Chapter 37 - Memories
Forest Outside Magrath, Vanstead Dukedom of Augustein Year 995
Her reserves bubbled as she pulled a strand of magic away. Amara frowned in concentration, fingers clenching around the ore that had quickly grown warm in her palm. She was used to flaring her magic and letting it all burst out at once. Even now, she could feel the way her magic churned and edged closer to the tipping point, just barely held back. She forced it to stay put, shoving it down in an action that was more than a little familiar to her.
Raising a hand, she imagined the strand of magic moving forward. She could feel the resistance as it naturally pushed back against the command. Magic always preferred to remain a part of something greater, typically a person’s reserves. Still she willed it forward, pressing it further and further until the churning of her reserves had reached their peak. Finally, she let the strand loose.
Magic Reserves: 62,439 → 62,437 → 62,422 / 110,876
Maximum Output: 22
Variability: 1
External Range: 11%
Amara felt the ever present flow of her reserves lower the way they always did, but when she opened her eyes to look at the tree trunk she was standing just a few inches in front of, only a single small crack had appeared in the bark. The glow of her magic on her arms and around the ore died down, the stone shattering like she’d expected it would. She released a long breath as a familiar wave of weakness washed over her limbs. She ignored it, striding forward to press a hand against the tree trunk. It was still as solid as ever, the crack barely more than a scratch.
Getting her magic to activate from further away than touch hadn’t taken as long as she thought it would, but building up her proficiency was a significantly more tedious ordeal. It would take a long time before these distant blasts were anywhere as powerful as her usual basic ones.
In some ways, it was something of a novelty to flare her magic and have the result be something other than a violent explosion. At the same time, she was well aware that operating at 11% power was a terribly inefficient use of magic. It was no wonder Leila had never told her about skills; with her static output and Winrow’s lack of ore, it would’ve been an easy way to deplete her reserves.
Amara glanced back down at her markings as she felt a wave of warmth fall across her arm.
External Range: 11% → 12%
Make that 12% as effective, Amara thought.
She turned around, grinning and holding up her arm to display the skill increase.
“Again?” She patted the tree trunk for emphasis.
When she looked over at Isolde, however, the woman was frowning. Those sharp eyes of hers were fixed on Amara’s markings, and a faint crease was barely visible on her forehead.
“No,” she said slowly. “I think that’s enough for today.”
Amara raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it early? We’ve still got a while until sunset. I think I’ve got a pretty good rhythm going on.”
Isolde pursed her lips. “Perhaps, but you’ve used quite a lot of magic today.” She tilted her head to the side, hair swaying. “I imagine you’re feeling the short term costs.”
“Well, yeah, but it’s not debilitating or anything.”
Isolde turned away to grab her spear, which she’d left propped against a different tree trunk. She tapped the stone, and the weapon coiled in on itself. “You’re very carefree with your magic use,” Isolde commented. Amara had yet to see the woman use magic once since they’d started training. She imagined it was a difficult balance, to decide how much of your reserves to sacrifice for training versus how much to save, especially for someone like Isolde. It was the reason why the wealthy were overwhelmingly more proficient at magic; having ore to lessen the cost helped tip the scales in the debate.
Amara slid her gloves back on and went to grab her own bag and axe. “Eh, I wouldn’t say carefree. I just don’t bother thinking too much about it.”
She expected one of those chuckles Isolde usually made, or maybe even something a little closer to full laughter, but the woman still had that strange look on her face. She opened her mouth, then closed it again and shook her head. When she looked up again, the odd expression was gone.
“How about we begin negation practice tomorrow? You seem to have a fairly good natural grasp for external range; all that remains is repetition. We could at least start learning the theory behind reduction and negation, though admittedly I’m no master at them myself.”
Amara’s eyes lit up. “Sounds great!” She tossed the cloth over her axe blade, winding the cord around it to tie it down. She suspected Isolde had some sort of ulterior motive for changing her mind about negation practice, but she didn’t really care if it meant she got to work on what she’d been wanting to.
Swinging her bag over her shoulder, Amara felt the bandages shifting. Ever since she’d started rewrapping them, often with Isolde’s help, they were never quite as tight as when Monica had first treated the wounds. She personally thought it had been more than long enough to remove them entirely, but Isolde had disagreed, claiming that the skin there was still too fragile.
Amara gave the clearing a final sweep to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, then strode out and back towards the town.
—
The square was fully cleared. Its surface shone in the light, perfectly smooth and free of rubble, though as Amara had predicted, the island hadn’t been rebuilt. The bouquets ended up replacing the former hydrangeas, though she could tell a few were already beginning to wilt. They definitely wouldn’t last forever.
Stolen novel; please report.
The shops, from what she could tell, were still in the process of reopening. The ones at the edge of the square that hadn’t been directly attacked or hit by an Aberration were already running again, but a good majority were still missing signs, replacing broken windows, or having their walls repainted.
In the center of the square, a few watchmen stood around doing what she assumed was a final inspection of the area. Amara vaguely wondered if the increased speed of repairs had something to do with Lord Alardice’s actions that day. The noble wasn’t currently around, but Amara did recognize Glenn speaking to the same older watchman who she’d talked to. Glenn hunched over a little due to his height, but it didn’t stop him from standing out. The two’s conversation didn’t seem to be hostile, at least, from what she could tell.
Amara turned away, glancing over at Isolde. The woman’s eyes were scanning the square as well, and they briefly passed over the watchmen and Glenn before she turned back to facing the path ahead. Amara watched the action with interest.
“You know, from that story you told, I figured you’d be a little more curious about the guy,” Amara remarked.
“Perhaps.” Isolde didn’t slow her pace, and the two soon left the square behind them. “Unfortunately I have very little interest in people who waste their potential.”
Amara whistled. “Damn, that’s harsh. You don’t even know why he left the Academy,” she pointed out.
“I don’t particularly care what excuse might exist.”
Amara glanced over at her, but Isolde was still looking ahead, expression flat and utterly uninterested. She leaned a little closer, grinning.
“This sounds kind of personal to me.”
She wasn’t really expecting a response. She assumed Isolde would talk around the question like she always did, but for the second time that day, the woman defied her expectations. She didn’t quirk her lips upward in one of those practiced smiles, but simply turned her head to face Amara with a look that was much more plain than anything she usually showed. Amara paused, caught off guard.
“My parents coddled me quite a bit when I was younger,” Isolde said simply. “They had their reasons, of course.” She waved a hand, her ever present dark gloves catching the light. “Unfortunately it made my childhood rather stifling, despite their best intentions. Far too many opportunities were wasted as a result.”
Amara blinked a few times. The fact that Isolde had parents and a family had never crossed her mind. Of course, logically she knew she had to, but she’d only known her as a strange traveler who looked a lot like Edith, stole ore, and, she suspected, was probably a lot more violent than she let on.
Even in the facility, it always surprised her when some of the other kids spoke about their parents. Perhaps a part of her simply assumed that everyone was like her. But that couldn’t be true either, because she’d never questioned it when Edith spoke of her life before the facility. Maybe it was because the girl had always seemed so bright to her that she took it as an unquestionable fact that Edith must have had a full, vibrant life outside the grey walls that she’d met and last seen her in.
“Oh.” Amara paused, then asked, “Where’re they now?”
“Dead.” Isolde’s expression didn’t change, and she continued walking at the same pace. Amara studied her for a little longer.
“I’m guessing you don’t want sympathy.”
That finally got a smile out of the woman, one of those sharper ones that wasn’t calculatedly serene. Amara felt her shoulders relax a little. This was familiar and expected.
“For the record, I never knew my family,” she added in a casual tone.
“I assumed not,” Isolde said, sounding amused. Amara snorted, and the two continued down the path back to the inn.
—
Northern Facility, Vanstead Dukedom of Augustein, Year 990
One year had passed since Edith died.
Within the grey walls of the facility, without windows or anything but her own body’s cycle of sleep to determine the time, she couldn’t tell exact dates, but that morning she’d woken up and felt in her soul that it must be the anniversary of Edith’s death. And because there was no one around who could correct her, it became a fact when she decided it.
Sometimes, she would swear she caught glimpses of Edith flashing by her peripheral vision. At night, the still silhouettes of the other kids were easy to mistake for the girl if she didn’t focus too hard on the specific slants of their shoulders, the way their hair sprayed out. And then all she would be able to see were the differences, and she couldn’t help but feel disappointed.
On sleepless nights, sometimes she’d have sudden, crazed thoughts where she wished one of the other kids had died instead. And then she’d feel guilty, but no amount of guilt could erase the reality that deep down she knew no other death would have affected her as much. She wondered if Edith would be disappointed in her for putting her above everyone else in the cell. The truth was that no matter how close she got with the others, she never valued them quite as highly as Edith, because if she did, then Edith would no longer be special.
The cell doors rattled, metal screeching as it slid open. Amara rose half dazed, absently fingering the fresh bandages from last session. The magicians had started calling her in more and more frequently these days. They were probably trying to get as many experiments done before she died or they decided to get rid of her, she thought.
Her body moved instinctively through the sterile, plain halls, barely giving the guards escorting her a passing glance. It wasn’t until she stepped into a familiar room that she paused and the cloudiness in her head cleared away.
The moment her feet touched that stark white ground, she knew something was wrong. The ever present chill of the place was warmer than usual. The humming beakers and gleaming tools hit the sharp light with warped, diffused reflections. The magicians had their backs turned to her, something they never did during the start of sessions. And then there was the smell, one that was muted to her dulled senses, but nonetheless was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.
The shadows shifted, and she looked up to see the overhead light swinging, candles flickering as the metal chain holding it to the ceiling creaked and groaned.
The silhouetted mass of magicians stirred and finally stepped away.
A second metal table stood pushed against the opposite wall. A strange pulsing mass rested atop the smooth surface. Amara stared at it, transfixed, unable to discern or piece together the individual impressions that flashed in her mind. Each time she thought she came a little closer to piecing them together, the entire thing would fall apart again and she’d have to start over from the ground up. From the quivering mass, the limp, twisted long sticks jutting out from its center, the stained white sharp pieces, the pooling, viscous liquid. She heard something ringing in her ears, drowning all other sounds out, and a familiar coldness rose rapidly in her chest.
And then, as the magicians stepped closer to her, as that ringing grew so intense that it hurt and the icy feeling reached the edge, the thing on the table trembled.
A twitching hand rose from the center of the mass. She stared at it, transfixed, as it slowly twisted in her direction. And then, all at once, it shot out, outstretched fingers clawing towards her, and the world both slowed down and sped up.
Amara’s eyes snapped open.
She jerked forward, pushing off the overly soft inn mattress, and stared down at the plain blankets. The ringing in her ears died down, and she heard heavy breathing that she realized was her own. Slowly, she raised a shaky hand, gazing at the scars littering her bare skin. She pressed a finger against one and pulled it back. The flesh stayed firm.
It was a still moon that night. The light flowed in as a static, thin silver line that cut across the room. She could vaguely make out Isolde’s silhouette on the bed beside her, too still to be in true slumber.
Slowly but surely, her heartbeat steadied. She closed her eyes again, but she didn’t lie back down. She simply sat there, back against the headboard, body hunched and blankets pulled close as she shivered from an icy, all consuming cold.