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Glass Kanin [Books 1 & 2 Complete!]
Chapter 64 – Heart to… Void

Chapter 64 – Heart to… Void

Call it a heart to heart, I say, projecting my thoughts toward the predator. It can probably hear me regardless, but I want to make sure it can’t ignore me. This conversation is not optional. Or, uh, heart to void. Whatever slimy organ you have in place of a moral compass.

Anger wafts from the predator as it attempts to retreat, but I grab the bond that ties our minds together, and reel it in like a rope. The predator thrashes, and I have to fight every one of my own instincts to not let it go; to not put distance between us. Neither of us are particularly thrilled with this arrangement.

I don’t know if you can understand my words, I say, but I do know you can understand my intent. So let’s lay down some ground rules, shall we?

The predator roils futilely in my grasp, emanating waves of hate. It yearns for when our roles were reversed. It wishes to crush me. To kill—

But you don’t really want me dead, do you? I ask. Obedient maybe, but not dead. Because I’m your only foothold in reality, right? If I die, there’s nothing keeping you here.

The predator is not pleased by this. Frustration spills away from it, along with resentment, resignation, and… acknowledgement.

Good, I say. That’s a start. You don’t want to kill me. At least that’s one thing we can agree on. Now, I don’t know how much you’ve been paying attention, but Zyneth and I have a bit of an operation planned for the next coming days. It’s going to be dangerous. I’m going to need my mana.

The predator has stopped fighting me, perhaps resigned that it doesn’t have any choice but to listen. It doesn’t react to what I say; it doesn’t understand.

Alright, let me put it like this, I say. You’re mooching off my magic. But if you do that while I’m in trouble, if I don’t have my magic when I need it, I might be fucked. And that means you’re fucked. Capeesh?

That, at least, seems to get through. Understanding thrums between our minds—though not without a good amount of displeasure and spite. But something else follows this: reluctance. Disagreement. Noncompliance.

At first, I think it’s telling me to go fuck myself, but its message deepens into something more complex.

It can’t stop the magic drain, I finally understand. It needs it to survive; to remain in reality.

Right. I understand all that, but—

To release its hold on my magic would be no different than for me to die: both would result in it being forced back into the Between. It will not relinquish my magic. It will not stop feeding itself.

Well that puts us in a bit of a pickle, doesn’t it? I try to switch tactics. I didn’t want to play hardball, but it looks like you’re not leaving me with any choice. If you don’t cooperate, I’m going to starve you back Between.

At that, the predator is amused—not exactly the reaction I was going for.

Hardly a threat. It will continue to pull my magic away, bit by bit. And Attuning it isn’t a danger either. It can just take everything from me at the last second, like it did before. I might be strong, but my control isn’t complete, and it is far more cunning.

Excuse me while I roll my non-existent eyes. It’s right, though: I should have known better than to try to bluff with our minds connected like this. I can’t starve it, I can’t Attune it, and every time I try, it’s just digging itself in deeper to stay grounded in reality.

With a mental sigh, I let go of the predator’s mind, allowing it to dart as far away as our mental bond allows. I set the bottle down, frustrated with myself. That was stupid. I don’t know why I thought it could be reasoned with. It doesn’t see logic or compromise: it only cares about its next meal.

Trying to put the predator out of mind, I instead pull my slate over to revisit the drawing of the Emrox spell circle. There’s still so many gaps in my quick sketch. Maybe if I’m able to look up some of the few runes I can make out in my Vessel Construction book, I’ll find some answers on how to complete the Emrox circle. Or maybe I can find more books that can help me tomorrow in the Athenaeum—I guess I’ll have to do that before I rob the place and piss off the librarian.

I spend a couple hours sifting through the text books, but apart from being able to identify a couple basic runes used for stability in spatial magic, the endeavor is a waste of time.

I stare at my slate, willing the answer to come to me. Am I even on the right track here? What if this whole Emrox thing is just a wild goose chase?

The circle flickers. For a moment—the briefest moment—lines draw themselves over the slate, completing the diagram, and I can see the whole picture. I recognize the pattern. I’ve seen it before.

I start, the image vanishing as fast as it came. What was that? A hallucination? I most certainly haven’t seen that circle before. What was I thinking?

Foreign thoughts tickle my mind: The predator has. It has seen it.

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The predator was so quiet, I hadn’t even noticed it creeping to the forefront of my mind, watching over my shoulder as I worked.

What do you mean? I ask sharply. You’ve seen this spell before? Where?

The predator tries to retreat as soon as I’ve noticed it eavesdropping, but I grab its mind and hold it still. After a moment of thrashing against my hold, it gives up, exuding resignation and uncertainty.

Where? I ask again.

It isn’t sure. But it has seen it. It knows this pattern well.

Show me, I say, hoping to recapture that mental image I’d caught just moments ago.

The predator refuses. It can’t fight me, it can’t slink away sulking, as it so clearly desires, but I also can’t force it to resurface that memory. As soon as I try to enforce my will onto it, I feel its sense of identity evaporating.

But there’s something there. Something I just have to find a way to dig out.

Quietly, I pick up the bottled void and remove the cork. I tip the bottle toward the slate, allowing a spoonful of the liquid to pour out. The predator watches this with deep suspicion.

Show me, I say again, this time loosening my grip on its mind, handing over the tinniest fraction of autonomy to the void now pooled on the table.

The predator gleefully leaps at the opportunity to control some of its void again—and immediately tries to dart away. I had expected this, though, so I stop it in its tracks, yanking the void back over to the table and splatting it back down onto the slate.

Nice try, I say. Let’s do this again.

The predator glowers at me indignantly, but clutches its control of the void like a starved dog with a bone. It would be funny if it didn’t also scare me. We stare at each other for several long seconds, each waiting for the other to crack. Finally, the predator gives in.

I can tell it’s only complying because it’s waiting for me to slip up, waiting for an opportunity to dart away and take a stab at Zyneth’s soul in the corner of the room. I won’t let that happen, though. If I’m certain of anything, it’s that I won’t let it hurt Zyneth.

Reluctantly at first, then moving fast and with more certainty, the void swirls in intricate shapes and patterns over the page. Gradually the gaps are all filled in, the circle is stitched back together, until finally, the shadows stop. And somehow, I know—this is it. This is right.

Echo, Check, I say.

[Check,] Echo dutifully replies. [A spell circle for planar linkage.]

No way. This is it! Can I do it here? Now? How does it work? I ask.

[Planar Linkage: a spell which joins two designated points in spacetime.]

An excited thrill runs through me. What are the spell requirements?

[Unknown,] Echo says. [The spell has not been learned by the user.]

Dammit. That’s right. I learn spells by doing them, or studying them through text books, thanks to my Arcane Intuition. Seems like just looking at the completed spell circle isn’t enough.

But could I activate it anyway, replicating the spell circle and pouring enough mana in, even without knowing exactly how it works?

No. I can’t risk that. I can’t pull a Trenevalt. Even changing the size of a spell circle without altering other parameters—the angles of the lines, certain runes—can result in completely unpredictable effects. If I want to use the Planar Linkage spell, I’ll need to go right to the source.

In Emrox.

The predator feels I’m distracted. It springs toward Zyneth with sadistic glee—and I mentally pluck it from the air, stuffing the void back into its bottle. The predator seethes with irritation, but my mind is elsewhere, racing, trying to piece all of this together. There is a way home. No more pipe dreams: a surefire way to retrieve my body. But to do that, I’ll have to go to Emrox and activate the circle there. Without even knowing how much mana that might take until I get there. What if it’s more than I have?

The predator could harvest enough void. Absorbing mana is what it does best. It would be trivial.

It still takes me a moment to even recognize these foreign ideas as thoughts coming from the predator’s mind. You’re offering to help me? I ask, skeptical.

Disgust. Denial. It could control such magic. Not that it would help me.

I snort. Sure, whatever. Clearly it has some ulterior motives with putting that suggestion out there, but how would it benefit from helping me make the portal I needed to get home? It must know I’m planning to leave it trapped Between. I reach for the predator’s mind, hoping I can catch a glimpse of its true intentions, but it darts away like a fish, sulking. Maybe it’s just jumping at any excuse to get ahold of more mana.

I tap my finger on the slate, looking at the incomplete spell circle still drawn there, thinking.

Alright, I finally say to the predator. You want my mana? Let’s make a deal.

Ugh, even thinking the word deal with respect to the predator makes me feel slimy. But if we can’t figure some way past our stalemate, I’m stuck.

I won’t try to Attune you, I say, and I can feel the predator’s surprise and then immediate suspicion at this suggestion. I won’t try to starve you out, either. In exchange, you help me with that spell circle. Once we get to Emrox, I’ll need you to fill in the blanks for any portions of the circle that are damaged. And I’ll also need you to harness enough mana from the surrounding waters to activate the spell.

The predator chews on this, highly tempted, but wondering what the catch is.

No catch, I say. But I’m not done yet. I won’t suppress your mind to try to stop you from taking my mana, but only on the condition you stop taking all of it. I know you need some to stay out of the Between, but can you at least take… less? Enough to keep you here, but not so much that it uses up everything I’ve got?

The predator considers this. It sees the reason in my offer, but it’s still reluctant. It’s hungry. It goes against its nature to leave food behind. But most of all, even though it knows it needs me, it really, really doesn’t like me.

Look, I’m just trying to stand a fighting chance, I sigh. You don’t want to end up Between. I don’t want to die. I’m not asking for much—I’m just asking that you don’t be so greedy.

Now that does stir amusement from the predator. It is greed. It is gluttony. The mere concept of rationing its meals fills it with disgust. To ask it to be less greedy is to ask it to not be itself.

But… it might be able to survive off less of my magic. At least for a day or two.

Thank god. Freeing up a bit of my mental headspace from having to suppress the predator at every waking moment will be a relief. Glad that’s—

However, the predator’s thoughts chase me, it will be watching. It doesn’t trust me. It knows I hate it, and it won’t let me send it back Between.

I snort. You’ll be watching me? Right back at you.

And with that I flick the predator’s mind away. I can’t completely cut off our connection, but there’s something satisfying in sending the predator reeling.

Given everything else I’m juggling, I’ll take my wins where I can get them.