Chapter 18. Going In.

Finnigan launched another series of spells at Kench, directed at the fat on his foe's gut. He launched a stinging spell, guaranteed to make the baker wince in pain. He couldn’t help but wonder how good the baker was, as of yet they hadn’t been able to replicate what happened in their duel at La Semana De Los Gladiadores. The spells were on point and the baker, to Finnigan's surprise, barely flinched. Finnigan did a double take and the moments distraction cost him. He had to dive out of the way of a series of Kench’s golden blasts. He shimmered, appearing behind Kench, and gave the baker a few moments to gather himself. The magician seemed to be concentrating, then popped like a giant balloon, sending pieces of himself in every direction. There was no blood, just pieces of Kench flying every which way.

Finnigan cursed and created a web of energy with his wand which he cast out over the loose pieces of his apprentice. He pulled the web in, bringing all the parts together. Like magnets they snapped into place, reforming Kench in front of Finnigan.

“What happened? Did I shimmer?” Kench asked, voice shaky.

“No, you spliced yourself into pieces, how did you do that?” Finnigan said. “I’ve seen that happen before, just never so…” he paused looking for the word. “Thoroughly.”

“Oh,” the big man said, looking down as his face reddened.

“Kench,” Finnigan implored. “Have you ever shimmered before?”

The baker’s face changed from red to a deep shade of purple. He eked out a quiet “No.”

“Then how did you do that?” Finnigan asked. He really had his work cut out with Kench if the man couldn’t even shimmer.

“I felt you do it,” Kench said. “I’m really not good at magic, it’s just too complex most of the time.”

“Walk with me,” Finnigan said, deciding to call it quits for the day. He peered into the sky, they had about half an hour of light left before the sun disappeared into the mountains. “So, how familiar are you with travel magic?” Finnigan asked.

“I’m not,” Kench said, once more reddening.

“Look Kench, stop. I get that your magical training is lacking. I’ll assume from now on that all you know is how to cook and what I’ve seen first hand. Is that fair?” Finnigan asked.

“Almost, I can control animals and do a little transmuting. But other than that, all I know how to do is, well, what you said.”

“You can control animals?” Finnigan asked, shocked. He had spent an entire summer of his adolescence trying to learn that ability. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t do it. “You mean vita copulare?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty new,” Kench said.

“Show me,” Finnigan said. “But use it against me, like we are in a match.”

Kench shifted on his feet for a moment before holding his giant tree limb in front of him and bellowing, “Vita copulare!” at the top of his voice. Finnigan stood there, waiting. This spell was slow at first, but if adequately controlled it was immensely powerful. Magicians usually could control one or maybe two creatures at a time. Much more than that and the magician was considered a prodigy. Nothing happened.

“There’s not a lot to work with around here. Let me see if I can…” Kench strained, his face taking on a look that made Finnigan think Kench was passing an unusually large bowel movement.

“Kench you don’t have to,” Finnigan started. He stopped mid-sentence, he could feel the ground move beneath him. “Is that you?” A vein on Kench’s forehead pulsed with the effort, but the magician said nothing. “Kench, answer me,” Finnigan said, not proud of the tremble in his voice.

The ground beneath his feet came alive. An army of various...well...bugs, erupted from the earth, making their way up his legs. Ants of all sizes, beetles, even earthworms. They pulled Finnigan to his knees. Finnigan invoked a shield charm, but the insects were too close to him and were under his shield. The tricky thing about magic, is sometimes it follows laws and patterns, other times it doesn’t. He couldn’t use an energy blast, that’d tear him limb from limb. He could use fire, it’d kill the bugs and leave him slightly scalded. He conjured flames from the tip of his wand high into the air then brought it crashing down around him. The fire engulfed the ground around him, but his own shield deflected the flame from his legs, but also the bugs.

“Stop!” he yelled at Kench. Kench didn’t respond, so Finnigan leveled his wand at the man and bellowed “Impellio!” The spell shot through the air at Kench, who spliced himself into hundreds of tiny pieces. The spell shot through where the baker had been and disappeared between some nearby trees into the forest. The bug swarm released Finnigan, and they unclasped their legs and began to crawl all over him in a frenzy, depositing bites and stings as they went. He spent the next several minutes smacking bugs off of himself, the damn things were everywhere. Finally, he stripped down and blasted himself with jets of water, Kench would have to pull himself back together. He would, but it’d take time. He was magically sealed off, and his body would do all the work.

After what had to be fifteen minutes Finnigan was confident he had sprayed all the creeping things off of himself. He checked his clothes and found more bugs there. He beat the clothes until all the bugs were gone then dressed. He left the middle of the field and went to sit on a moss strewn log. For good measure he inspected the trunk for the presence of anything creepy or crawly that could be there. Satisfied there wasn’t, he sat. The pieces of Kench were bouncing around like tennis balls, slowly finding their way to each other. After several more minute's Kench’s last part was pulled into place, and the magician slumped to the ground.

“I’ve never used it like that before,” he said. “I didn’t mean for them to swarm that much.”

“Don’t worry,” Finnigan said, grinning. “I think we just discovered your new fighting style.”

“I can’t move when I use it though,” Kench said. “I tried to shimmer again, and it didn’t work.”

“You’re doing it wrong,” Finnigan said, his grin turning into a full smile. Now it was his turn to scare Kench. “Think, you’re lighter than air. Then point your wand and say ‘rebus’ while holding the thought that you are that light.”

“Okay,” Kench said, looking encouraged.

“Oh, Kench!” Finnigan added. “No matter what, don’t let go.”

Kench eyed Finnigan suspiciously, then pointed his club to the sky. “Rebus!” he bellowed! The man rocketed into the air, screaming as he went.

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“Don’t let go!” Finnigan yelled with a laugh. It was too late, about a hundred feet up Kench abandoned his club. His momentum shot him further into the air, but the club shot up like a rocket. Kench soared up then slowed, then began to fall.

“The first rule of flying, learn to fall,” Finnigan said to himself. His brother Gulliver had insisted that a magician could die from a free fall, but their grandfather insisted that a magician's physical resilience was enough to protect them from an impact at terminal velocity. Their grandfather had actually launched Gulliver into the sky and let him free fall to the earth. An apple tree broke Gulliver's fall, and he was able to walk away with nothing more than a few minor cuts and bruises, a broken arm and a concussion. Gulliver insisted the tree saved him, but their grandfather insisted the dirt would have had the same result.

Finnigan smiled again to himself, then aimed his wand carefully. “Flagellum Laqueum!” he said. He could have used another spell, but this one had to be aimed precisely. It was a chance to practice his aim at a great distance, and he took it. The whip launched from his wand, blasting into the air beyond. It created an ever-growing tether as it stretched into the dimly lit sky. The tether narrowly missed Kench. The baker saw it and reached for it, but he missed. Kench wasn’t Finnigan’s target anyways, and the whip snare charm soared higher, latching on to the grip of Kench’s club.

Finnigan let out a delighted laugh as he reeled the club back to himself. As it pulled in Kench fell rapidly to the earth, hitting the ground with a dull thud. Finnigan caught the club then let the magic needed to shimmer fill him. In a moment Finnigan felt himself come apart and together at the same time. He appeared by Kench. The magician's shoulder had been disconnected, and his face was bruised and cut up.

“I can’t breathe,” Kench stammered between breaths, eyes wide with terror. “You’re killing me!”

Finnigan pointed his wand at Kench, whose eyes widened further, giving Finnigan the distinct impression that they would pop out of Kench’s head. “Egrutido,” Finnigan breathed.

With the sensation of falling forward Finnigans awareness launched into Kench's being. He could feel the shoulder, rotator cuff wholly torn. Finnigan reached into his own vitality and applied it to the tears, he anchored it back in place, then lathered it in another protective coating to be safe. He explored the magician further, but didn’t find any debilitating injuries. There was, however, a thrumming that pulsed throughout the baker, a thrumming that pulsed through Finnigan as well. The healers' curse. When he healed, he could feel their emotions if they were powerful enough. He followed the thrumming trying to locate its source. The closer he got, the more powerful the sensation.

He felt his magic press against a barrier, firm, but slightly malleable. It was fear, insecurity. A wall had been put up, partitioning parts of the sorcerers' mind. Finnigan couldn’t see Kench's thoughts, but he could tell that the only place Kench wasn’t afraid was dueling. He circled the wall, feeling the thrumming from within, then pressed his will hard against it. Kench’s wall of insecurity and fear was strong, but Finnigan was stubborn, and fear is fleeting. He burrowed deeper and deeper into the wall until finally, he broke into it. The wall surrounded him, closing in at the back. He felt empty, cut off from himself, as though his consciousness had its link to his body severed.

“That can’t be good,” he mumbled. The sound echoed through the wall, which began to vibrate violently, smashing Finnigan from side to side. He hit one soft wall, then the other. At the speed he was vibrating, the firm jelly of Kench’s mental defenses felt like solid steel. An odd thought struck Finnigan as he tumbled about, he wasn’t there in his body. Just his mind. What would happen if he couldn’t get out? The walls around him began to settle, so he decided to let himself out. He attempted to break the healing link, but nothing happened. His consciousness should have shot into his own body, but it didn’t. He tried to focus his will outwards, to leave instead of entering. The path he had created had sealed itself and was now solid.

Finnigan had to try to get out, what could it hurt? He tried to ignore the fact that it might be able to kill him as he pressed his will against the barrier. It incited another round of violent vibrations from the wall, shaking him painfully. He made a mental note not to try that again, and pressed forward, further into Kench’s mind. The membrane around him began to flutter. Slow down, slow down, he thought to himself, careful not to speak.

He pressed further, slower, working his way deeper into the membranous wall, feeling it quiver as he pushed inside of it. Finnigan felt stupid, he had been warned about not learning his healing skill from a teacher at the healers' sanctum. This was a risk old Florence had mentioned to him all those years ago when she gave him a choice to join her. Andromeda had, but Finnigan's father had been so against it.

As he trudged forward through the membrane, he recalled his grandfather, teaching him to lightly heal. His grandfather had no experience with egrutido, or what was called presence healing. He didn’t have the vitality for it, but his grandfather did know how to transfigure things to a working order until a true healer could come and make the proper repairs. Finnigan had had to learn egrutido from spell books. He had dabbled in a more shamanistic approach to healing, but it involved either water or blood. Finnigan didn’t like being wet all the time and wasn’t willing to spill blood. The magic was powerful though, maybe it would have helped Kench. Finnigan did have his old talisman, it didn’t heal immediately, but it accelerated the natural healing process by quite a bit. He’d have to give it to Kench. He doubted the baker could work a healing spell.

A rush of warm, wet air hit Finnigan in the face as he breached the edge of the wall. Though in this state he didn’t have a nose he could smell something, something rotten. He rose and looked around, the membrane formed a wall that appeared to go on forever, the higher it went, the more Finnigan realized it was part of a giant sphere. He looked to the front, there was a trail from his feet into a small dark cave.

Wait, how in the hell did...would it be Kench? How did Kench know to put a trail right here? And should he trust Kench? For all Finnigan knew, Kench wanted him dead.

He looked down and saw a black suit with a white shirt and an equally black necktie. “What?” he mumbled in disbelief. A shockwave shot from the tunnel, blasting him backward into the membranous wall. It had hardened behind him sending him to the ground, scraping his hand on the stone path. He gasped for breath as his blood soaked into the ground. His limbs shook, the shockwave had instilled fear, anxiety, and whatever other emotions Kench was feeling. At least the nearest Finnigan could figure.

He rose to his feet, suit tattered in places. He could feel the panic, the tumultuous gut-wrenching anxiety well up inside him. He wanted to curl into a ball and weep, he wanted to gouge his own flesh with his fingernails, let the physical pain distract from the emotional pain.

Finnigan thought of his wand, and it appeared in his hand. He gripped it tightly and pressed the tip into the bloody cut on his other palm. He channeled from his vitality...it wasn’t there. He reached for it but found nothing. He had exhausted his reservoir of vitality before, but he always felt a trace of power at the very least, but here he felt nothing. Instead, he transfigured his hand to a working state. It wasn’t long term. One magic buffer would remove the spell entirely, and his hand would rip back open. True healing took something from the healer; something to make the changes permanent. That’s the way it was with magic, simple spells would create a temporary change in the world around you. Advanced spells would make the changes permanent.

Finnigan flexed his transfigured hand, a small amount of phantom pain lingered, but it seemed that the magic worked. He gambled, wrapped a shield of magic around himself, then yelled, “Kench! Let me the hell out of here!” As he expected, the tunnel emitted another shockwave, this time it crashed hard into Finnigan's shield, driving him back slightly. He could feel his shield wavering, so he concerted himself and channeled more power into it. It worked, the shockwave didn’t blast Finnigan back.

Finnigan stalked to the side, making his way off the path and away from the mouth of the cave, but as he stepped, the path and cave readjusted with him. He moved to the other side, and the entrance followed him still. He stepped forward, and he rushed ahead, moving him closer than a single step should have. He tried to take a step back, but his heel was firmly pressed against the barrier behind him.

“Okay, so only forward? I’m coming in Kench. Don’t try to kill me!” He rushed into the mouth of the cave, ducking as he entered. He could hear the roar from within, the building of another shockwave, but nothing came. Instead, it was just a distant roar. The cave was cold and humid, each exhalation showing his breath in front of him. The roar continued ahead. It sounded familiar, but what was it? Finnigan walked forward, body low and ready to react. As he walked, the cave floor transitioned from wet dirt and stone to smooth concrete. The interior walls of the cave changed from rough darkness to solid walls, he was in a tunnel. He looked back behind him, and the entrance to the cave had vanished, instead it was a well-lit tunnel as far as the eye could see. He turned forward and where there had been darkness before was now entirely a tunnel, with a bright light at the end. He recognized that sound. It was the sound of an audience.

“This,” he said. “This I can do.” He ran forward, moving unnaturally fast into the bright, warm light.