After a night spent Attuning the glass and using it to patch up various chips and reinforce my book side satchel, we head back to the Athenaeum in the morning. The easiest way I could solve my predicament is if I could summon my body to me—if such a thing is even possible. As I make my way back in, I find I still have access to every level of the library, and I'll continue to have that access for the next few days: I guess my info was just that good. Zyneth heads off to other floors in investigation of Gillow’s job, while I decide to spend the day focusing on summoning magic.
The spiderwebs lead me up to a lot of books about forging telepads, which, I suppose, is kind of a summoning magic, but not what I’m looking for. There’s even more on summoning monsters, undead, and other types of malicious beasts—which is even further from what I want, though potentially the mechanism through which these creatures can be summoned might be relevant to what I want to do. Trying to ignore the mounting headache from pouring over tiny scripts and extremely dense magical theory, I find a handful of passages that might be tangential to what I need.
The art of summoning creatures or objects, one book reads, is a wide branch of magic that is oft misunderstood. Elemental summoning—conjuring a flame or wind—is the simplest and most common form, and has been greatly explored in other texts in more detail, and so will not be delved into within these pages. Rather, the ability to summon some physical being or construct in its entirety is a much more complex and nuanced topic.
Contrary to popular belief, a mage cannot simply conjure a demon on a whim. Any living beings that a mage wishes to summon must be marked with a target spell prior to any summoning. Similarly, items may be branded with a spell that allows them to be summoned at will. Without these creatures or items being infused with the necessary summoning magic in advance, conjuring the target is impossible.
Well that doesn’t bode well for the “summon my body from Earth” plan. I skim ahead as it takes a tangent on telepads, comparing the mechanism for summoning items to the mechanism used for transporting people between telepads. Apparently, both use null arcanum and several of the same spell circle elements. At least null arcana is one point I have in my favor; apparently most of these spells can only be operated by people with a type of null magic affinity. Small victories.
Finally a subsection on monster summons addresses the issue I’m facing.
So how does a mage initially encounter a creature they wish to summon, you might be asking? Assuming you’re not able to pre-arrange a meeting or run into the specimen by happenstance, there are various ways a creature may be tracked down. The most reliable method, of course, is via a Location spell.
Unhelpfully, the book does not go into more depth on what a Location spell is or how it can be used. I guess the author just assumes anyone dabbling in summoning magic would already have a grasp on something so obviously basic. After flipping through the rest of the book and not getting anywhere, I decide to branch out.
I place the summoning book on a return shelf—which is quickly spirited away by a spider construct—and then return to the shelves to look for any information on Location spells.
Over the course of the day, I have to get up several times to swap out books, since I can’t carry them all at once, (unless I want to burn through my mana using dozens of Void Whips,) and on more than one occasion I draw the eye of a curious guest perusing the stacks. A catgirl keeps staring at me whenever I step past one of the glowing orbs of light that keeps the room lit, inadvertently scattering a rainbow across her desk. Once or twice, I swear she paws at the reflection. A bald human man glares at me when I nearly bump into him, rounding the shelves. Hastily apologizing, I head back to my seat. Keep a low profile, Zyneth said.
Location spells allow the caster to create a magical compass to the desired target object, one book reads. They can provide precise locations or a general direction, depending on the design of the spell and the strength of the input foci. An input foci is what allows the target to be identified in the first place, and must be related to the target in some intimate way. For instance, a piece of sentimental clothing owned by the target will result in a stronger and more precise spell than a cup they’ve drunk from or a stone they’ve thrown, and hair or fingernail clippings would have an even stronger bond than these. If the target is an inanimate object, such as a dagger, the tool that was used to create it or the sheath it often resided in could also be used as foci.
I read on about the different spell circles that can be used to cast such a Location spell, but I’m worrying this path may be a non-starter as well. If I need some sentimental belonging that’s associated with my body, I’m not going to find it in this world. It’s a frustrating circle: To summon my body I need to find it, but to find my body I first have to be able to summon something related to it.
[New Spell Learned!] Echo announces as I’m rereading the pages, hoping to find some alternative that could work for my situation. [Spell: Location. A spell which can guide the caster to the targeted source of a relevant foci. Requirement: Spell circle, variable mana, designated foci.]
Well that’s nice and all, but it doesn’t help me so long as I don’t have anything on this planet I can use as a foci.
Or do I?
Echo, I ask, can a soul be used as the foci for the Location spell?
[Affirmative,] Echo says. [Although circumstances in which a soul would be separated from its body are exceptionally rare, the inherent nature between soul and body would provide an extremely powerful bond for the foci to trace.]
Hope flutters through me. Is this it? Is this the answer I’ve been hoping for? Could it be that easy?
What’s the mana cost to activate this spell? I ask.
[Mana cost to activate: 20. Additionally, the spell consumes 1 mana per minute that the spell is maintained.]
So not something that could be left on indefinitely, but hopefully I wouldn’t need to. I pull out my slate and chalk, glancing back through the pages at the circle designs and adjustments that the spell requires.
Show me the spell circle, I tell Echo. Targeting my soul as the foci.
The image appears in my mind the next moment, and I begin to sketch it out on my slate.
I spend maybe an hour perfecting every detail I can manage. Despite my excitement, I try not to rush it. I can afford to take my time, after all, and the last thing I want is a botched spell similar to what ended up pulling me here in the first place. If this works, then the spell should provide me with some sort of “path” I can follow to my body. I don’t know how that will play out given my body is on another world, but it can’t hurt to try. If nothing else, maybe it will lead me to the next piece of the puzzle I’m looking for.
Eventually, finally, the circle is ready. Alright, Echo, I say, leaning back. Let’s ready that Location spell. With my soul as the foci.
[Affirmative,] Echo says. [Mana cost: 20. Activate?]
I remove my core from the chain around my neck, and slip it from its bag, setting it gently at the center of the circle. With a flutter of anticipation, I activate the spell.
The circle lights up with my magic. Black light swirls around my vial, wisping through the glass. Tendrils of magic curl around my core as I try not to squirm, deeply unnerved by being surrounded by this unfamiliar spell. I wonder if this is how Noli felt when I was trying to put her soul back in her body. The filaments of magic twine together into one strand, and maybe it’s my imagination, but I think I can feel something tugging on my soul. Then, the magic stops.
The line vanishes into thin air a few inches from my body. I’ve seen something like this before: when I use Bond Trace, the predator’s thread similarly vanishes as it moves away from my core, because the predator isn’t on this plane of existence, but Between.
Is that where this spell is pointing me? I ask Echo. Is the “path” leading back Between?
[Affirmative,] Echo says. [As the target object is on a different plane of reality, the shortest path joining the foci with the target object would require traversing Between.]
“Oh, is that all,” I mumble. I shut the spell off, uninterested in draining the rest of my mana. Not that I haven’t been Between before—but I’m not entirely sure how to get back (without dying) and even then, I’m not sure I want to. Without something tethering you to reality, like, say, a senile wizard’s magic-collection spell, or an ink bottle your soul has been bound to, traversing the Between risks ending up in the afterlife. And as far as I understand it, there’s no coming back from that.
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If I could find a way Between, I ask Echo, would this spell pull me through it? Back to my body?
[Negative,] Echo says, and my hope falters. [The Location spell merely provides a direction to follow, not a path to traverse. However, if a spell could be enacted to bridge the current plane of existence with a desired plane, the Location spell may be used to provide the target destination.]
Huh. So you’re saying if I could find some sort of interdimensional-telepad, I could use this Location spell to make sure the other end pops out where my body is?
[Affirmative,] Echo says.
Which means I wouldn’t just be retrieving my body, I’d also have a way back to Earth.
I sit back, trying to take all this information in. Does that mean I could go home? The idea fills me with a strange mix of hope and reluctance. I mean, I do want to go home, don’t I? Of course I do. I spent my whole life trying to pursue my dream of becoming an actor—I can’t quit now. Earth is where I’m somebody. Where everyone I’ve ever known lives.
Except Attiru, Rezira, Noli, and Zyneth.
My soul churns, and I shake my head as if that could dispel my disquiet. I’m getting ahead of myself. This still isn’t a real way to get my body back. I don’t even know if there is a spell that can do what Echo’s describing. Besides, this is just the second day of research. Maybe there’s other answers out there.
I push my chair back and stand up—and something thumps to my right, causing me to jump. A man—the bald man I’d nearly run into before—picks up one of the texts he’s dropped. The cat girl hushes him, and he glares at the both of us before hurrying away. Careful to not disturb the irritable felis, I quietly re-stow my vial, return the book I was reading, and move on to other shelves.
I can’t quite shake the idea Echo had suggested, though. The idea of an interdimensional telepad keeps itching at me. Rezira had said something about this when I first told her I was from another world: There were myths about the Old People being able to world-walk. Something to do with the Ruins, she’d said.
Planar Theories mentioned the various arcana sources and their link to the Ruins. Apparently, various abandoned ancient cities scattered over the world’s surface are linked to each of these dimensions, their raw magic spilling out into the surrounding lands. Emrox, the one now sunk far beneath the sea, is the Ruin tied to null magic and the Between. And although it seems I’m far from the only one who has developed an affinity for null magic—Trenevalt and telepad operators being a few others—it’s apparently so volatile to manipulate in its raw form that everyone resorts to using the null arcana-infused salt from the sea around Emrox instead.
It seems to me if there’s going to be any sort of forgotten world-bridging magic—some scaled-up version of a telepad—it’s most likely to be there.
The next time I touch the web on the end of a bookshelf, I focus on the Ruins, Between, and Emrox.
Although it is unknown why the Ruins were abandoned and left to fall into the disarray we find them in today, one tome reads, one thing remains clear: Each society was built around a specific arcanum source, and that connection is maintained, at least to some degree, to this day.
The evidence lies in the environment surrounding each Ruin. The bones of dead wildlife are spawned into new beings around the Black Spire. The surrounding woods continue to turn to stone around the Petrified Groves at an estimated rate of one inch per year. The moats of Mount Carmine forever overflow with lava. And if an adventurer is determined enough, it has even been demonstrated that skilled magicians who have ventured into these locations—and survived—were able to harness the arcana there without being limited by their individual mana reserves. Incredible, seemingly impossible acts of magic have been performed at these locations. Whatever spell the wielder may wish to enact, it has the potential to be magnified a thousand fold.
I excitedly read on, hoping they have some insight into what this would mean for Emrox, but it seems no one has gotten that far. Its inhospitable location—at the bottom of the ocean—coupled with the deep-sea beasts that have become infused with the null magic apparently make it too dangerous for even aquatic species of people to approach. Harvesting the faintly magical salt deposits at the edge of the sea is as close as anyone dares venture.
The rest of the books on this floor don’t offer any further insight, so I decide to move up a floor or two. The rarest texts should be at the top, after all, and what I’m looking for has maybe never been attempted before.
At floor twenty-seven, I find another lead.
As before, I take the book back to a desk and begin to leaf through it. There are far less people up here. The bald guy has also wandered up. Every once in a while, a lone patron wanders down.
This book is on Emrox.
The first thing I notice is the map. Or rather, pages and pages of maps. Half the book seems dedicated to sketches of the drowned city, some more clearly defined than others. If I seriously am considering trying to visit the city, this is exactly what I’d need. I wish I could take this book with me.
Echo, can you take snapshots or something? I ask.
[Negative,] Echo says, and maybe it’s my imagination but I think she sounds mildly offended. [This interface is not designed for such purposes.]
You copied down spell circles and ingredient lists for me before, I note. Can you copy any of this? Maybe recreate the general map?
[Negative,] Echo says. [Once a spell has been learned, this unit is able to recall elements of the spell for future use. However, recalling the notional layout of an unknown city does not fall under that domain.]
Damn. No Google Maps for me. It was worth a shot, anyway. I keep flipping through the pages, trying to absorb as much as possible.
A handful of locations are labeled. The Main Gates. The Broken Pillars. There’s also a central feature the city appears to be built around, some sort of stadium with an enormous spell circle carved into the center. The circle itself is at least as big as a house.
What about that? I ask Echo. That’s a spell circle. Can you copy it?
[Negative, as you do not know the spell.]
If I practiced drawing it enough times it might get added to my spell list, and then maybe she’d be able to tell me more about what it could do. I pull out my slate and chalk, use my cloak to wipe off the Location spell, and then attempt to replicate what I can see of the circle. In the picture, parts of the spell are covered up or missing entirely, so I leave those parts blank. My drawing isn’t perfect, but since it’s not imbued with any magic and I have no idea what other requirements its activation might need, I’m not worried about accidentally setting it off.
After I finish flipping through the book—I find more notes indicating Emrox and null arcana are speculated to be some long-forgotten link to other dimensions—I return it to the shelf. Then I pick up the slate, focus on the spell circle I’d drawn there, and begin searching the stacks once more. Nothing on this level, besides the book I’d just returned, has any information on the circle. I keep heading up.
The library is getting quiet. What was once a roar of people has diminished into a distant murmur. I wonder if magic is muting it, or if it’s a trick of the acoustics.
I finally hit another match on floor thirty-one. The light on the end of the shelf zips around the corner, and I follow it to a shelf near the floor. This one isn’t covered in books, but scrolls. Given the lack of people and the unlikelihood of me getting in anyone’s way, I simply sit on the ground and unfurl the scroll right there.
The paper is old and crinkly. There’s writing on the pages, and more spell circle drawings, but the alphabet is in a language I don’t recognize.
[Active translation?] Echo asks.
Whatever would I do without her? Activate.
The words snap into focus.
Lost Spells, the scroll reads. There’s no marked author. Circle remnants of The Fallen.
I’m sure that’s fine.
I steadily unfurl the far end as I begin to re-roll the section I’ve already read. Some spell circles—or at least, partial circles, as many have blank spots in their pattern—contain a paragraph of speculation about what they might have done. Many more, however, are merely labeled things like “Partial circle found in The Green. Year: 732.”
It doesn’t take long until I find the one for Emrox, and luckily, this one comes with text.
Partial circle found in Emrox. Year: 945. Reinforcement of double outer circle suggests spell containment was necessary. Inner ten-point star comparable to design used in modern telepads, indicating a high likelihood the spell was used for dimensional magic. Author’s speculation: If anywhere in this city still maintains a connection to the Between, it is likely tied to this circle. However the patterns are much more intricate than to simply provide an access point to null arcana. It is the author’s belief that the tunnel Between is merely one component of this spell; a stepping stone to power a much more complex magic. Based on what can be made of the circle, and the common mythologies which surround the city—be them truth or fiction—the purpose of this circle may have been to link different physical locations, possibly with other Ruins, other arcana planes, or even potentially other worlds.
I feel a rush of excitement. This is it. The spell I need to get home. Sure, it’s incomplete, but it’s somewhere to start. And if I can find some way to fill in the blanks, maybe I can activate it without dealing with Emrox. Taking my slate back out, I begin adding to the circle I’d previously drawn, trying to be as precise and detailed as possible. There are still gaps in the drawing, but given the circle’s symmetry, I’m hoping I can infer some of what’s missing.
[Your magic has been Identified,] Echo abruptly says.
I freeze, a chill running through my soul. What? What do you mean?
[A spell has been cast on you to gather information about your nature and magic.]
What the fuck. I look to my left and right—then nearly jump out of my glass as I find a figure standing at the end of the shelf. It’s the bald man I’d nearly run into before. He’s staring right at me.
Danger.
I don’t know how I know that, but every instinct in me is telling me to run. This isn’t right. Why hadn’t I heard him? Why is he covertly scanning my magic?
Are we alone?
Shit shit shit. Zyneth told me not to go far, but I’m ten floors above him now. What the hell was I thinking?
All I can do now is try to leave out the other side of the shelf. If he doesn’t know I’m onto him, maybe I can give him the slip. Okay, Kanin. Play it cool.
“Oh, hello,” I say, tucking my slate and chalk back into my bag. “I did not see you there. Sorry if—”
The man’s fingers twitch, and a red light flashes from his hand.
[Status Effect: Immobilized,] Echo says. [Your movements have been restrained.]
My body locks up. Every piece of glass frozen in place. At the edge of my vision I can see my hand still holding the lid of my satchel, in the process of letting it go, but at this moment I can’t even get a finger to twitch. Panic wells up inside of me like a strangled scream.
The man strolls casually forward. His casualness terrifies me. Like I’m nothing.
“Now,” he says. “Let’s see what prize we have here.”