, shooting, and reloading over slinging a single base value Bolt, even if you can sling four at a time. I’ve also heard arguments from plenty of Brits on how we ought to go back to swords and spears, because when you work things out on paper, weapon enhancement Spells are more efficient than any blasting Spell could ever be, if you ignore the fact that it means you gotta get up close and personal before you start killing. Or use a bow and enhance your arrows instead, which the Pathfinders love, and I guess the Nipponese too considering Kacey’s weapon of choice, but I always thought swords and bows were sorely lacking compared to a good old fashioned Aetherarm.
So long story short, even though Evocation was the showiest magic in the fight we all just saw, there were probably plenty of other Spells doing some heavy lifting. Illusions to confuse and corral Abby, Enchantments to hinder their abilities or bolster the Rangers’, Abjuration Spells to keep them safe and more. Course, there ain’t no substitute for Evocation when you want your targets dead right quick, which’ll save your life more often than not. The best defense is a good offense after all, as ain’t nothing can threaten you after you put it down.
Unless it’s some sorta exploding Abby filled with poisonous or corrosive bodily fluids or something, which happens more often than I’d like.
All this comparison hingers on a base Evocation Spell however, as caster familiarity can allow you to tilt the scales heavily in Evocation’s favour. Like what Captain Jung does with her Bolt Salvo Spell, as 196 Bolts over the course of a minute far outstrips the damage of a Fireball, Flaming Cloud, or any other Spell Third Order or lower. Especially considering how a Bolt Salvo can be Maximized, while the other two aforementioned Spells work better when Widened to increase the area of effect. Taking a hundred steps back, being able to fire off two Bolts with a single cast can effectively double your damage output, which is huge.
That’s the sort of edge I need moving forward, an advantage over your standard Joe Schmoe Spellslinger. It’s what makes the Rangers so effective, their ability to squeeze more outta their Spells than what it says on the tin. It’s been a minute since I seen them operate in strength out on the battlefield, and today was a rude reminder of how much further I still have yet to go.
Blowing on my finger gun to lift my mood, I try the Bolt Cantrip again to the same effect before heading over to haul them corpses with a shake of my head. Five years I’ve been using the Bolt Cantrip, yet I still ain’t any closer to understanding its secrets than I was on the very first day. Was a time when I thought this’d be easy, same as what I do with my Mage Hands really, but the years have proven me wrong. Ain’t as simple as taking one Bolt and dividing it into two, because even though that’d get me two Bolts, each one would only be half as effective as the original. That’s how I get two Mage Hands after all, but when Captain Jung slings four Bolts at a time, they all hit just as hard as a standard Bolt, if not harder.
In technical terms, the process of dividing the whole into the sum of its parts is called a Split Spell, while what I want to do is Fork or Echo the Spell. I need the sum of the parts to equal to more than the original whole, or essentially squeeze two instances of the Spell out of a Spell Structure designed only to spit out one at a time. The fact that this was even possible is why early gunsmiths risked ruining Bolt Cores to carve out two or more Bolt Cantrip Cores, so it’s a skill as old as time, but ain’t no textbook explaining how it’s done. It’s something each caster gotta learn on their own, because how do you explain the process of finagling something that can’t be seen, touched, tasted, heard, or smelled?
It’s different from Divination Spells, where I ain’t doing nothing extra when I cast the Spell. What makes me stand out as a Scout is my ability to analyze and interpret the information my Spells bring me. Studying Divination Cantrips ain’t no different from learning animal tracks, or seeing curling slash marks on a tree and knowing you in Diamondclaw territory. As for Conjuration Spells, I ain’t all that good at finagling those besides Mage Hand, and part of my success is due to my Mama’s detailed notes on how to do it. She was real analytical and methodical about it, listening out everything she tried and all the ways she failed before finding success. Visualization, Sensory manipulation, mirrors, lights, and more, I’ve applied some of the same methods to other Conjuration Spells, but nothing really took. Yea, if it’s Talent we talking about, then my Mama had more in her pinky finger than I got in my whole body. That said, I ain’t worked too hard at it when it comes to Conjuration. The best Spells in the school all require Concentration, so I couldn’t pick one to focus on. The ones that don’t need Concentration are typically niche Spells, like Air Bubble to let you breathe underwater, Misty Step to get you out of a pinch, or Conjure Weapon which lets you summon a simple, sturdy object made out of a single, contiguous material. So like a sword or spear made entirely out of steel, which ain’t all that useful, so pass. I been told the Conjuration Spell selection gets better with Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Order Spells, but that’s years away at the earliest. As for Evocation Spells, none of my Mama’s tricks and tips apply, so I got no real direction to go on anymore, just trying the same things again and again without any real result.
Leaves me feeling lost and adrift, without a paddle or direction to head in. Would love to pick Captain Jung’s bring to learn how she does it, but my pride won’t allow it. Can’t run home to ask Uncle Teddy for advice for the same reason. Those days are long behind us, as I had to draw a clear line between me and the Rangers, and he understood well enough when I stopped showing up for lessons. Never asked me to come back, though I know he wishes circumstances were different. Me too, but it is what it is. The Rangers will always be his first priority, while I will never be theirs so long as I ain’t American. That’s all there is to it, so I gotta find my own way forward. Been a real rough road so far, with plenty of pitfalls I done stepped right into and more scars than I care to show for it. Visible and invisible, with Aunty Ray picking up on the latter right quick, and it’s been so rough I’ve thought about calling it quits more than once. That’s why I accepted that postal worker trial gig after all, to see if it would fit, but then I bagged me the Stagecoach Killers to start the year off strong. Felt like a real turning point in my career, the start of my rise to success, or so I’d hoped, but today showed me different.
Still, my daddy always said a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, so I might as well get moving. Can’t sit around my thumbs waiting for the Watershed before I progress, else I’ll have squandered the head start my mama died to give me, as well as all the hours my daddy spent teaching me what’s what.
The loneliness hits hard in the moment, as it often does when I least expect it. Sure, I got lot of folks looking out for me, but sometimes it feels like I’m fated to go at this life all alone. Course, it’s mostly my decision to live how I do, but it does feels awful isolating standing on the outside looking in, and I ain’t just talking about the Rangers. I’m always gonna be the lone Qin, the one yellow fella in a place where most towns homogenous in any colour but. Thought I’d made peace with that, but then I got to thinking I could run my own crew, and now I’m feeling lonelier than ever because I’m pretty sure those plans are gonna fall through. Or hoping they do, maybe. The more I think about Errol’s track record, the less optimistic I get about our future. Ain’t any one thing about him, but a whole host of issues that I got no idea how to fix. He’s got skills and potential in spades, but he’s stubborn, naïve, and sorely lacking in drive. I ain’t seen any hunger or motivation to learn and improve, as he all too happy to just get by. It ain’t a terrible thing, as most folks just want to do the same, but you need more if you wanna delve deep under dark to take on an Abby burrow, or even make a long and successful career hunting Abby topside. There plenty of merc crews who hunt Abby, but I’m aiming to put together a team to match a Ranger Strike Team, be the best damn independent operators there ever was, so I need prospects who want to be more than just ‘good enough’.
Like Sarah Jay. She got that drive in spades, no two ways about it. Sharp as a tack too, as she keeps giving me glances as we work our way through charred Abby and glassed sand, but a look and a smile is all it takes to keep her lips buttoned up tight. Errol though? Even after our AAR last night, he still being all half-hearted about practicing his Living Whip Cantrip with the chain, using the Cantrip willy nilly to smack corpses without any real thought, purpose, or effort in it. With his right hand no less, which really steams me up. This is how he goes about most things he does, including signing on with the Rangers and my crew. He’s floating through life, going about it as he please, because it’s worked up until now and he don’t see why he gotta do anything different. That’s the problem with talent, as he’s good enough to stand out in the here and now. I told him what his failings were, but he don’t care to listen, as he’s one to learn everything the hard way, and when he do, he’ll have already fallen behind. Not an issue if he got the Rangers looking out for him, but sad truth is, I ain’t nowhere near good enough to carry dead weight, not even with Sarah Jay to help me out. Since I can’t ditch one without losing the other, then the best outcome for all of us is sending them back to Basic, but they haven’t talked to Captain Jung about it, nor does it seem like they care to. Probably because I been treating them too well, so they see no point in breaking things off just yet, and truth is, neither do I. There still some breathing room since we riding with the Rangers, so I suppose I can wait until after we sort things out in Pleasant Dunes to make my final decision.
It's a shame things looking so bleak though, especially now that I got a name for my crew. Was nice having company while out on the road, not to mention someone to watch my back while I sleep, but I suppose I could look into summoning a Familiar instead. That’d be nice, though Cowie might get jealous if he gotta compete for my affections.
Bolt and haul, haul and Bolt, the pattern plays out over the course of the early afternoon as we clear the battlefield of corpses. Hard to keep my Spirits up, doing hard labour as it is, what with the heat and the stench and all, but doubly so when I know I ain’t getting paid either. Or at least, not in anything worthwhile besides ‘experience’ and ‘exposure’, as well as training for two prospects who ain’t looking half as bright and shiny as they did a few weeks back. Add in my lack of progress at multiplying one Bolt into two and soon enough, my smile slips away and I find myself heaving more sighs than corpses. Don’t go unnoticed either, and by the worst possible candidate too, as I discover firsthand when he come over to bother me.
“What’s the matter, Howie?” Wayne asks, wearing that slick, shit-eating grin of his that he thinks makes him look playful. “You all sad and grumpy because you don’t get a share of these corpses?”
Now, Tina and Auntie Ray would tell me this here is a time to ignore him and walk away, but I ain’t built for that. Instead, I make eye contact, holster my finger gun, and begin my chant like I’m fixing to put one between his beady little rat eyes. “Canto – Fortia – Asta!” I intone, and my finger gun comes up to deliver a Bolt into another orc skull just to the left of Wayne, one I hit without having to look away.
Doesn’t spook Wayne none though, as he still a Ranger, and he follows hot on my heels like stink on a bugbear as I swagger past him to grab the corpse. “Yea, this a good haul for the Rangers,” he says, sauntering on ahead with his rifle up on one shoulder and a stick up his ass while I drag two-hundred pounds of Abby through the sand beneath the scorching sun. “Real shame you couldn’t cash in on this one, huh?”
“Yea,” I drawl, without looking back. “Guess you’ll be the one cashin’ in today.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Even the hint of a smile is gone from his face now, and I can hear him glance around to make sure none of the Captains overheard me. “You trying to say something?”
“Said what I said,” I reply, pausing to give him a grin as throw his words back at him in an obnoxious little tone. “I hit a nerve? Didn’t realize it was such a touchy subject.”
“Careful there, killer.” Doing his best to loom over me, Wayne looks mad enough to chew iron and spit nails, though he so crooked they’d probably come out as corkscrews. “Wouldn’t want to say something you regret now.”
“Not in earshot of no Captain at least.” Shooing him away before I get back to hauling, I add, “Run along now, Wayne. Find someone else to bother.”
“That’s Lieutenant Marlon to you, boot.” Funny how a man can say one word and make you hear another with little more than an inflection, but I shake my head with a chuckle and pay him no mind. He can kick and scream about my lack of respect all he like, but he got no hold over me. The last thing he wants is for this to escalate, as that’d catch the attention of the Captains he’d so very much like to avoid. I know it, and even though he late to the party, he catches on soon enough and tries a different tack. “You think I’m worried?” he asks, which only goes to show that he is. “I’m a Ranger Howie, and we look after our own. You though? They might see you as the golden child, but that’ll wear thin fast once they find out what you really are. A murderer, a stone-cold killer without a conscience, because I know you killed that merchant. Probably his guards too, then buried them all somewhere in this desert so you could keep all that cargo for yourself. I’m onto you Howie, and it don’t matter if I can’t prove it. Just you wait. You’ll get your just desserts soon enough.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
See, I knew he don’t give a shit about the dead merchant the first time he approached me, because he don’t even know the man’s name. Almost makes me mad enough to beat Wayne bloody for being a self-serving hypocrite, acting like he care about them murders when all he cares about is the cargo, but I take a deep breath before trusting myself to speak. “Well,” I begin, dumping my orc in a pile for some other boots to lift onto a Floating Disc sled before shotting Wayne my slickest grin. “I tell you what. I’ll sleep easy knowing Sherrif Wayne’s on the case.” He ain’t got nothing on me, but the fact that he’s so driven to find something makes a man mighty antsy, so I give him a little nudge to see how he likes being poked and prodded. Scoffing for added effect as I should past him, I mutter, “Means, motive, and opportunity my ass. Just cause it works for finding men who fucked your wife don’t mean – ”
It’s never pleasant getting punched in the face, even when you expecting it. Mage Armour helps of course, but like I’ve said before, mine ain’t all that great. Instead of a sharp impact to the jaw, the Spell spreads the force out over my cheek and neck so it feels more like I just got slapped by a big, fleshy hand. Still wouldn’t recommend, but add in how I roll with the punch and it keeps me from seeing stars. Rather than punch back though, I wipe the blood from my lip and chuckle before turning to meet Wayne’s eyes, all full of hate and fury as Reggie and Conner hold him back. He ain’t struggling much though, just leaning forward like he wants to take another swing, but is too chickenshit to actually break free and try, because Cowie’s high-tailing it on over with murder in his storm-grey eyes. “Didn’t realize it was such a touchy subject, Lieu-tenant,” I say with a grin, not caring to lower my voice now that everyone is watching. “Meant no disrespect to your wife. That’s just what folks say. Ain’t that right?” Cackling as I walk away, I calm Cowie down and get back to slinging Bolts and hauling Abby while ignoring all the concerned looks from Tina, Sarah Jay, and the like. Only one I acknowledge is Tim, who quietly asks if he should step in, and I give him a little shake of the head to tell him I can handle my own business.
I ain’t afraid of no rat-faced cuck. Only reason Wayne still got all his teeth is because I don’t wanna give Marcus any reason to send me home, not when we less than a day’s ride from Pleasant Dunes.
Keeping an eye out as I work, I spot Marcus come down hard on Wayne for making a scene, and the big man hits me with a glower before deciding he don’t want to talk. Would have to ask too many uncomfortable questions, and personal issues aside, Wayne’s still a half-decent Ranger once you look past his sticky fingers. Works for me, because I ain’t looking to jam him up, just trying to keep him off my back is all. Circumstantial evidence, that’s the word for what he’s got, which ain’t worth shit in a court of law, but stories got a way of getting away from the truth, and a way of leading right back to it if it convinces smarter folks to take another look. Still, if Wayne knows what’s good for him, he’ll get the message and lay off, but he wouldn’t be the first desperate man to do something stupid neither.
Taking a beat to cool myself off with a Water Sphere, I get back to haulin’ and spend the next few hours doing just that. Get a good long look at them pressure cookers too, and eventually figure I could probably piece one together myself. It ain’t nothing more than a solid pot with an airtight lid, a quick release valve, and a heating element on the bottom, like what you find on any modern stovetop. Uses the same general principles as my Etching pen, just scaled up and twisted into a coil, so I don’t see no reason why I can’t rig a pressure cooker up with some spare parts. Sure, they expensive to run in terms of crystallized Aether, but it’s well worth it seeing how it cook a batch of Abby in the time it takes to get a pot of water boiling over a campfire. Should still talk to Danny about it when I get back to New Hope before I get to tinkering. He a law-abiding citizen he is, refused to build me one himself, but if I let on what I mean to do and how I mean to do it, he’ll chime in if I’m missing out on something important. Can’t help but feel like I am, because if pressure cookers really are that easy to make, then I don’t see why they ain’t used as weapons against Abby. Cost maybe? Who knows. Either way, no harm in double checking my work, especially when working with things that go boom.
Once the corpses are all cooked and it finally comes time to get underway again, I bring out a Floating Disc sled and have it drift alongside Cowie and Tina while I ignore her silent questions and work on the Mage Armour Artifact. After double checking to make sure everything still kosher, I fix the actuator plate to the Spell Core and attach the connections before moving on to Etch out the Metamagic circuit. Here’s where things get complicated though, so I slow things down a bit. With the actuator, it’s a fairly simple process because all the Etch gotta do is respond to a caster’s will. It’s a big metaphysical button pretty much, designed to be pressed and nothing else. Makes it hard to mess up, as even if you get some of it wrong, the rest will work well enough regardless. A Metamagic Rune on the other hand is also an Etch, but one specifically designed to modify a Spell’s effect in the process of being Primed without affecting the Spell’s base Structure. Like putting a nozzle on the end of a hose, I’ve been told, except it’s a physical nozzle fit for a metaphysical hose spraying metaphysical water that’ll turn physical once it comes out. Ain’t just about the flow either, as physical Aether, like Aetheric Energy put out by the dynamo, is a little like water. It’ll always take the path of least resistance, but it’ll also strive to fill whatever container it’s placed it, meaning that when a circuit is at full capacity, or full Primed, the shape of the Etch and flow of Aether through them leads to all sorts of interactions like Aetheric harmonics, oscillations, resonation, and other such things. All this falls under the general umbrella of Aetheric Dynamics, and messing around with those dynamics is how you modify as Spell, whether by familiarity or Metamagics. I don’t understand the subject well enough to really explain it all. No one does really, as complicated is what it is, and if you mess things up with an Etch, you can get some real explosive results. Only if you make a big mess of the Rune though, and it usually takes a bit more than just a failed Etch. Like Conner said, the worst I can do with what I got is burn my fingerprints off by overloading the circuit.
That being said, I’m not in the mood to waste all this effort for nothing, so I settle in and look over my notes before I start Etching. The thing about Metamagic Runes is that while there’s a baseline to adhere to for every specific effect, they don’t come in one size fits all. Ain’t no single pattern that works for every Spell Core or on every possible medium, only a general outline and guidelines to follow, so there a lot of variables to take into account when designing your Rune. I scrawled one out last night, but now that I know what I’m working with, I spot a few changes which need to be made. Those changes then require more changes to be made, as they affect things later on down the line, and I spend a good hour revising my design until I got something I feel confident enough to work with.
Was a time when I didn’t understand Metamagic one bit, so I asked Mr. Kalthoff how he do it. How was it possible to look at a steel barrel and know what modifications to make in order to Etch a Distant and Extend Duration Metamagic Rune onto it, while leaving room for whatever else he cared to add? Man looked up from his work, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Experience,” before going right back to it. Thought he just wanted me out of his hair, but now that I’m older and wiser, I kinda get it. It ain’t about the pattern itself, nor the flow of Aether through it, but rather how it all comes together. Each part of the circuit is like one piece of the puzzle, and as you add a new piece, it’ll pull, push, or otherwise reshape the pieces around it. When you work with a Spell long enough, you understand how the flow is supposed to look like at the end, so you can work backwards from there. With Bolt, Extend Duration is about minimizing instability and volatility so the Bolt lasts longer before coming apart at the seams. With Mage Armour though, it’s more about shoring up the foundation that’s already been laid, since there’s little to no instability or volatility to be found in the Spell itself. Could simply be the difference between Evocation and Abjuration, or it could be something specific to these two Spells, I can’t really say, but what I do know is that I gotta approach this project a bit differently from how I’d handle a rifle barrel. The ceramic plate ain’t painted or glazed, which is ideal for my needs, as it leaves the underlying texture of the heated clay unhidden for all to see. There’s a rough and bumpy pattern to it that’ll interfere with my desire to shore up the Spell’s foundation, so I ought to use thicker copper lines to make up for it. Could also weave in and around those bumps, or better yet, go along the grain of the fired clay underneath and smooth out the flows wherever I can. Some spots just stand out as perfect pivot points to move from one Rune to the next, while others demand I work around them, but it all comes together on the pages of my Spellbook as I plan out every stroke and touch of my wand.
Not for just one Metamagic Rune, but three, and soon as I got my plan in place, I get to it without hesitation, carving channels into baked clay and melting copper wire to fill them to create long, swooping grooves which resemble leafy vines curled and coiled all about in a series of pleasing patterns. Takes some doing, and I make more than few mistakes which need fixing, but when I finally turn my Etching wand off and put it aside, I find myself looking down at a properly Etched Artifact that’s ready to test. Rather than rush off to do it, I take a quick breather and lay down to rest, staring up at the honey-hued skies while letting my mind go free.
Feels good to finish something I set out to do, though I’d hate to do this day in and day out. Got a stitch in my hand, an ache in my back, and probably a sunburn on my neck from staring straight down all afternoon, but still… It’s nice getting something done right. Hopefully.
Eventually, I sit back up and look over my work to make sure everything in place. There a whole process about it, from using the Appraisal Cantrip to see if there any broken connections or short-circuits to using a Detect Magic Ritual Spell to trace out the flows of Aether before pumping power into it. Soon as someone makes the call to set camp, I bring the Artifact over to Conner for the all clear, because he’s the one with all the tools needed to be absolutely certain. Sitting on the back of his wagon, Conner looks like he been waiting on me as he greets me with a nod before poring over the Artifact with his Spells and tools. Only after a thorough investigation does he hook it up to an Aetheric dynamo for a test. Gesturing for me to do the honours, he steps back as I place my hand on the actuator and will the Spell Core to Prime. The dynamo hums as it powers up, and the seconds go by as I watch the copper patterns light up in a soft, gleaming purple as the Aether flows out from the dynamo, builds up at the arcacitor, then jumps over to flood through the rest of the Metamagic circuit until the whole thing emanates a warm, violet glow.
This is the part where I could lose my fingerprints if I Etched something wrong, and I can’t help but wince in anticipation. Thankfully, the Artifact simply goes dark as the Spell takes shape around me, encasing me in an invisible and intangible suit of armour that covers me from head to toe.
Forty-two seconds start to finish, or close enough. A big difference when you consider most Aetherarms are crafted to fire once every five seconds at most, but thems the breaks when using an Aetheric dynamo to power a Spell Core. It’s more accurate, efficient, and reliable power at the cost of taking longer for the Core to Prime and draw down, which is a must when working with rare, hard to replace Spell Cores. If a Bolt Spell Core cracks from poorly packed ammo or rapid cycling, then no big deal, but getting a Mage Armour Spell Core is more a matter of luck than anything else. Plus, it’s cheaper too, because even though Danny said its an ‘almost one-to-one ratio’, it’s more like four-to-five. Twenty percent more effective is twenty percent cheaper, and while it ain’t much, every little bit counts in a pinch.
Meeting Conner’s eyes with a smile, I pull out my knife and test its edge against my thumb. Gently at first, then a little harder, then hard enough that it most certainly should break skin. Takes a bit of doing to carve into flesh, and even then the Mage Armour resists enough to keep me from getting much more than a paper cut. “Not bad,” I say, holding up the droplet of blood for Conner to see, who rolls his eyes and knocks me on the head. Don’t feel a thing and tell him as much, which earns me a surprised look.
“Really?” He asks, before activating the Spell Core himself to find out first hand. Again, the circuit lights up and darkens in less than a minute, and when all’s said and done, he knocks his own head a couple times with varying force before nodding in approval. “Damn fine work Howie,” he says, looking over my Runes a second time. “Should be good for three, maybe four hours, and might even stop a Bolt to the head.” A manually casted one is what he means, and it’d leave your face a bloody mess, but still better than dead. “Extend Duration and Defensive Metamagics are standard, but what’s this last one here?”
“Warding.” Seeing he ain’t ever heard of it, I use the more common term, “Aether resistance.” Which more or less means Spell resistance, unless the Spell shifts the ground out from under your feet or something. Won’t do nothing to stop elemental damage like say from a Fireball, but it’ll work wonders against a standard Force Bolt. Would’ve kept Nate in the fight no doubt, but he better off heading home anyways.
“Oh damn.” Nodding along, Conner looks at the Artifact with renewed focus in hopes of unravelling the mystery to the Metamagic Rune, but it ain’t like it’s some big secret. Can find whole chapters devoted to it in most Metamagic textbooks, which are sold right off the shelves in New Hope. “Yea, it’ll definitely stop a Bolt to the head then. I’ll bring this to Marcus later.”
“Sure thing.” Leaving it at that, I ignore the dark looks from two or three unfamiliar Rangers in Wayne’s Company and turn to leave, but Conner reaches out to hold me back by the sleeve.
“Wait a sec, Howie,” he says. “Take off the hat and hang around. Wanted to talk a bit.” Friendly as he might sound, I get the sense this ain’t gonna be a friendly conversation. Can tell from the way too many Rangers gathered about, every last one of them from Wayne’s company. He ain’t around, as Marcus sent him off to gather water to replace what we done cooked, but his number two, Reggie is here, as well as a couple other notable faces. Not all that many names, as I ain’t all that familiar with the Rangers of Meadowbrook, but I seen them around once or twice. “Just talk,” Conner adds, seeing the look on my face as I turn back around. “C’mon man. You had to know we’d ask.”
“About what?” Reach up to take my hat off, I toss it to Conner. “How my medallion been actin’ up? Think you could take a look-see?”
“Sure Howie.” Conner knows there ain’t nothing wrong with my medallion, and he nods in unspoken thanks while removing the storage crystal, so everyone present knows we ain’t being recorded. Course, I could be using the Spell manually, but those recordings ain’t usable in a court of law. While it’s possible to store manually recorded Video and Audio onto a crystal, it can also be tampered with without leaving any trace behind, unlike a recording made by a Spell Core. There’s a lot of technical bru-ha-ha that goes into it, what with weaving illusions into the recording that are indistinguishable from fact, but that’s more Aunty Ray’s speed rather than mine. “So what the fuck man?” Conner asks, keeping his tone cordial as he pretends to fiddle with my medallion. “Riling up the L.T like that, threatening to talk to the Captain and bringing Tamara into this? Not cool.”
Meaning Wayne’s wife, who I ain’t ever actually met. “But draggin’ my daddy’s name through the mud all hunky dory?” I ask. Narrowing my eyes, I ignore the other Rangers and face Conner head on, because he call the shots here. “Wayne wants to sling shit, then he best be ready to get dirty.”
“C’mon man. You know the L.T got good reason.”
“And what’s that got to do with me?” The other Rangers don’t like that, so I fold my hands over my stomach to keep ‘em still and away from my sidearms. Make it real clear I ain’t about to sling or draw, because no sense tempting fate. Flashing a toothy grin that don’t reach my eyes, I say, “I ain’t gonna cry no crocodile tears for him or his druggie whore of a wife.” That really pisses the crowd off, as they a close-knit bunch, but I’m done playing nice. “Boo-fucking-hoo. Tamara got a habit. Don’t give Wayne cart blank to step all over me and my rep. Been close to a fucking year since it happened, and he still houndin’ me about for no good reason.”
Ain’t like I got no sympathy for the man, but Wayne done burned through any and all goodwill he might ever have had. It’s a sad story, one I don’t got the full measure of and don’t care to learn. All I know is Tamara picked up a nasty habit some years back, long before Meadowbrook was even a mark on the map. Now Wayne, he tried to get her clean and free, but addiction being what it is, she kept going back to score. Couldn’t help herself, so rather than lose or abandon her to the drugs, Wayne figured he could control her habit and keep her from spiraling out of control. Had to start skimming from Ranger hunts to pay for it once prices started going up, but it worked for a time and everything was hunky dory. Then Marcus went on a tear after losing his son and eliminated all nearby producers and suppliers, which put Wayne and Tamara in real a tight spot. To keep her from going into withdrawal, they tried some other drugs, harder drugs, which is when things really went to shit. Story goes Wayne came back from a deployment to find Tamara had spent all of their money on a week-long bender before running off to score more. Tracked her down to a brothel in the sticks where he found her dancing on a pole, so drugged out of her gourd she didn’t even recognize him when he tried to carry her off. Said he’d to wait his turn he did, but it’d be the best money he’d ever spent.
Or so the story goes at least. Granted, I didn’t hear none of this from any Rangers, and only bits and bobs from less than reputable sources before piecing the rest together. Don’t know how much of it is true besides the fact that Tamara got a drug problem which Wayne works hard to keep under control by skimming funds. That’s the long and short of it, and I couldn’t care less.
“Don’t he though?” There’s an edge to Conner’s tone as he fiddles with my medallion. Don’t like that much, but I suppose he’s selling our cover story to anyone who might be watching. Like Tim, who no doubt got eyes on us from somewhere or the other, if not ears. Hell, he could be standing right next to me and none of us would know it. “Have good reason to hound you?”
“You tellin’ me you buy into his ‘means, motive, and opportunity’ bullshit?” With a scoff and a sigh, I shake my head and tell my story straight. “You know how many times the Sheriff’s questioned me?” I ask, once I’ve laid all my cards on the table. “Once. Sheriff Patel checked the facts and passed them on to Sheriff Glover, then didn’t nobody from their offices darken my doorstep again. You know how many times I explained it to Wayne? Five fuckin’ times now.” Getting all heated up in the moment, I spit into the sand and continue, “Every time I stop by Meadowbrook’s way, it’s the same song and dance. He drop by to ask his questions and poke his nose in my business, and I let him cause I know he got his reasons, but he workin’ my last nerve now. Comin’ at me in front of my prospects and insinuatin’ I done this or that, then bringin’ up my daddy and callin’ me killer in front of everyone and God? I tell you this much, after all he done, that Ranger star on his chest is the only reason he still drawin’ breath.”
“Yea, no idea why Wayne thinks you’re a killer Howie.” The sarcasm is thick as Conner shakes his head and talks over my casting. “Look, I’ll get him to back down, but you gotta ease off too, alright? He’s stuck in it deep and don’t see a way out.”
“Don’t give a shit what his problems are, but a bullet and a Bolt’ll see him clear of ‘em all.” Meeting Conner’s eyes with a toothy smile, I let it show, that savage readiness to do violence at the drop of a hat. Not to scare him, as he a Ranger and don’t scare so easy. Nah, I let him see it so he knows I mean what I say and I say what I mean. “Rope and a noose works fine too. If he too scared to do it, then you leave him be, and the two of us will sort it out soon enough.”
“You don’t mean that.” First to look away, Conner goes back to staring at my medallion, wholly in denial because he looks at me and still sees that chubby cheeked boy he knew years back, long before my daddy passed and I started learning from the school of hard knocks. “You’re just saying it.”
“Wayne tell you what he said before he clocked me?” I ask. Conner shakes his head, so I supply the answer without smiling. “That it don’t matter if he can’t prove I dunnit. He means to see me get my ‘just desserts’, one way or another.” Shaking my head, I continue, “A man’s word and reputation is all he’s got out here. If Wayne wants to hang a murder round my neck, all he gotta do is speak and make it true. Won’t land me in jail or bring me up in front of a judge, but most folks’ll take a Ranger Lieutenant at his word, and ain’t nothing I can do to fight it.” Leaning in close so only Conner can hear it, I whisper, “So if folks gonna call me murderer, then I might as well take Wayne to task and earn that title good and proper.”
Hell, I might even get away clean, depending on how the cards play out. A whole Company of Rangers and class full of boots just seen him sucker punch me in broad daylight, which’ll make me claiming self-defence that much more believable. Especially once they learn what sort of shady business Wayne is into, though proving it will be tricky. Won’t matter to whoever’s got his small-hairs in a twist, but I do this right, and I might not get in any trouble with the law.
Reading the truth in my eyes and hearing it in my tone, Conner’s expression flits from one emotion to the next, first denial, then horror, and finally bitter acceptance. “Damn Howie,” he says, his eyes hardening as he switches my label from friend to foe. “What happened to you?”
“I grew up Conner.” Reaching out to take my hat and medallion back, I put it on and add, “Had no choice but to.” Straightening up, I let the silence linger as I look around and meet the other Ranger’s eyes, which gives me the opportunity to remember their faces too. “I ain’t no rat,” I say, after taking their measure, “So y’all rest easy on that count, but Wayne’s the one you ought to watch. Man’s so desperate he’s drawin’ all sorts of the wrong attention, and only reason Marcus ain’t dug deeper is ‘cause he feels partially responsible.” I can tell a couple Rangers agree, but theirs is a bond forged in battle, and it’s gonna take more than a few words to shake it, much less break.
Since there ain’t nothing else to say, I turn to leave and say good riddance to burned bridges behind me. Won’t be no more poker nights with Conner, Reggie, and the boys, but I’ll live. Especially since I know Conner ain’t exactly looking out for my best interests. He’s a decent sort, but he’s also a Ranger under Wayne’s command, which means he got a vested interest in keeping things under wraps. Whole Company’s probably in on the take, as that’s the only way they could keep things quiet enough for Marcus to look the other way. Means if Wayne, their Lieutenant and commanding officer, goes down, the whole gravy train comes to a stop for Conner, Reggie, and the rest of them. That’s a best-case scenario too, as Wayne could easily bring the rest of them down with him if he had a mind to. I get it, and I don’t begrudge any one of them the extra dollars, not one bit. Lot of money in hunting Abby, most of which goes back to some paper pushing fat cats appointed by a President elected two decades ago on a whole other world. Ain’t no elections for political office out here on the Frontier, and them ticks who’ve grown fat off of Ranger blood and sweat would love to keep it that way. I see no reason why they should still be calling the shots or paid even half what they make, and I have no problem with any Rangers who supplements their own income. Ain’t meagre by most standards, but it’s far from substantial, and survivor benefits don’t pay shit.
Not that I get any. Just another grievance to go on the list of ways the Rangers snubbed my daddy.
When I get back to my wagon, Cowie greets me with a bellowing moo and a headbutt. Then a second when he feels the first one wasn’t hard enough now that I got a Metamagicked Mage Armour protecting me. “Ow,” I exclaim, laughing along with his antics and feeling my anger all melt away, though it’s still banked and ready to burn at a moment’s notice. “I’m sorry okay? I know, I should’ve fed and watered you first. Wasn’t in my right mind.” Kissing the big fluffy fellow on the head, I set off to do just that while trying to shake the sour mood that come from getting clocked, burning bridges, and being forced to sell the Spell Core in the first place. Ain’t nothing I can do about it except deal with whatever might come. Which I hate, because it got me feeling defensive, and I still got this mess with Pleasant Dunes and my prospects to deal with.
Then again, who knows? Maybe things will all work out for the best. Maybe Errol shapes up and gets right to training once he’s done tending the horses, and tomorrow, we’ll roll up into Pleasant Dunes where Marcus will shoot Ron in the face for being a two-bit slavedriver. Then I’ll bag me a Proggie and laugh at Wayne’s funeral, after he gets got doing something stupid, the sole casualty in the whole op. After that, we’ll all head home, where me, Errol, and Sarah Jay will mend fences and keep training and earning until it comes time for the next round of Basic. Might even meet two worthwhile prospects who’re eager to sign on with the Frontier Born, and after graduation, the five of us will head out into the world to hone our skills and hunt Abby by the hundreds. Which we’ll cook in pressure cookers I make myself so we can buy better guns and gear to hunt even more Abby down the line, until we become damn near legends of the Frontier.
Yea, wouldn’t that be nice? It could happen. Ain’t likely, but still possible, and like my daddy used to say, you should always hope for the best. Followed it up with, ‘And plan for the worst’, but the first bit still applies. A pragmatic man he was, and I try to follow suit.
Even if it feels like the Frontier ain’t ever given me the anything but the latter. A harsh land it is, but I wouldn’t trade it for any other.