Chapter 8 — Bucket

Rína woke to the smell of fatty meat being fried. She was laying on the couch, where she had fallen asleep, but Felix was noticeably absent, somehow escaping out from under her without her waking.

“I swear, nothing his size should be that quiet,” Rína grouched as she shambled onto her feet.

In the kitchen, lit by the morning sun, Yvette was humming a tune as she worked on breakfast. She again waved off Rína’s help, so Rína disappeared into the bathroom to perform her ablutions.

When she returned, another divine spread was waiting for her: tomato soup, Yvette called it, served in a bread bowl with a grilled cheese sandwich and the customary tea and bowl of fruit.

“Thank you,” Rína said, as both she and Yvette began their meal, “So what’s the verdict?” Rína said between bites, “I’m ready to leave whenever, by the way.”

Yvette sighed heavily, “We have to leave, I’m afraid. I will be ready to leave in about a month.”

Rína paused, a soup laden sandwich halfway to her mouth, “I thought you said we had to leave immediately?”

“And we do. Unfortunately there’s quite a lot of work that needs to be done here before we can leave. I usually like to relax during meals, but I haven’t stopped preparations since I got back,” Yvette grimaced as she returned to the meal.

“Any chance I could get a comment on how you can do both things at once?” Rína tried.

Yvette smirked, “Only in broad strokes. Every mage discipline I have ever heard of has—”

She was interrupted by Felix announcing himself with a soft howl. He was standing right outside the window against which the kitchen table was pressed. His muzzle was covered in blood and at his feet was an unlucky pair of deer.

“Just a moment,” Yvette murmured as she rose and extracted a pitcher from one of the kitchen cabinets. She opened the window to Felix, letting the metallic smell of blood fill the air. The smell was then immediately eclipsed when Yvette opened the pitcher and poured its contents onto the dead deer. Whatever was in that pitcher, it smelled to Rína like an entire spice cart, a few sacks of sugar, and a lake’s worth of cooking grease had been shoved up her nostrils.

“So every mage—” Yvette resumed.

“Gods! Sorry, but can we close the window; that smell,” Rína’s eyes watered as she tried to shield her sinuses with the inside of her elbow, “Sorry Felix.”

“I forgot about that…” Yvette closed the window as Felix, not caring, began to literally rip into his own meal with gusto, “Anyway; everyone of course has difficulty affecting that which they cannot perceive. As such, mages universally augment their perception through an extension of the magics that they already use—the umbrella term for this is ‘mage sight’. For example: light mages can be relied upon to sense all of the light around them, whether it’s trace amounts of light, not directed at them, or behind obstructions, etcetera.”

“Huh,” Rína mulled over the information, trying to rediscover her appetite while ignoring the sounds of tearing flesh coming from the window, “So then every mage could be spying on anyone at any time? Damn. I guess it’s not just sound mages, then.”

“There are ways to ward against most forms of mage sight, but they involve enchantments or the labors of another mage, though not all forms of sight are valuable for espionage. Geo mages, for example, use a variety of techniques to see through the earth itself, but that does not normally lend itself to spying on one’s neighbors,” Yvette said. She paused before cocking her head, “What did you mean by ‘not just sound mages’?”

“Oh, it’s just that there’s this old geezer that lives in Leighton. A lot of people would give him the stink eye because they thought he was eavesdropping on all their conversations. Apparently he was a retired sound mage from the low—”

“There’s a sound mage in Leighton!?” Yvette exclaimed, her eyes wide.

“Uh ye—yeah,” stuttered Rína, taken aback, “He actually—shit—I heard he was sent out a couple of days ago with a militia to wipe out the wolves,” Rína said, mirroring Yvette’s wide eyes.

“Oh. That’s not a problem then,” Yvette said, immediately, and visibly calming. Gaining a questioning and somewhat alarmed look from Rína, Yvette elaborated, “Felix intercepted that group once it was clear what they were planning.”

“And by ‘intercepted’ you mean…” Rína asked hesitantly, though she felt like she already knew the answer.

“Killed.” Yvette said flatly, “It’s the traditional response when a group of armed interlopers intend to massacre your descendents.”

Felix, for his part, remained content to stay out of the conversation and attend to his meal.

Rína was at a complete loss of words. Frankly, she didn’t know how to feel. She was well aware of the damage those wolves were doing to Leighton’s livestock, but fewer than twenty-four hours ago she was socializing, for lack of a better word, with those same wolves that seemed perfectly friendly. Lacking was a clear villain to root against. Even if there was one, she certainly wouldn’t wish them a violent death. Hells, Rína wasn’t even willing to kill Magister Leigh.

“Did you know any of them?” Yvette asked, responding to Rína’s gaping mouth.

“No… I just… Sorry; something to think about later,” Rína said, shaking her head and forcibly pulling herself back to the previous topic, “So uh… wait. Can’t mages diversify their magic? If some forms of mage sight are more useful than others, why doesn’t everyone just learn the useful ones? Also, are you saying that you’ve got one metaphorical eye on whatever it is that you’re doing?”

Yvette nodded, “The usefulness of a kind of mage sight depends entirely on context. Seeing into the earth is far more useful for a geo mage than a storm mage, for instance.

“Furthermore, that kind of knowledge is never publicly available. A random geo mage cannot simply ask a light mage to teach them enough lumimancy to see by. The light mage, if they agreed, would be hunted down by whatever lumimancy collegium they belonged to. Plus whatever lumimancy soul structures the geo mage was taught to build would become useless once their soul deepened. To actually continue to use lumimancy, the geo mage would need a conceptual understanding of lumimancy just as deep as their understanding of geomancy.”

“That’s a lot of information….” Rína said, trying to organize it in her mind, “So no dabbling then? Also, if collegia are so tight-lipped, do any mages exist with multiple magics? Also, also, what do you mean by ‘a soul deepening’? Also, also, also, what are ‘soul structures’?”

“We’re getting off topic, and those last two are best saved for their own lessons. But to wrap up the loose threads: you are correct, no dabbling. Collegia tend to have a few different magics in their portfolio that they teach to their members. And it is commonplace, just as I’m doing now, for a mage to use their magics to affect places they can only see through their mage sight.” Yvette concluded.

“Huh,” Rína mumbled to herself before snapping her eyes to Yvette’s, “You said ‘lesson’.”

“I did,” Yvette admitted with a nod, “How about we go for a walk.”

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The early afternoon was a kind one. The dusting of snow that had covered the landscape had been erased by the afternoon sun and what was likely one of the last warm breezes of the year. Yvette and Rína meandered through the garden girding Yvette’s cottage, away from where Felix was finishing his meal. Around them was a blooming riot of color. Around Rína were flowers of every possible color and shape, though unlike the discordant visual, the scents of each flower seemed to support the next. With each step the overall tapestry of scents shifted. Rína didn’t have context for most of them, but here and there she found a bouquet that reminded her of festival nights, swimming in a stream on a hot summer’s day, or—

“Why do you want to become a mage?” Yvette eventually asked, snapping Rína back to the present.

“Is that a serious question?” Rína chuckled, giving the woman an incredulous look.

Yvette locked eyes and responded, “Yes. It is.”

Rína grimaced then sighed, giving the question serious thought, “Well for starters, I honestly can’t think of a reason not to.”

“That sounds almost like wanting it on a whim. Also, there very much are downsides to becoming a mage. They vary based on the specific discipline, but fair warning: the downsides of my own discipline are particularly unforgiving.” Yvette corrected gravely.

“What? No, it’s not a whim,” Rína said, shaking her head, “And I suppose it only makes sense that nothing is without cost… It’s just…”

It was on the tip of Rína’s tongue. A feeling she couldn’t quite put into words. She tried to follow the trail of whatever it was back to its origin. As Rína thought about childhood stories and rare, fragmentary lowland news that mentioned mages, she felt like the people in them were always mages first—the power they wielded defined them. Rína thought back to herself as a preteen, pestering Master Andreou into taking her as his apprentice. The apothecary was the one escape from the suffocating world she had found herself in, the place where she had…

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“It’s… I feel like most of my life I’ve been caught dancing to music that wasn’t mine. But from the stories of mages I’ve heard, they’re powerful enough to make their own music,” Rína could feel herself at the cusp of whatever it was.

“So power for the sake of power?” Yvette asked with a raised eyebrow. The older woman had the air of a teacher suggesting an obviously wrong answer so as to push her student towards the correct one.

“No, it’s power for the sake of… freedom? Agency? Self-sovereignty? The power to be the sole decider of the course of your life? All of the above?” That was it. Rína might not have a single concise word to encapsulate the feeling, but it crystallized in her mind nonetheless.

Yvette gave a warm grin, “I think that is a wonderful answer.”

Rína released a shaky breath as she returned the smile, “So did I pass the test?”

“That wasn’t a test, though I think solidifying one’s motivation and resolve before beginning such an endeavor is important for the long run,” Yvette clarified, “And I haven’t decided whether or not to accept your apprenticeship.”

“Oh…” Rína said, crestfallen.

“But.” Yvette paused for emphasis, rekindling Rína’s hope, “If you are intent on becoming a mage, there are some basic exercises I can start you on.”

Rína’s eyes went wide. She halted where she stood, amidst the riotous colors of the garden.

Yvette turned to Rína and continued, “They are the exercises that literally every hopeful mage will do as they begin their education, so it will be applicable no matter what path you take. Though, as a side note, you should know that the vast majority of mages are educated in collegia and said collegia typically force their students into indentured servitude for a good fraction of the student’s career. The image of the free mage is certainly still an ideal to hold to, but it unfortunately is contrary to most mage’s experiences. Then again, my information could be out of date—we’ll see when we leave here.”

Rína almost forgot to speak, “Y-Yes! I mean the collegium stuff sounds pretty shit, but I’m up for whatever you’ve got.”

“Wonderful,” Yvette said, “We can start tomorrow if you would like.”

“Yeah, that’d be perfect! Thank you so much!” Rína exclaimed, grinning ear to ear, “Could we even start today? Would that be possible?”

“Technically yes, though—” Yvette began.

“Then let’s do it!” Rína exclaimed, still beaming, “What do I need to do? Do I need put my mind in a specific state, or maybe drink some aether rich reagent, or—”

“No,” Yvette interrupted, waving her off, “You just need a bucket.”

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“What do you know about aether?” Yvette asked.

“Uh, not much. Mages and lowland beasts use it to do magic, and it also has something to do with souls, or something,” Rína hazarded. She was sitting next to Yvette, cross-legged on the cottage’s small porch. In Rína’s lap was an empty water bucket and a filled waterskin.

“That’s roughly accurate,” Yvette allowed, “Aether can move between different states, not unlike water moving between gaseous, liquid, and solid states of matter. The aether that fills the world, that is devoid of intent, is called ‘gaseous aether’, or sometimes ‘neutral aether’. The aether that a fire mage would launch to burn down a forest is called ‘liquid aether’, or ‘aspected aether’, and it carries whatever intent the mage, or beast, imbued it with to carry out the given action.”

“Alright,” Rína said, nodding along.

“Souls are in fact made of aether. This kind of aether is called ‘crystalized aether’. It is the aether that has the intent to hold onto information, to know things, to know that it exists, and to continue to exist. The intent to know itself, to be itself, and to have hopes and fears and so forth.”

“Huh…”

“Souls absorb gaseous aether naturally, and use it to function, similar to our physical bodies taking in and using calories. When this happens, some of the intent from our souls imprints on the gaseous aether and turns it liquid. When a mage wishes to cast a spell, they agitate this liquid aether and force it through structures the mage has grown the exterior of their soul into. These structures then modify the liquid aether’s intent as it passes through them—they turn the intent of the self into the intent of a fireball or what have you.”

“Like squeezing a wineskin before opening the cap?” Rína asked, thinking she still followed, “And the bucket?...”

“It’s more like opening the valve of a pressure cooker. And with various valves of various shapes, you, the mage, can choose how pressurized the interior gets, which valves of what shapes to open, thus what shape the streams take, and which way to point these streams.”

“I think that’s clear,” Rína said, “But what in the hells does any of that have to do with a bucket?”

“Well, the first step of any aspiring mage is being able to observe their own soul. Everyone can potentially do it, but by never having had stimuli directly from one’s soul, we grow up blind to it. Apparently, in antiquity, before even Territh’s day, people would meditate for decades on end to try to perceive their souls. The stories say they would go to mountaintop caves, far from leylines, where the aether was thinnest so as to create the largest contrast between the environment and their soul.”

“For decades? Are you serious?” Rína gawked at Yvette.

“That’s what the old stories say at least,” Yvette shrugged, “Regardless, we won’t be doing any of that. Instead, I will simply vent some of my aether, without modifying its intent, and use it to give your soul a harmless poke. It works much better and faster, though of course it requires access to someone who is already a mage.”

“You know I can’t help but notice that you haven’t mentioned the bucket,” Rína said, “This is going to be awful, isn’t it?”

“You know how if you lay on your arm for too long you can cut off circulation and somewhat lose feeling in it?” Yvette began.

“Yeah…”

“And when you get off it and feeling returns, you get that pins-and-needles feeling?”

“Sure…”

“And you know that nauseous headache feeling of trying to make sense of an optical illusion that is utter nonsense?” Yvette shrugged in sympathy.

“…”

“…”

“…”

“On the count of three,” Yvette warned.

Rína grimaced, but nodded.

“One… two… thr—”

It came like a crack to the back of her head. But not the back of her head that was on the part of her head opposite her face. No, it was the back of her head that lives in the bluejay nest in your back garden, at least that’s where is stays in between giving speeches for its reelection campaign for Chief New Hire of the Janitorial Staff of the museum that’s been on hard times ever since it stopped being on bumpy times ever since it stopped being on smooth times ever since it stopped being on the cheese grater that you borrowed from your mother since your favorite cheese grater broke up with you to go live an exciting life on another continent that is rotating into the ocean of seas of rivers of streams of rain gutter runoff that somehow wasn’t stopped by the dead squirrel that’s been there ever since three-point-one-four-one-five-nine summers ago when the twice rarified kingdom of—

“hruuUUUUUUURNG” went the contents of Rína’s stomach into the bucket.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?” Rína yelled then coughed up a few more unmentionable chunks, and desperately tried to spit the stomach acid off of her tongue.

Yvette handed her the water skin, with one hand already keeping Rína’s hair out of the mess.

“That was your soul trying, and failing, to make sense of direct stimuli. What was it like?”

“It was…” Rína began, but whatever it was came and went in a moment, and like the memory of a dream upon waking, the particulars were slipping through her fingers, “...weird. It was weird.”

“And it will only get weirder, I’m afraid, before you become accustomed to the sensory vector and your soul figures out what is actually happening to itself,” Yvette consoled.

“I thought I was my soul, right?” Rína asked as the nausea was passing, only to be replaced with a headache.

“You are, but fitting raw sensory input to a model is the job of your subconscious. Until your subconscious creates a satisfactory model, all you will experience is mental noise,” Yvette explained, putting Rína’s hair into a better-late-than-never ponytail.

Rína grunted as she took deep breaths, angling her head away from the bucket.

“So how many more times do we need to do that?” Rína asked.

“As many as it takes,” Yvette shrugged piteously, “Are you ready for another poke? Also, how is your head feeling?”

“I…” Rína took another breath and centered herself, “I’m ready. And I’ve just got a slight headache.”

“Then I would suggest we keep it to three per day, at least for the time being,” Yvette said.

“Alright… wait. Days?” Rína asked, “How long does this take?”

“The fastest I’ve heard of was a week, but it can take as long as a few months.”

“Shit… I don’t suppose there’s a faster way?”

“Not beyond increasing the repetitions prematurely, though that can damage your pre-existing models,” Yvette warned, “Speaking of which, if after doing one of these exercises you have trouble recognizing faces, your proprioception becomes incoherent, you have trouble speaking or understanding Serrish, or anything like that. Tell me. Immediately.”

“I’m… I’m really at risk of something like that?” Rína stared wide eyed.

“Only if you are at the point of a particularly bad headache and try to push on. Like I said, we should keep it to three per day for now.”

“Right… Well, let’s get this over with…” Rína said, shaking her head.

Yvette nodded, “On three: One… two… thr—” Yvette counted up and up then left around only to get lost at the roundabout housing a family of weasels trying to shield their children from the radical political ideologies of the fourth edition of calorie contents that made your uncle admonish his own eating habits for staying up too late on a school afternoon enshrined in the Balcony of Mediocracy below the expectations of the goose that dare not speak its name so long as the winter son is staring into the summer sun that is burning the cheeks of the spring sump’s mooning of tourists to the problematic automatic diplomatic enigmatic charismatic asthmatic deer caught in the lighted heads of stated statements that shall go up in history like so much smoke on the water and fire in the skylight that is proof positive that your roof is on fire and you don’t need no water because fire and water put aside their differences to fight together against their mutual enemy in the form of formal forms forming a fortress of fornication with forthwith forays of the four scored at the seven seconds before the buzzer to cinch the victory’s belt after—

“hruuUUUUUUURNG”