Persepera
The 16th of Thargelion
The Year 4631 in the Era of Mortals
Light. Glorious, wonderful, overwhelming, excruciating light burned Arche’s eyes and he had to shut them again. Tears spilled from beneath his lids but whether in pain or in relief, he couldn’t rightly say. It took several agonizing minutes of trying to keep his eyes open before they adjusted enough to see around him. The light came from a small, hooded lantern across the room. Nearby stood a tall man, presumably Polybus. Arche shifted his head around, but couldn’t see anyone else. There was no sign of Tess, Helwan, or anyone else anywhere in the room.
“You worried us there, Arche,” Polybus said with a smile.
He was a middle-aged human, likely nearing fifty, with soft, reassuring features. Dark hair swept over his head in gentle curls and he wore white, sleeveless robes that belted around the middle.
“Where’s Hippokrates?”
He hadn’t meant to ask it. He had meant to mutter through an apology and comment on his sudden ability to see again, but when he opened his mouth, the wrong words came out.
Polybus froze. He opened his mouth to speak but, before he finished the first syllable, he froze again, cocking his head to one side. The physician nodded, seemingly more to himself than to Arche.
“I will show you to him as soon as you’re able to walk.”
Arche pulled back the blanket of the bed and stood. His legs felt sturdy enough, though he had a headache from the light, dim as it was.
“I’m ready.”
“Excellent. Then follow me.”
Arche’s vision swam and his eyes hurt – but he could see. The harsh light, the constant pain, all of it was worth it to have the haze in front of him. The relief was undercut somewhat by the knowledge his Mana scarring had worsened while in his crazed, drug-fueled state. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done, but he knew one thing; that was the last time he would willingly drink something without full knowledge of what it was going to do to him. Strange it had to happen twice to reach that decision.
Mana Scarring — Tier 2
-75% Mana Flow
-75% Mana
The procedure lasted the better part of four hours, time Arche could scarcely comprehend. It had all blended together in a strange web of consciousness. The asklepieion had provided beds for Tess and Helwan, who slept away the rest of the night, or morning, or whatever time it was. Arche’s body shivered at the thought of a comfortable bed to sleep in, but it wasn’t yet time for him to rest. Instead, he followed Polybus down a windowless corridor somewhere deep within the Lyceum.
The tapping of the Tridory echoed off the stone as Arche walked. The weapon’s covers were still in place, appearing like a staff for any who would notice it. Having a weapon was a small reassurance in such a strange place, though undoubtedly most of the occupants of the Lyceum could tear him apart with magic before he could raise the spear. No one had threatened him, yet, but there was still time.
Polybus stopped in front of a nondescript iron door, almost lost between two fabulously sculpted internal pillars that looked no different from the hundred or so they’d already passed. Polybus raised his fist and knocked three times. Before the echo of the third knock faded, the door opened. Inside was an ancient man, small and thin with wisps of white hair that stood up from his head at odd angles. Polybus bowed at the waist and took a step back.
“Welcome,” the old man said. “Please, Arche, come in.”
Arche looked at the old man, then at Polybus, who was still in his bowed position.
“That will be all Polybus, thank you for escorting him.”
Polybus straightened from his bowed position and walked away without a word. Arche’s brow furrowed but he did as he was told. The room was much more homely than he had expected. Much of the asklepieion had been clean and efficient, little care given to aesthetic or comfort. With that in mind, he’d expected the room to be cold, sparsely decorated, and ascetic. To his pleasant surprise, a roaring fireplace took up the majority of wall opposite the door, several colorful tapestries covered the stone walls, and massive stacks of books, papyrus, and parchment filled the room, nearly concealing a large bed and a few comfortable chairs.
“Nice to meet you.” Arche paused, feeling some half-remembered thought nibble at the back of his mind. “Hippokrates, I presume?”
“The one and same,” the old man replied. “Sit. You’re making my old bones hurt just looking at you there.”
Arche moved to take a seat but found himself unable to take a step. An invisible wall pressed against him, preventing him from going deeper into the room.
“Oh, you’ll have to leave your weapons, especially that spear, by the wall. An old man must have some protection, after all.”
“How did you know it was a weapon?”
“You bring an artifact like that into the Lyceum Apokryfos and are surprised that people recognize it?”
Arche was about to point out that it had a dampening bracelet attached to it specifically to hide its magical signatures but decided he had already shared more than enough. It was time to get some answers.
“Fair enough.”
Arche rested the Tridory against the wall next to the door, then tried to walk forward. The strange force stopped him again.
“All weapons, Arche.”
Arche sighed and removed the sword, bow, and arrows from his inventory and set them next to the Tridory.
“Should I cut off my hands, too?”
Hippokrates chuckled.
“I don’t think we need to go that far. Just a few safety precautions. I haven’t lived to be this old without being careful.”
Arche paused.
“How old are you?”
“How old is anyone?”
Hippokrates winked, then waved the question away and gestured toward a chair next to the fireplace. Arche sat, feeling bare without anything to defend himself with. Hippokrates took a few moments to move to the chair opposite and sat down. Once he had, the old man conjured a glass and held it out.
“Martini?”
“Sure?” More than a little hesitation bled into the word.
Not even an hour and he’d already reneged his own promise. Well, third time was the charm.
“It’s a lovely drink. Someone brought the recipe to Ship’s Shape more than three hundred years ago. Simply marvelous.”
Arche accepted a glass and watched as the old man produced another and sipped. Slowly, Arche brought it to his own lips. It was smooth, tasting of olives and something else he couldn’t quite name. He was tempted to knock the drink back and finish it but decided it would be more polite to sip it like the old man did.
“Wise choice,” Hippokrates said. “It packs a punch if you let it.”
Arche froze, narrowing an accusatory eye at the old man.
“You’re a Psychic.”
“I thought that was established. You are one as well, after all.”
Arche said nothing. Lyssa had warned him that those with Traits, like Psychics, would often hunt and kill other Trait-bearers for the chance at obtaining those Traits. In addition to Psychic, Arche had a Trait called Slayer of the Mighty, which gave him a huge experience boost when slaying creatures a higher level than himself. She’d been adamant that he keep his Traits secret and he was of no mind to disagree. Instead, he focused all his concentration on Hippokrates’s nose while simultaneously counting the liver spots around his eyes.
Hippokrates smiled.
“A wise approach. Unnecessary, but wise, nonetheless.”
Arche kept counting, letting his words form naturally instead of thinking through his questions in advance.
“What do you want with me?”
“I am a healer. You are injured.”
“Plenty of people are injured. I don’t get the feeling you help them.”
Hippokrates smiled and gestured with his hands at the room.
“I founded the asklepieion. I trained the Master Biomancers. I did all I could to share my knowledge of physiology with the inhabitants of Tartarus. I am old. I have earned my retirement.”
Arche frowned. He hadn’t exactly been given a history lesson on the Lyceum, but he had the feeling everything about the place was ancient. The passages they’d walked through definitely seemed like they had been there for longer than a single lifetime. The old man, however, was human – or very much looked like one. Narrowing his eyes, Arche tried to Examine him.
?
Arche’s eyes narrowed further. His Examine skill didn’t fail often.
“You have a suspicious nature. Quite natural, I suppose.”
“I don’t like being misled.”
“I have invited you into my private room and given you an exotic—and expensive, mind you—drink to freshen you. Do those sound like the actions of someone who intends to mislead you?”
“Yes.”
Hippokrates laughed, an honest, genuine sound.
“Excellent! Oh, my, I do appreciate your candor. You have no idea how insufferable some of these other healers can be. Even Polybus treats me more like a relic than his father.”
Arche blinked in surprise.
“You’re his father?”
“Stepfather, much the same. I love the boy, but he always acts like he has something to prove. That’s his life, at any rate, let’s talk about yours.”
“What about mine?”
“Your Mana scars, to start with. You are not a mage. How did you come by them?”
Arche hesitated, then tried to throw his mind laterally, counting the books piled next to Hippokrates’s chair.
“Clever. Distracting your waking mind to prevent yourself from giving away information,” Hippokrates said conversationally, as if teaching these techniques had been his plan all along.
“I don’t appreciate you invading my mind.”
“Why not? You are a Psychic, after all. Keep me out.”
“I can’t.”
“Clearly. How did you gain your Mana scars?”
“By using Mana.”
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“How.”
It was no longer a question. The word burned with power. Arche tried to resist, but the knowledge of his Divine Body skill was pulled to the forefront of his mind.
“I see,” Hippokrates whispered, releasing the mental pressure. “Curious. Curious and disturbing.”
Arche glowered at Hippokrates.
“Don’t give me that,” the old man snapped, taking another sip from his martini. “You came to me for aid, remember? You’re the one being difficult. I don’t care about your secrets except for when they stand in the way. I haven’t even asked you how you came by that godforged spear, now have I?”
Arche’s eyes went wide.
“Wait, you know about that?”
“Know? Of course, I know! You think I spent my life dealing with…” Hippokrates trailed away, a look of distant regret crossing his face. “Ah, of course. You wouldn’t know. They stole that knowledge from Tartarus, I almost forgot.”
“Stole what knowledge?”
“Knowledge of the gods, boy.”
Arche felt the familiar tug in the back of his mind, a memory half drawn from the aether, but still just as elusive. Hippokrates peered at him, seeming to bore a hole straight through his head.
“Interesting. It looks like you’ve also had something stolen from you.”
“Memories, I think.”
“You think? You don’t know?”
Arche shifted uncomfortably.
“Not for certain. I have different mannerisms from everyone else. I woke up a few months ago with no experience and no memories.”
“An outsider, then?” Hippokrates mused. “Haven’t seen one of those in a while. I thought we were done with them after the last breach.”
Arche ignored the tantalizing distractions and clung to his last kernel of hope.
“Can you restore my memories?”
Hippokrates squinted and cocked his head.
“Do you want to die?”
“What? No. Of course not.”
“That is what would happen if I attempted to unlock your memories.”
The kernel popped and drifted away. Exasperation crept into Arche’s voice.
“Then what can you do for me?”
“Mana scars. We’ve gotten off topic. You have a skill called Divine Body that uses your Mana to reinforce your body, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Mana travels through pathways throughout you. When these pathways sustain permanent damage, we call those Mana scars. Understand?”
Arche frowned.
“I thought Mana was in the mind.”
“It is concentrated there, but not all of it. Mana suffuses your entirety. When you pull on Mana, it is pulled from all of you. Further, when you use your skill, it flows through your entirety as well.”
“So when I try to use Mana-related skills or abilities, I get hurt?”
“Because your personal leylines are damaged, yes. There aren’t enough healthy leylines for the Mana to travel down, so they surge against the scarring, forcing their way through like blood in a clogged vein. The pressure increases, the damage worsens, and if you’re not careful…”
“I’ll have a Mana-fueled stroke?”
The old man’s eyes twinkled.
“Something of the sort, yes. Or your head might explode.”
“Fucking huh?”
“Mana is not the most stable of vital energies. That would be Health, actually. But I digress, you need to have your scarring healed; not by disconnecting those pathways from their source, as you were attempting, but by applying healing energy directly to the scars.”
Arche stared at the old man.
“Healing energy? How would I even do that?”
Hippokrates smiled.
“How indeed. Sadly, it will have to be your own doing. This kind of damage has to be fixed by your Mana signature or your body will have a foreign object response. As much as I would like to wave my hand and heal you, the result would likely kill you by way of a volatile Mana reaction, not to mention destroy many of my precious books. No, this is work you’re going to have to do yourself. You’ve healed magically before, a similar thing happens when you activate your Divine Body skill, I can tell. You must tap into that energy and direct it amongst yourself. Meditation is the best way to do this. Enter your mind’s construct and focus on the change you wish to enact. You will have to learn to interact with the healing forces of your vitals.”
Arche clenched his jaw.
“I was really hoping you would be able to do it for me.”
“Such is life, my boy. If you thought the connections in your eyes were complicated, the connections in your Mana make your eyes as simple as skin. An outside force can too easily taint it and you would be lost.”
Arche sipped on his martini, eyeing the smiling genarian. Answers, riddles, Mana-strokes. He was too tired and his eyes hurt too much for this.
“What happens now?”
Hippokrates leaned back in his seat and swirled the martini.
“Now I answer your questions. I’ll give you three to make it interesting.”
Arche paused, considering.
“Divine Body is too powerful not to use, but I can’t guarantee I’ll always be in situations to use it safely. I know about Mana Manipulation already, but how do I prevent Mana Scars?”
“An excellent question!”
Hippokrates stood with surprising speed. Arche stood as well, muscles tensing, but the healer had already moved on to a tapestry hanging above the fireplace. He brushed aside the fabric to reveal a writing board. With a flick of his wrist, he produced a stick of chalk and began to draw.
“Mana scars occur when Mana is flooded through a pathway without proper guidance and control. The Mana is wild, it doesn’t want to be corralled, and so it presses against whatever container it exists in. For most people, this isn’t an issue as they never learn how to harness their Mana into magic; it never flows for a spell, only naturally. For the untrained who wield their Mana, like you, this often results in scarring. Do you follow?”
Arche squinted at the diagram, watching the lines swim in front of him. The words made sense; the drawing, less so.
“I think so.”
“Then tell me how you think you would prevent them.”
Arche scratched his chin.
“Control the pathways. Adjust them to be able to withstand the force of the Mana pushing through them. Direct the Mana where to go.”
“Wrong!” Hippokrates smiled. “That was tried several millennia back, and every few hundred years since. Trying to manually control the pathways takes up too much concentration and ultimately distracts from what is most important: keeping the spell together.”
Arche knitted his brow.
“So the pathways can be adjusted, then. Why can’t you just adjust them permanently? Make them larger so the magic can flow, that way you don’t have to focus on it consciously.”
“Do you know what the dangers are of running out of Mana?”
“Mana Burnout and scarring.”
“Most commonly. And if you run out of Stamina?”
“I…don’t know. Exhaustion? Heart attack?”
“Quite likely. And Health?”
“Death.”
“Ah, finally you are correct without caveat. If you run out of any of the three vitals, you risk death. Health is easily the plainest connection, but if you run out of Stamina, your body risks shutting down all function. This appears most commonly in the form of Exhaustion. If your tier rises high enough, you will die. If you run out of Mana, your mind can die. Health is fickle. Difficult, relatively, to lose and slow to heal, though magic can speed the process. Stamina is easier, taxing the body through physical tasks or by use of certain skills or maneuvers. Mana is the most easily swayed. Widening your pathways would allow you to rapidly diminish your stores, sometimes pouring more Mana into spells than intended. Spellcraft is not so formulaic as the system would have you believe. Many mages have died this way.”
“Then how?”
“You must control the Mana itself. You’re aware of it, but tell me, do you have the skill Mana Manipulation?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent! And your rank?”
“Novice.”
Hippokrates sniffed and produced another martini as he reclaimed his chair. “Your rank could be worse, considering your lack of training. Mana Manipulation is directly tied to your control over your internal Mana. At high ranks, it can be used for some truly incredible feats that modern spellwork has yet to replicate. Most importantly, however, it prevents your chances of sustaining Mana scarring. You are well on your way, but you must keep up your practice. The stronger your skill, the less likely Mana Scarring will occur. One question down, ignoring your sub-question, there. Ask your next.”
Arche frowned and looked away, trying to think. His eyes landed on the Tridory leaning against the wall.
“What is a god?”
Hippokrates sucked at his teeth.
“What, indeed?” he muttered. “A god is a domain and that which rules over it. Beings of immense power. Men used to worship them and crave their favor. Many did not exist in Tartarus that later came to it, nor do they seem to be confined to it as we are. A long time ago, they disappeared, taking nearly all knowledge of their existence with them. I don’t believe they’re dead, not as you and I might understand it, but I also don’t know why they disappeared. They were not to be trifled with, when I knew them, and they were known for punishing mortals who slighted them. They were singularly powerful and singularly dangerous entities, each embodying different aspects of life and death. I don’t know why they left, but I think it’s for the best that they did. One question left.”
At least a dozen popped into his head. How old was Hippokrates? Where did the gods come from? What did it mean to have a Divine Spark? None of them felt like the right question to ask. Arche downed the last of his martini and asked, in his opinion, the most important question.
“Will you teach me magic?”
Hippokrates didn’t answer immediately. Arche wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one.
“Magic takes a long time to learn properly. Months, if not years of instruction, practice, and meditation. I don’t think you have the patience for that. Some spells are granted differently, born of awakened magic, not magic learned. That practice is dangerous, but faster. The understanding is less and the risk is more.”
Arche’s heart fell. It must have shown on his face because the old man smiled.
“However,” Hippokrates continued. “I have in my collection three spellbooks I am willing to part with. Each one will teach you a spell. Your knowledge of it won’t be as complete as if you had studied and learned it yourself, but I encourage you to pay attention to the spell whenever you cast it. You may use one of the spellbooks. Choose carefully.”
Arche’s eyes went wide. His heart leaped into his throat, rebounding so quickly he was almost dizzy.
“What are the spells?”
“Flare, Darksight, and Minor Heal.”
Arche nodded at each one, considering them in turn.
“Will you tell me what each one does?”
Hippokrates held up an expensive-looking, red, leather book.
“Flare belongs to pyromancy, the school of fire. It allows you to conjure a ball of flame over your hand, which you can shoot at a distance. Useful for setting fires, lighting your way, and sending signals. Leveling the spell will increase the brightness, distance, and the damage the spell deals.”
Hippokrates turned his hand over and the spellbook changed into one with a black binding and black pages.
“Darksight, a spell of eremancy, the school of darkness. It gives you or someone you touch the ability to see in darkness. Leveling it will increase the distance you can see and the spell’s duration.”
Turning his hand over again, Hippokrates displayed a third book, bound in yellow leather.
“Minor Healing is, of course, biomancy, the school of life. It allows a steady and safe transference of Mana into Health. The rate is slow and not particularly efficient, but leveling the spell will improve both. You should know, it will do little to actually heal wounds. At best, it is a temporary salve. The more complex the damage, the less effective it will be. In those cases, the best you will be able to do is flood the patient with life energy and hope their body can use it in the right way.”
With a flourish, Hippokrates produced all three books and splayed them.
“What will I owe you?”
“Owe me?” Hippokrates asked. “More than you already do? I have not asked you for anything.”
Arche raised an eyebrow.
“Nothing is given without a price. I expect I will be made to pay for my sight, what for this?”
“Very well, if you are unfamiliar with the concept of a gift, then this is my price.”
Hippokrates drew himself up, straightened his ancient back, and fixed his gaze firmly on Arche.
“Train yourself. Fight for those who cannot. Treat healers with respect and courtesy, no matter where they come from. And, most of all, honor those who stand by you. That is my price.”
Arche met the old man’s eyes, looking for some hint of a smile or joke, but there was no humor in Hippokrates’s face.
“Gladly paid. I will.”
Arche felt the barest flicker against his mind, then the feeling retreated. Hippokrates nodded.
“Good. Then consider the balance between us evenly distributed. Now, choose.”
Arche looked down at the books. He was at a crossroad, not unlike the Professing, where he had struggled past dozens of possible paths to find himself the right one. Flare was easily the most utilitarian option. Fire was always handy, if not for outright combat then for camping or sending messages. With it, even if he had no weapons left, he would not be unarmed. On the other hand, Myriatos was in the middle of the Sylv, inside the larger Forest of Mycenaea. Too much fire was dangerous.
Then, there was Arche’s job. Lyssa had placed him in charge of clearing dungeons and other dangerous dens around Myriatos. That meant slogging through any number of dark, treacherous places. The ability to see without needing torch or lamp would put stealth back into his toolset, not to mention it would allow him to travel at night in the forest. After so much time not being able to see at all, the chance to see in the dark was intoxicating.
Healing, however, would help him help others. His Divine Body skill would turn his own Mana into Health but he couldn’t extend that to others. With the ability to heal, he could be the difference between life and death until Odelia was able to render her far superior aid.
His frustrations of the last month bubbled up, the utter helplessness he had felt. His vision was required for everything and his sight could be taken again. He had to go beyond its limitations. He would not be useless.
“I’ll take the book of Minor Healing.”
The old man smiled, leaned forward, and placed all three books into Arche’s hands. Arche looked down, then back up, frowning.
“I don’t understand.”
“You made the right choice for enough of the right reason. It’s about time someone in Tartarus rewarded that. You will make better use of these than letting them sit here, gathering more dust.”
“I…I don’t know what to say.”
“You have already said what you needed to, though most would offer thanks, I think.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Hippokrates smiled again. “A word of caution, however. Focus on healing your Mana scars before you use the spellbooks. To do otherwise would be…ill-advised.”
Arche nodded and stood, hearing a dismissal in the old man’s voice.
“One more thing, Arche. You would do well to spend time strengthening your mind and its defenses. You have another’s mark upon you. Be careful.”
Arche’s expression darkened.
“I know. It’s one of several things on my to-do list.”
Hippokrates stood and gestured toward the door.
“Thank you for giving these old bones a nice conversation. It was a pleasure, Arche. I hope to see you again, some day.”
“Likewise, Hippokrates. Thanks for everything.”
He retrieved his weapons and left. At long last, perhaps he could get some sleep.