“I wanted you to see it. To use such a spell even for a short while is an honor that undoubtedly will make you yearn to explore the world and acquire spells of your own. Now, let’s find you a quiet place.”
They left the moths behind and exited the mound. Like loyal dogs, the ghouls followed, and even more were waiting outside. Jishu was taking precautions ahead of time.
“My question might be stupid,” Sunday said turning toward the undead, “but can a ghoul use a spell?”
Jishu laughed at that. A dark grating sound that seemed unrestrained and born out of pure surprise.
“This is something very few ask themselves before meeting the cruel realities outside of the safe lands. It’s good to be curious. While common knowledge to most, it does not surprise me someone as fresh as you seem doesn’t know. We, the more intelligent races, are used to being masters of the spells, although most of the great monsters also have their own. That’s why we hunt them. However, we are generally more predisposed to connect the body and the soul and create a soul space. Being able to become a mage is a privilege after all.”
“There have been rare exceptions documented throughout history, but it has been centuries since I’ve read anything on the topic. I know those of the village might know a way that can lead out of the swamp, and I assure you, once you heal me, we will both leave this place for good and finally access the knowledge we desire. Speaking of,” Jishu took out a small bundle of thick papers from inside his torn robes and handed them to Sunday.
“The art that once allowed me to step into the ranks of magi, or what’s left of it. I’ve checked it, and while the paper has suffered from moisture, it is still readable. It is called Ishiren’s Essence Gathering Manual and it was created by the progenitor of the clan. Most Essence Gathering Manuals are similar, and the differences lie in the number of known essence points and the paths corresponding to them. I don’t know if it’s better or worse than other awakening arts now, but it’s the one that allowed me to step on the path of the powerful long ago. And back then it was one of the best.”
Sunday took the sheets of paper and examined them. At first glance, the squiggles, stars, and strange lines made no sense to him and he started worrying that there was something wrong. If he could only speak, but not read the languages of this world... The implications almost made him groan. Thankfully, it turned out that was not the case.
Jishu seemed to sense his worry and waved a bony hand, “It’s alright. You will understand soon.”
Sunday didn’t know how much one could cast at rank one, but Jishu must’ve exploited Arten for days before putting him in the cage. It was another island of dried earth amidst the swamp, only a bit further than the mound and the hut. It held a few old barrels filled with rotting pieces of alligator and other creatures. Sunday was sure he saw a human-sized frog leg in one of them. Was the undead giving him a tour of the facilities or trying to traumatize him as much as possible? Maybe he thought that giving him access to more areas would make Sunday feel like he wasn’t a prisoner. Either a manipulation tactic or a lack of care. It didn’t make much sense.
“It’s where we keep their food. Lesser ghouls need their rotting meats and I think the swamp offers enough of this aroma as it is, so it shouldn’t be a bother,” Jishu explained, scrunching his decaying nose. “No one will bother you here. My servants will know not to approach as it's not feeding time. Now, put the pages carefully on the ground. I’d help but alas, bending over is not something I enjoy in my state.”
It's like he’s giving me a tour. What was the issue of just staying in one place?
Sunday did as he was told and Jishu guided him until the nine pages of the manual were set to create one whole picture. The finished product was a rough outline of a humanoid body with small stars littering the insides of it. There were directions under each one, creating different patterns. There were roughly more than one hundred of them.
“Following the patterns will allow you to awaken and become a true mage once you converge enough essence and form a core. You will feel it. The process is simple. Sense the scattered essence and move it according to the corresponding star. The Manual hardly describes all points where essence gathers, so focus on those you can match to the diagram. Deviation is dangerous as mistaking a pattern may lead to injuries. This particular art is tailored to the undead, of course. All humanoid species share similarities, but there are also differences so it’s best to be careful.” Jishu fell silent and the ghouls retreated to work in the shadows. Two stayed by Jishu’s side like guard dogs.
Sunday nodded and sat cross-legged on the ground under the watchful gaze of the man. He studied the manual for a long while, before closing his eyes. It was not difficult to pinpoint the exact spots where the supposed essence gathered now that he knew what he was searching for. He was sure there was something familiar to the process, but he couldn’t exactly place it.
He started with a spot near his shoulder. Locating the warm energy was as easy as breathing, and once he started moving it according to the pattern shown, it flowed through his body warming up the path it followed and chasing away numbness he didn’t know was there. It was pleasant and freeing and Sunday felt joy from the bottom of his soul. The energy found its place between the stomach and the chest, where it settled into something akin to a center.
Opening his eyes he studied another point, then continued following the instructions. Soon Sunday lost himself in gathering the different pieces and moving them through the channels of his body. Jishu left him alone, and that was good. The fewer distractions the better. The contentment each drop of warm essence reaching his core gave him was unlike anything he had experienced before. His focus slipped a few times, causing the energy to feel like it evaporated, slowly dissipating throughout his flesh. He only lost a little bit before managing to regain his concentration.
He wished someone had warned him about that as it felt like a loss.
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Minutes and hours slipped by as Sunday went through each of the points depicted in the manual. Each piece followed a different path. Sometimes they intertwined, sometimes swirled like a spiral before sharply dropping.
As he got more used to the practice, he got the sensation that something wasn’t quite right. His essence started to ignore his commands and choose a different path than the one depicted in the manual. It was as if it had a will of its own and the more, he gathered the more often it happened. It felt natural and good. Better.
Eventually, he exhausted all the spots shown in the manual but didn’t stop. The next small drop of essence moved much slower, but he only observed after the initial push, letting it find its way. It chose its path carefully and slowly at first, then picked up speed and soon ended in his core, where a now large ball of essence rested, warming up his dead body.
The process continued like that. The manual was long forgotten as Sunday trusted the strange feeling in his gut. It was like second nature and proved to be much simpler than following the art. The more the essence moved, the more the pattern it followed reminded him of something. The image of a strange tree amidst a misty graveyard would swim up in his mind from time to time.
Sunday fell deeper and deeper into a trance, uncaring for the outside world. Jishu wouldn’t harm him for now.
The essence kept picking up speed until it coursed through Sunday’s body like tens of small streams flowing into the lake that was his core. He saw it in his mind's eye – the soul core taking shape under his watch. It was his and his alone and with each moment, he felt more and more sure this was what he needed. This was what would change his path forever.
As the last drop of essence left in his body reached his core, his inner world shook. Sunday was suddenly floating and saw his body from a bird’s eye view – a wiry corpse with a scary face oddly reminiscent of the one from his past life, dressed in muddy clothes and sitting amidst black trees.
The next moment his vision shifted and he fell into his body. He felt the essence he had gathered in his core move and change. It became lighter as it transformed. Sunday felt elated. Thin streams of energy burst out of his center and reached for something that didn’t exist in the same realm as his physique. They ran through his body. They seemed to exist in different states at the same time.
In his mind's eye, he could see each one as if it were a glowing vein or a branch reaching for the soul behind the body. In the end, his soul space, or core, as he called it took on the vague shape of a twisted tree.
A single thunderous heartbeat shook Sunday’s body and made his eyes shoot open. He felt almost euphoric. There was no second one, and he didn’t know if it had come from his soul space or his dead heart. He exhaled a breath that hadn’t been there – a foul-smelling dark cloud that rose into the air and slowly dissipated.
Closing his eyes again Sunday quickly sank into his new soul space. He could vaguely see his one spell there – a single mote of purple jerking weirdly as if it was about to fall, only to right itself in an instant.
Sunday stood up slowly accompanied by the sound of cracking joints and stretching muscles. He felt better than before, although the change was not as drastic as he had imagined it would be. It reminded him of the city, and how he had felt after killing other corpses. He did some stretches and by the time he was done, he saw Jishu waiting for him at the end of the path.
Sunday gathered the pages and rejoined the man with a smile. One of the ghouls must have snitched.
“Thank you,” Sunday said. He meant it, even though his relationship with the undead man was headed to almost certain doom. The number of ghouls lurking in the shadows around seemed to have grown substantially once again, and Jishu kept a fair distance now.
Sunday smiled wider at being feared.
“No need to thank me, friend,” Jishu said, studying Sunday. “You spent three days to break through, an amazing achievement. You’re very gifted.”
“Coming from you that’s high praise,” Sunday responded. Three days? It felt like hours. I wonder if Arten is still alive. “Shall we start the process of bringing you back to your former glory?”
Jishu remained silent for a few moments before a hungry smile showed all of his teeth. “Let’s go.”
***
Sunday felt further excitement with each step that brought him closer to the mound. He could feel Jishu’s too. The undead had vigor in him that had been lacking before, which was an accomplishment considering the state of his body.
The spell was as they left it. Sunday barely paid attention to the strange chained creature as he entered.
“Acquiring a spell is easy when it is of lesser quality. However, some have a will of their own,” Jishu suddenly spoke. “You need to get to know it first, sense it, and slowly introduce it to your soul. If you hurry, you might damage both yourself and the spell. There will be discomfort and pushback coming from the white moth and its aura, as it is the antithesis of what we are.”
Sunday nodded and stepped forward.
The moths kept up with their dance, unperturbed by his presence. Their aura was strangely comforting to him; even the white moth’s. He reached for the bead and gently picked it up. It was both warm and cold to the touch, and it felt good in his hand. He closed his eyes and practically felt the hunger of his soul as if it were a starving man in front of a buffet of exquisite food.
Sunday instinctively brought the spell to his chest and pressed it to his navel. The bead fell apart into streams of white and black that entered his body. He felt it take root in his core as if he had grown a new limb. There was no resistance at all.
“Do not cast it, give it time to settle.”
Sunday almost ignored the words of Jishu and summoned the spell. It was burning a hole in his chest, waiting to be freed. He focused on the soul space and sensed the spells there. They made him feel complete.
“First, you need to learn the soul forge art and nourish it. Come outside,” Jishu observed Sunday’s each movement with caution and excitement.
The two stepped out. The horde of ghouls around had grown once again, but Sunday didn’t care. Jishu took out a single piece of parchment paper that seemed to be of a much higher quality and offered it to Sunday.
“The first stage of the Ishiren’s Black Breath,” he said with reverence. “It will allow your essence to recharge as you practice. Casting the spell in its current state might lead to it dissipating or degrading further, and we cannot risk that. The arts allow you to gather essence from the world and transform it into one suited to you. In turn, the spells will be fueled by it and at higher ranks, nourished.”
“Arts are always well-guarded secrets as they can change the course of a clan. After all, if your enemies take half the time you need to recover or advance, what chance would you have?” Jishu smiled. “I’ll watch over you. Don’t summon the white moth no matter what, or I can’t save you. Remember, you will need weeks or months to reach your full potential.”
Sunday thanked the man with a small smile. Watching over? Don’t summon?
He looked at the parchment and carefully read it. It was a simple breathing technique at first glance, but the more he understood the more complicated it became. It was breathing and directing the ‘breath’, but the body was only a part of the process. Sunday closed his eyes and tried to breathe with body and soul and feel the world around him. Take from it. Make its energy his own. It didn’t come as naturally as moving his essence, but it was not bad. It felt crude and slow at first.
He didn’t mind. Not at all. Practice made perfect.
His mind reached toward the fuzzy white moth fluttering around in his soul and he touched it gently. It was warm and pleasant.