I ended up spending the night at Diella’s house on a small pallet in her dining room. I was expressly forbidden from entering her room, and lacked any special curiosity about the place in any case. I imagined that she might have had trouble with clients who found her presence a little too… stimulating. I still marveled that the woman was able to use her white magic without people noticing. She had eventually revealed to me that when she had to use more than just a trickle of the stuff, she would dose the patient with an emetic beforehand.
It’s hard to tell that you’re being touched by magic when you’re busy throwing up. I guess gating mechanisms work in this world too. The endorphin rush afterwards probably helped too. Her real secret though, was that if someone came to her with such a condition, she would more often than not just refer them to the local chapel. It’s easy to lay low if you let the church do the real healing.
When I awoke and let myself out of my own little box, Solus was waiting for me.
Give in
Let go
Why fight?
“Could you get out of my head?” I muttered, rising and stretching.
No
I froze. That was new.
“Hello?” I asked.
Silence stretched, and I itched the back of my head for a moment before deciding that it might have been my imagination.
No!
I staggered, catching myself on the wall as the voice bounced around the inside of my skull like a bouncy ball. That did it. Once is an error, twice is a coincidence, and three times is a pattern. Here’s the kicker, there are no coincidences. The voices in my head were changing, and I had to do something about it. Now.
I dropped into a lotus position on the floor and tapped into the flow of essence in my body. I was, quite frankly, sick and tired of having Solus as my constant companion. The man wasn’t a good conversationalist, and he wouldn’t shut up.
“Come here you.” I growled, grabbing a hold of the essence in my mind and sending it into a dizzying swirl.
My own body reacted by feeding me a sense of vertigo. I swayed, but managed to keep up the movement. The barely understandable voices became a jumble as the black magic in my head was stirred by my own power.
Good, I was hoping that something like that would happen. Essence and magic are not the same, but they are related. Magic is derivative of essence, so the movement of such should be able to affect an active spell. Or the remnants of one at least.
You see, I had built a box for myself inside of my head as a defense mechanism. At the time, it had been a hidey hole for my damaged psyche. My mind was still scarred, but I was over having the repetitive voice of an egotist handing me helpful tips every moment of the day.
The funny thing about boxes is, they have a lot of uses. Kids turn them into forts, cats sit in them, and you can even turn one into a handy knee rest if you’re working in a garden for long periods of time. The cardboard box is truly versatile.
The box in my head was safety, but it could also be a prison.
Closing my eyes, I grabbed onto a nearby chair for support and sent the essence in my head swirling again. If I stretched my senses far enough, I could just feel a faint difference in the power coursing through my brain. I had to assume that that was the black magic that Solus had left inside of me.
Continuing the swirling pattern, I pulled several bricks from my mental prison, then began lowering the miniature hurricane of essence towards it. The black magic wasn’t sentient, but it seemed to shy away from the prison. I didn’t let it.
A final whirl, and the bricks fell back into place. I waited for a moment, hoping against hope.
Silence.
I grinned and opened my eyes.
That’s when I threw up.
That was how Diella found me that morning. Facedown in a pool of my own vomit, a stupid grin on my face. I just couldn’t find it in myself to care when she accused me of using my magic recreationally.
Screw you and your mind magic Solus!
I let Diella believe that I had been using white magic for pleasure. I wasn’t really up to explaining to her about the voices in my head. Surprisingly, she was quite forgiving of the slip-up.
“It happens.” She said, handing me a washcloth.
I wiped my face, then got to work on her floor. I thanked the powers that be that wooden floors were the norm in Aramor. I didn’t want to imagine the effort it would have taken to clean a carpet of my stomach’s contents. I had done enough of that in my previous life.
“How many white mages have you trained exactly?” I asked idly as I continued to clean.
“You should know better than to ask that.” She remarked, cracking some eggs into a pan over her newly stoked stove.
“So it has been more than one?” I asked.
She didn’t respond. I took that for a yes.
“Diella-“ I began
“It’s Ella.” She cut me off.
“Okay, Ella,” I corrected myself, “I was wondering, have you ever had another white mage use magic on you while you were channeling your own?”
A pregnant pause followed that question.
“That is…” She hesitated, then continued, “A rather personal question.”
I thought about that, remembering the way that the babbler’s magic had mixed with mine. That had been… something else. Maybe not entirely appropriate of a question.
“It happened to me,” I quickly interjected, “I was just wondering if you could tell me what effect that would have had on me.”
Another pause.
“How many times?” She asked.
“Just once.”
“Do you still remember it?”
“Like it was this morning.” I admitted.
A soft exhalation, “I assume that that was the triggering event for the development of your dependence?”
“I think so,” I said, “Although, shortly thereafter, I was forced to use white magic to sustain my body for a long period of time.”
I looked over at her. She had turned away from the stove and was nodding thoughtfully at me.
“Either of those alone could have awakened an addiction,” She said, “How long ago.”
“Sometime last week.” I said.
“It’s a good thing that Megaine brought you here when she did, though I do worry about the implications of her finding me,” She said, “Curbing an addiction is easier at the start. If this had happened six months ago… I would refer you to the Sanitarium, regardless of your wishes.”
“Oh.” I said, falling silent.
“In regards to the mixing of white magic,” She said, “I would be careful about asking white mages about that. It is expressly forbidden, but many couples within the Order use it to enhance their… intimate experiences.”
I coughed, “I see.”
Diella served up eggs and some of the ubiquitous yam rice that was a staple of the capital. It was strange, because in Vern, I hadn’t seen the stuff before. The most common carbohydrate there was a purple tuber which could be found in the wilds or imported. The things tasted like potatoes.
I missed the food in Vern. Although it was probably a sign of oncoming mental illness that I found myself remembering Laurel’s cooking with even a hint of fondness.
I bid Diella farewell, promising to be back the next day to continue our lessons. I was honestly unsure if what she was doing was helping. I had managed to keep my use of white magic to a minimum since emerging from the dungeon beneath the city. I had thought I was doing well. After last night, I could feel the craving as strong as it had ever been.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
I almost skipped down the street as I worked my way to the collegia Alchemica. I had been avoiding my studies since returning home because every time I picked up a book, the voices in my head started jabbering. With those gone, I was legitimately excited to get back to class. Alchemico Byar was less than amused to see me.
“Master Dyre.” He said dispassionately, looking up from his desk, “While attendance is not mandatory, I find it very hard to believe that you are serious about your studies when you skip an entire week of class. I expect it of the apprentice track students, but not my theory students.”
“I’m sorry sir,” I said quickly, “I was detained for a long period of time, then found that my mind was not in the right place to return to my studies.”
He sighed and rubbed his temples, “I see. Have you finished that list I gave you?”
I withdrew a stack of notes from my bag, “Yes sir, week before last, the reading was interesting.”
He held out his hand and looked over my notes, nodding before handing them back, “Thoughts?”
I replaced the notes and settled into an at-ease position, my hands clasped behind my back, “Sir, I am extremely interested in Alchemica Forsyth’s theory on substitution of alchemical reagents.”
“Go on.” He said.
My main reason for being interested in this topic was that I knew about the periodic table of elements. I knew that everything in the world could be broken down into molecules, then into atoms. Magic in Esturia operated on rules, and I felt sure that there was some equivalent to the atom which could be used to decipher the reason why two different recipes could produce the same result.
“I believe that there is a finer component to our alchemical materials than we know about.” I said, “If we could somehow identify that base component, we could easily make more and more substitutions.”
“Do you have any evidence to support your idea?” He asked, his eyes betraying a gleam.
I withdrew one of my bile-toad extracts and handed it to him, “That is the poison of a bile toad, purified to remove the killing effect, with the magical suppression properties intact. I mix it with a rathound curative and distill the whole thing down.”
He examined the vial, then handed it back, “What does this say about reagent substituting?”
“Everything!” I blurted out, then calmed myself at his raised eyebrow, “Potions, elixirs, and curatives are all made from the creatures and plants of the Broken Lands. If all monsters have a common killing poison, which can be cured by curatives specific to other monsters, then there should be other commonalities.”
“Have you looked at any recipes?” He asked.
I nodded, pulling out a page from my notes, “I’ve done a comparative analysis on the two types of ingredients used in a level one agility elixir. They are both six-month formulae, but one uses the heart of a whipple, and the other the feathers of a spearin.”
He took the paper and looked it over. He was silent for a minute, then stood up.
“Let’s go down to the lab.” He said, throwing on a coat.
“Right now?” I asked.
“Of course,” He said, heading for the door, “Hurry along Master Dyre, we have some alchemy to do!”
I hurried after him.
Alchemico Byar and I laid out all of the ingredients before us and looked over the list.
“The bases are the same,” I said, “So purified water is an easy enough start.”
“Yes, but this one uses hensbane,” Byar noted, “While this one uses lossen.”
“Lossen is used by herbalists in a tea that is supposed to help concentration.” I pointed out, “It might be the better choice. I’ve never seen another use for hensbane.”
Byar nodded thoughtfully, taking the lossen and adding it to the flask we were using.
We went down the list, choosing ingredients, omitting some and including others. When we were done, Alchemico Byar let me cook it, then finish infusing it.
We both watched carefully as the glow of essence swam through the elixir. I held my breath as I pulled it away from the fire.
The essence immediately dropped to the bottom of the flask.
I sighed.
Alchemico Byar clapped me on the shoulder, “Not to worry Master Dyre. Your idea has merit, and I think you might be on to something. I’ll have Gerald bring you more reagents. I have other obligations, but I am very interested in whatever results you come up with.”
I nodded, “Thank you sir. This isn’t the first time I have had to work on a new recipe, so I’m not sure why I thought it would end differently.”
Alchemico Byar left me, and I settled down to read over the three recipes. Comparing them, I wondered what could have gone wrong.
‘Ah, variables.’ I thought.
I have been on Esturia for too long. I had forgotten one of the cardinal rules of experimentation. Only change one variable at a time.
“Alright then, let’s try substitutions, from the top down, one at a time.” I said, then set to work, “Then we’ll get crazy.”
Needless to say, I did not have any success on the first day.
XXXXXX
After several hours in the alchemy lab, I found my way outside into the afternoon sun. Autumn had begun turning the leaves of what I assumed were oak trees to a stunning array of colors, and the gentle breeze which flowed across the campus of the three colleges sent a shiver through my body. I took a long moment to breathe in the crisp air.
As I made my way down the cobblestone path that wended its way through the verdant square which held the dozen or so buildings that made up the college, I saw other students. Some were dressed in robes and bore the badge of the Collegio Magico, less numerous were those in plain robes, who would be students of the Collegia Alchemica. The last set of students I saw were adorned with a badge which depicted the symbol of Tyr. I assumed that these were students of the Collegio Academico.
As I walked, I took time to envy these students. In another world, I had been just like them. Some gathered in groups and joked together, others were busily looking over notes they had taken either in class or at the library. Some were hurrying to class, others were engaged in recreational activities. I suppose the group of hydromancers passing a stream of water back and forth between them would have been the equivalent of some students juggling a soccer ball.
Otherwise, it was an ocean of calm amid a life which had become far more complex than I had ever wanted. I took the time to envy them, then moved on. Although they looked carefree, many of these students were scions of their own houses, however great or low. Some might be common, but they would be the children of either the rich, or prodigies who had received scholarships because a specific college wanted them.
Their lives were probably as complex as my own. Seeing them, I was reminded that I needed to take some time for myself as well. It was true that I was on a deadline. Megaine had somewhere in the ballpark of two months to live, and I had a job to do. The problem was, if I let that consume every hour of my day, my productivity would drop precipitously.
I made my way over to the library. I could not see Master Norry, but I was certain that the ancient shinobi was somewhere among the towering piles of books, just waiting to leap out and assassinate me with a letter opener. I should have never given him that arthritis treatment.
The junior clerk took a look at my master alchemist pin and waved me inside. I moved to the section of the library that was usually frequented by the students of the Collegio Academico and began browsing the sections that dealt with the gods of Esturia. There was a copy of the Book of Tyr, and Musings on Life, both being the main canonical works of their religions. I looked a little deeper until I found a book that might contain what I was looking for: Irregular Religions, The Gods of Days Past.
The dusty tome was faded, and some of the pages cracked as I leafed through their contents. I decided that after I finished with helping bring about a medical revolution on Esturia, I would introduce the authors of the various texts to the idea of an index.
The book was old, and probably a copy of a copy of a copy, based on the fact that it contained information that had probably only been available before the breaking. I had been hoping for something a little more substantial, but ended up with a set of stories that read like Grimm’s Fairy Tales half of the time. Despite that, I was able to uncover several interesting tidbits.
First, Tyr and Orianna were mentioned in passing several times throughout the book. This was not surprising to me. The thing that was, was the fact that there was a third name that popped up on occasion: Lissandra. I could only assume that Lissandra’s worship was not considered an ‘irregular religion,’ because the book did not expound upon it.
The thing that I found was that the passages which brought of Lissandra’s name were all references to various cults that worshipped magic. Other than the name and that little tidbit, I found very little of use in the book.
Although I was an accomplished skimmer, hours had passed since I had begun my search. Glancing out a nearby window, I saw that it was growing dark, it would probably be best if I got home. When I arrived, Derrick directed me to my workroom.
“That stick you ordered arrived,” He said, in the process of closing up shop, “I put it with that blade you’re working with.”
I nodded my thanks and stepped into the small workshop. Sure enough, next to the steel blade on my workbench, was a crude shaft of ironwood. According to my specifications, it was straight, though still rough, having been worked minimally. I twirled it experimentally.
It was imperfect, but that was what I had been hoping for. I grabbed a carving knife and several other woodworking tools, then began the long process of turning this simple piece of wood into a quarterstaff.
“Whatcha doin’?” Came a voice that I recognized.
I managed not to cut myself in surprise. A flash of anger shot through my blood, only to be cooled as I reigned myself in. I had gotten myself in enough trouble through impatience. It might help if I tried practicing in a place where the consequences wouldn’t be so dire.
Instead of lashing out at Miriam, I used my foot to hook a stool from under my bench and dragged it out. Gesturing at it, I went back to my work. It took about a dozen strokes of my blade for Miriam to give in and take the proffered seat. I continued working.
“So…?” She asked.
I held the staff to check for balance, maybe a little more off this side…
“I’m making a magic staff.” I replied as I shifted my attention.
“Why?” She asked, “I know you’re old, but you’re not that old. Only wizards in stories use staves.”
“I think it’s my turn to ask a question.” I replied.
Miriam went quiet for a second, then responded, “Okay, one for one. What do you want to know?”
“Do you like working with your mother?” I asked, testing the balance again, then working to even out the surface.
As I worked, I felt the whisper of power flowing from my hands into the ironwood. I focused on pushing as much magic into it as possible.
“Of course I do!” She said, “Why would you ask that?”
“Is that your question?” I asked, glancing over at her.
She bit her lip, then nodded.
“Because I think the reason why you are always in the workshop is because what you really want to do is work with your father.” I said, “Am I wrong?”
Miriam was silent. I focused on making the length of the wood uniform.
“Maybe?” She said, “What is it to you anyways?”
“Well,” I joked, “At least if you became your father’s apprentice, you would probably have less energy with which to bother me.”
“You!” She huffed.
“So,” I said, “Why don’t you tell them?”
Silence descended as I continued working.
“Because aerotheurges don’t become blacksmiths.” She said, “Only pyromancers and geomancers.”
I laughed, “The man who taught me the basics of blacksmithing wasn’t even a wick.”
“That explains your terrible skills.” She muttered.
“Master Eyre produced weapons for adventurers who went to the Broken Lands. His products were not magical, but they were by no means inferior,” I said, “Magic is a part of you Miriam, it doesn’t define you. If someone with no magical talent can learn to forge, then an aerotheurge can do it too.”
Miriam fell silent again and I took the opportunity to summon a piece of paper from my bag. I checked the drawing on it, looked over the staff, and nodded. I began to trace out the design on the staff. Carving the inscription into it would happen later.
“What is that?” Miriam asked, eyeing the paper.
“An inscription,” I said, “If you wanted to become a smith, your talent with magic would allow you to create enchanted items. Your father spent most of his youth as an adventurer, so he doesn’t really have the background for it. I dare say that if you could master both arts, you would become an even better smith than him.”
I had finished with the primary inscription and was working on essence storage inscriptions when Miriam replied.
“Will you help me tell them?” She asked.
I sighed, setting the staff against the wall, “Will you let me work in peace if I do?”
“Probably not.” She said, an impish gleam in her eyes.
I sighed again, “Let’s go talk to your parents.”