The next week after discovering the cantrips was monotonous as usual and bore little fruit, as Clara followed her regular routine and found nothing of note. The following week, however, Devin told her that he had met a man named Holden who claimed to have an article that would be of particular interest to anyone wishing to learn magic. Devin had arranged a meeting with Holden and Clara at the regular cafe this afternoon.
Entering the cafe just before the appointed time, Clara was met by the usual welcoming scents of the establishment, and the low murmur of conversations. Devin was seated at his usual spot, and seated beside him was who she assumed to be Holden. He was a tall, thin man with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard, who appeared to Clara as a man who had reached a high status as a merchant or possessed a minor noble title, much like her own family. Devin beckoned her over as she stood in the doorway, curiously scrutinizing the man, so she made her way across the room to his table and sat across from him and the stranger.
“Afternoon, Clara,” Devin began. “This is Mister Holden, who happens to be a scholar of the arcane, independent of any major establishments.” His tone was flat, like he was reciting a memorized description rather than having come up with the words himself. “Holden, this is my friend Clara Elwin, who’s very interested in anything related to magic.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Elwin. I’ve heard mention of your family before,” Holden stated with a tone implying vague recognition. “And like he said, Devin has told me briefly of your search for information about the arcane arts. I happen to have something you should be very interested in.” With that introduction, the man produced a thick tome and set it in the middle of the table. It was bound in what looked looked like an unidentifiable deep brown leather, the cover bearing a title in script from a language Clara didn’t recognize.
“I already have plenty of texts on magical history and theory. I’m interested in something practical, like spells,” Clara explained.
“Well, how fortunate for you. This grimoire contains many spells, rituals, and invocations. And all for a very reasonable price, I’m sure you’ll find. For the, say… paltry sum of seven silver talons, it can be yours.”
Seven talons? The man was right about ‘paltry sum’, that would be an absolute steal compared to some of the material Clara had purchased before. The low price made her skeptical. She reached towards the tome. “Before I determine whether it’s worth it, I must make sure whether you’re telling the truth, and it’s not just a collection of blank pages. I’m sure you understand…”
Holden’s placed his hand on the cover of the book, keeping Clara from opening it. “I assure you, this book is exactly what I say it is. But if you must be convinced…” He slid the tome over to himself, opening it to a random point and holding it up to show Clara that it did, indeed, contain writing. He flipped to another few pages at random to prove his point, too fast for Clara to pick anything specific out, then shut the book again. “Are you satisfied?”
Clara tried to look like she was contemplating it for a few long seconds, but her mind had already been made up. Seeing the inside of the book had caused all skepticism to fade from her. “Absolutely,” she said a moment later, reaching into her coin purse and placing the eagle-stamped coins on the table with a clink. The corners of Holden’s mouth turned just the slightest bit upwards, and he slid the tome to Clara’s side of the table. Despite her urge to snatch it up immediately, Clara simply placed her hand on the cover.
Holden stood up from his seat, pocketing his earnings. “This concludes our business,” he said with a shallow bow to the two of them, and then with a wry smile, he proceeded to leave the cafe with a leisurely stride.
“How abrupt,” Clara remarked, feeling the sudden departure to be a bit rude. Suspicious, even. She wondered if she should be worried about what she bought, and if she should maybe pursue Holden and demand a refund. Curiosity about the book won out over her caution, though, and she opted to stay and converse with Devin for a short time.
She barely heard a thing Devin said, however, as she kept glancing at the unopened tome. What kind of spells would it have, she wondered? For how cheap it was, it couldn’t be more than one or two minor incantations, which begged the question of what the rest of the text contained - it was a rather thick tome. She stayed just long enough to be considered polite, then thanked Devin for his help and excused herself, scooping up her newly acquired prize and making her way back home, eager enough to dive into the tome’s contents that she didn’t bother to stop by Ezexius’ store.
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Holden hadn’t lied. The tome was full of detailed instructions for rituals, spells, and even some nonmagical processes like synthesizing certain reagents. There was a slight problem, though.
All of the information in the tome was demonic in nature.
It contained rituals, yes - rituals for summoning demons. The spells consisted of curses, conjuring hellfire, and soul-draining evocations. It explained why Holden parted with it for such a low price - if anyone had scrutinized it even a little before purchasing, they would likely not even buy it. He would have had an easier time burning it than giving it away for free, even, had Clara not been so eager to get a hold of just a single concrete spell... she had jumped at the opportunity without any hesitation.
Clara had shut the book almost immediately after discovering its nature, and went back to scouring her numerous theoretical volumes to confirm something nagging at her. This sort of magic - infernal, as it was usually termed - was mentioned in several of them, and always with a severe warning against even inquiring about its use. It derived its power from the Lower Planes, of which there was little information beyond them being chaotic hellscapes in which demons reside. It was unanimous that delving into infernal magic would result in the soul being corrupted, without fail.
So she had closed it and left it alone on her desk. At least it hadn’t cost her too much.
The grimoire was open again by the end of the hour.
There was no telling when she might have an opportunity to find even a single other spell she would be capable of learning, Clara had reasoned to herself. Here was a whole book of them that she was planning to ignore.
Yes, they happened to draw their power from a plane that belonged to demons. Probing beyond the surface of this infernal tome would mean inevitable corruption, or so the other books claimed. Every text that mentioned it said this power was too dangerous to so much as inquire about.
But there was no guarantee she would ever be capable of truly studying the arcane in her life. And how were the denizens of Hell going to reach her just through her learning a handful of spells? If she followed the instructions laid out in the book, even summoning a demon directly should have it fully under her control. And if no one inquired about such powers, how would they even know how dangerous they are? Magic was magic, regardless of the source. Perhaps all the warnings stemmed simply from ignorance, rather than understanding.
So Clara sat at her desk, staring at the cover of the tome, warring with herself. Eventually, she took a deep breath and turned to the first page.
The basic concepts of infernal magic were simple enough for her to understand. It was similar to arcane magic, it spells based on incantations and gestures rather than earnest prayer and belief like those of a priest. Even the effects of some of its spells seemed relatively close to those of arcane magic.
Every magic had its source, and infernal magic simply drew from the Lower Planes. That wasn’t altogether unique - most types of magic drew from extraplanar sources, and they didn’t have the same stigma against them that infernal magic did. It seemed to her the stigma against infernal magic stemmed mostly from the perception of its plane’s inhabitants. Nothing in the text seemed to indicate any corrupting influence from the magic itself. Learning it should be completely safe as long as she was careful, Clara concluded.
She had intended to comprehend at least the basics of infernal magic before trying her hand at actually invoking any of its powers. There was only so much that could be learned by simply reading, however. Clara had spent years already reading theoretical texts without any practical application of her knowledge. The chance to actually be shaping and directing magic herself was right in front of her, and she was eager to finally achieve one of her dreams. Eager, but determined to be cautious about it, so she double-checked the instructions for the ritual she planned on trying, then triple-checked for good measure.
According to the book, it would open her soul to the infernal energies of the planes below, thus allowing her to use the rest of the book. Necessary, and hopefully safe. It seemed a simple enough procedure.
She was to draw a chalk sigil on the ground, sit in the middle of it, and recite an incantation. It only took Clara a few minutes to roughly sketch out the magic circle into the wooden floor of her room. Clara sat in the center of the sigil, the grimoire open in her lap.
Hoping nothing would go wrong, she began the ritual’s chant.
The chalk began to glow a harsh white as the first words of the chant were intoned. As the spell continued, Clara felt her mind being pulled away from her body. She lost sight of the room, the magic circle, the tome, and the incantation spilled from her mouth of their own accord. Instead of the corporeal world she had been a part of moments earlier, she had the impression that she was floating in a deep, dark void.
A fire burned with her in the void, a great inferno that demanded her attention. The void receded, and the pyre became the only thing within her vision. It was so bright, so hot, that it seared her skin - or was it her bared soul, in this strange mental landscape? It grew in intensity until it felt like her very essence was being burned away.
She opened her eyes in the middle of the circle, unmoved. Only a few minutes could have passed, by the candle on her desk, but it had felt like an eternity. Hovering in the air in front of her, at the edge of the now-dim circle, was a tiny, flickering ember. She reached towards it and it darted hungrily towards her hand, soaking into her skin. She felt it settle - not in her body, but deep in her soul, a tiny infernal flame that was now part of her being.
As Clara sat in the circle, catching her breath, she couldn’t help but be thrilled. Finally, something more than a cantrip. All it had cost her was seven talons.
And possibly her immortal soul.
She spent the rest of the night reading the grimoire.
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Clara met Devin the following week and told him that Holden had provided exactly what she was looking for, but asked him to look out for any more material of the same type, just in case he found something less sinister in nature. Her visits to Ezexius’ shop became less frequent, as it was far from her home anyway. Her days followed less of a routine, as she spent what free time she could researching the grimoire.
It was absolutely refreshing.
She learned the incantations of the more simple spells over the course of a week. Ones that conjured projectiles formed of pure hellfire, various curses with their own unique effects, one being described as ‘debilitating agony’, evocations that would drain the life from a foe. They weren’t particularly practical for her intentions, but they were spells nonetheless.
The house wasn’t an appropriate locale for actually casting those sorts of spells, unless she wanted to burn it down. A forest encroached on the outskirts of Almerra, so one day she decided to dress up in traveling clothes and a sturdy cloak to pay it a visit and find a location to thoroughly practice her new abilities.
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After an hour of wandering through the trees, she found an isolated clearing that seemed it would serve her purpose well. Eager to get straight to it, she flipped the grimoire open.
Holding the book in one hand, other pointed at an outlying tree, Clara began to steadily chant the words of power recorded on the page. She felt magic surge through her veins, building at her fingertips. Small flames licked and danced around, collecting into a fiercely hot ball in her palm. The magic reached a crescendo as she completed the incantation, and the flaming bolt screamed forth to impact the tree before her.
Her eyes widened as she stared at her hand in surprised elation. Then she looked at the tree, which had caught fire. It didn’t seem to spread very quickly, but it wasn’t diminishing either, so Clara hurriedly pulled her cloak off in panic and beat the flaming patch with it until it went out. Huffing from the exertion, she looked disapprovingly at the scarred tree, then at her singed cloak. Using trees for target practice wasn’t really going to work out.
The next day, Clara brought some more supplies with her. She had procured some wooden stakes from a carpenter’s shop in town, similar to those that made up the defensive palisade around Almerra. She had also stopped by home, taking some bundles of straw, a length of rope, and a few sacks from the empty stables.
In her newly claimed clearing, she stuffed the sacks with straw and jammed the stakes into the ground, using the rope to tie the sacks to their posts. She stepped back to admire her handiwork, a smile on her face. It was just a few filled sacks tied to poles, but they would work just fine for what she wanted to do with them.
With her training grounds adequately prepared, Clara spent the next several weeks taking every chance she had to slip out to the woods and practice. The dummies didn’t provide much of a reaction to her curses, but it helped her memorize their incantations, and she slowly became more proficient in the conjuring of hellfire. She even managed to find a use for the mending cantrip she had bought from Ezexius, repairing her training dummies when she was done with them.
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One particular trip into the clearing Clara left her grimoire at home, wanting to try her hand at casting some of the basics purely from memory. She reckoned that she had a fair grasp of several of them, including a few simple curses and the hellfire projectile.
Applying her knowledge in a way that would help the family seemed beyond Clara’s abilities so far, though. Acquiring land would provide the most benefit for the family, but she couldn’t very well march on some other noble’s land and demand they give it over. She had contemplated applying one of the curses in the grimoire to some area of farmland to reduce its worth, then unraveling the curse afterward. Her family’s coffers might not be deep enough to afford even a tainted plot of land large enough to be worthwhile, though, and a curse of that magnitude was still beyond her capabilities at the moment. Her father owed money to several individuals, so perhaps she could find some way to cause them to forgive that debt.
As Clara rested against a tree in her training ground, pondering her options, she heard a rustle from the brush behind her. She whirled around, staff at the ready, and saw a man standing amongst the trees, looking almost abashed at being discovered. He was lean and muscular, scarred and disheveled. Piecemeal armour covered his form, and he held a cudgel menacingly, with a short sword visible on his belt.
“Aye, ye weren’t supposed to see me, girl. But now that you have…” He snapped his fingers and two more men advanced from the trees. “Weren’t wrong about there being someone gone and made their little hideout here, Jim.” One of his men nodded, a sinister grin splitting his face. “You look rich, girl. Whatcha doing out here in these woods? Teaching yourself how to fight?” The three of them barked out some ugly laughs at what they perceived as a joke. “Well, hey, no matter. We’ve got a deal for you. Leave us anything you got of value, and we don’t have to hurt you. Sounds pretty good, yeah?”
Clara was frozen in place, her knuckles white around her staff. “N-no, I won’t be doing that,” she managed to utter after a few moments of hearing her heart pound in her ears. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out how to get herself out of this situation, eyes flitting back and forth between the three assailants. Would she be able to take out all three of these bandits with her spells? She had never had to fight before, never killed anything larger than a bug. What should she start with? Should she try to kill them, or just-
“Aw, well, we warned you,” was all the lead bandit responded with before lunging forward, swinging his cudgel at Clara’s head. As he attacked, the other two bandits were maneuvering to surround Clara.
Her staff came up to intercept the club before Clara had the chance to think about it, the cudgel connecting with the crack of wood on wood. Her arm was jarred by the force of the blow, which sent her stumbling back and she lost her footing, crashing to the ground.
Still barely thinking about her actions, Clara flung out her free hand towards the bandit and shouted an incantation. The magic came to her instinctively after her rigorous practice, power flowing through her and forming into a bolt of hellfire that screamed from her outstretched hand toward the lead bandit as he recovered from his swing. The feeling of raw power surging through her was exhilarating.
The lead bandit was caught dead on by the unexpected magical attack, flames exploding against his breastplate. He shouted in surprise, the firebolt searing through his armour and into his skin. His armour saved him from a fatal wound, but Clara could see that the skin was still scorched and blistered, and the bandit dropped to his knees groaning in pain, relinquishing the hold on his weapon.
“Cor! She’s a bloody wizard. You didn’t warn us about that, Jim,” the underling who wasn’t Jim shouted. Jim simply grunted in response, and the two continued to circle Clara, neither of them eager to be strike first now.
Clara scrambled to her feet, trying to split her attention between the two. Not wanting them to completely surround her, she spat a curse at the one who had just spoke.
A pall of dark energy swirled around the bandit and his face twisted in agony, causing him to drop to his hands and knees screaming. The other bandit took the chance to step forward and thrust at Clara with his short blade.
Turning to intercept, Clara tried to block the sword with her staff, but she wasn’t quick enough to stop it entirely, its edge biting into her side and coming away wet with blood. She couldn’t stop herself from letting out a cry of pain, but she managed to keep her footing. Out of panic more than rational thought, she gripped her staff with both hands and swung it at the bandit’s skull.
Caught by surprise from a physical attack, the bandit suffered the blow to his temple. A loud crack rang out, and he dropped like a sack of rocks. Clara wasn’t entirely sure if he was still breathing, but she wasn’t about to stop to check. All of the bandits were incapacitated in one way or another, and she took the opportunity to flee towards the city.
Once she determined that she was far enough away, and not hearing any signs of pursuit, Clara stopped to examine her wound. She thought it was shallow, but it was hard to tell, obscured as it was by the surprisingly vibrant crimson of her blood. She tore a strip off the bottom of her dress and did her best to wrap the wound and stop it from bleeding. She knew it needed proper treatment or it was likely to get infected. Luckily for her, she had bought a healing potion from Ezexius months back, thinking she could replicate the concoction on her own. Her experiment hadn’t worked, so the elixir sat forgotten in her room.
What had worked, to her delight, was her spells. Despite the pain in her side, she smiled to herself as she went back over the fight in her mind while trudging back into town, doing her best to avoid anybody questioning her state. The magic had done its job wonderfully. If she had hesitated a little less, she reckoned she could have dealt with all three of the bandits entirely unharmed. One unexpected thing was that simply using the magic had felt so good - when she was just practicing she didn’t really think about it, but conjuring and directing that power was thrilling, simply put.
The sun had sunk below the horizon by the time Clara neared home. For the first time, she was happy that they could only afford to sparsely guard the estate. She slipped inside the grounds without any incident, and was in the house within minutes. A good thing, too; she could feel that her makeshift bandage wasn’t doing as much as she wanted to stem the bleeding.
Once Clara got up the stairs, though, she realized something was wrong. The door to her room was open, and she swore she had closed it before leaving. Heading down the hall, she peered inside.
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Clara froze in the doorway. On the edge of her bed, Lord Matthias Elwin sat flipping through the grimoire. Even from the door, Clara could see that his eyes were narrowed dangerously at what he read, as sure a sign of his anger as Clara had ever seen. He looked up when he heard her at the door and stood, slamming the book shut.
“This is what you’ve been up to?” he questioned, his tone icy cold and level. Clara had realized long ago that tone was even more dangerous than if her father had been shouting at the top of his lungs.
“Infernalism, brewing in my own home.” He seemed to notice Clara’s state for the first time, her clothes torn and bloody, hair in disarray, skin smeared with dirt. His eyes softened, but only for a moment, as he lifted the grimoire up and waved it above his head.
“What did you think you could accomplish with this? To throw your soul away in this manner brings shame upon this entire family.”
“Father, I-.”
“Quiet,” he spat, cutting her off. “I don’t want to hear any excuses. Or let you use any foul magic to beguile me.” He sighed and rubbed his free hand across his face.
“I suppose it’s my fault. My focus has ever been on fixing what my father did to this family, and to that end I may have neglected you in favour of your brother and sister. I did not curb this obsession with magic you’ve had until it was too late. Now your soul is in peril, along with the fate of this entire house. So I am going to give you exactly one chance.”
Lord Matthias threw the grimoire on the ground and pointed at it. “Burn that tome. Within the hour. Do it of your own volition, prove that you are not already claimed by its dark magic. Or you will no longer be part of this family, and I will alert the Church of your actions.” Before Clara could form a response, he thundered out of the room.
Stunned, Clara stood aside, knowing that it would do no good to try and argue. She had never seen her father in such a dark mood. Stepping inside her room, she sat on the edge of the bed, wincing at the pain in her side. Staring at the tome on the ground, she tried to decide what she should do.
Common sense would tell her to burn the tome and put it all behind her. It was a miracle her father was even offering that chance. But she had spent so long without any advancement, going around in circles. She didn’t want to go back to that.
She might be able to hide the book, study it more cautiously. How careful would she have to be to avoid suspicion, though? Even now the secrets of the tome pulled at her, and she hungered to learn more, faster. Restraining herself would drive her almost as crazy as simply giving up.
There didn’t seem to be any good reason to give up the tome’s magic, from her perspective. Even after weeks of its use, she didn’t feel corrupted or otherwise spiritually compromised. It was a stigma born from superstition rather than based in reality.
So what if she were to do something to prove her ability to direct the tome’s knowledge towards a good cause? Then her father would be forced to admit he was wrong. So how did she attain that goal?
Clara picked the tome up and placed it on her desk. Her thoughts raced as she searched through her belongings for the healing potion, unstoppering it and downing it as soon as she found the elixir. She continued to wrack her mind for a solution as she stripped off her torn dress, cleaned the rapidly healing cut and all the blood that had escaped from her, and put on a new outfit. She had to come up with something fast, before her father returned to see the book unburned.
There were stories of heroes that she had read before. Will Griggs, who, despite his humble name and origins, led the fight against Yolotl and his undead armies and personally slew the necromancer, shattering his horde before it could consume the kingdom. His and his allies’ descendants still held powerful titles today, centuries later. Lord Darrowford, who had hunted a dragon to its mountain lair and allegedly killed it alone. Its skull was mounted in the hall of his castle, where it still watches over his family. And the Duke of Tevarin’s grandfather had earned his title when he assembled a defense in the northern borderlands against a fearsome barbarian host, where he had met their warchief in single combat.
She could add her name to that roll of legends, if she could master this magic she had finally found. Its origin would be forgotten in the stories, she was sure - she would be Clara the great sorceress, not Clara the vile witch. Even knowing the truth, her father could not deny a hero her rightful place.
But where to start? Will Griggs had begun his career as an adventurer, she recalled. A strange sort of social class, Clara didn’t know when they had risen up, and she had never personally encountered one, but everyone had heard of them. As far as she understood it, they were essentially homeless, and went around performing tasks that the rightful authorities would not or could not do. They wandered the land, slaying monsters and solving problems. Not too dissimilar from the Church’s Paladins, without the backing or good repute, but more numerous - and more free. Most settlements had at least one guild that lodged, networked, and supplied adventurers. Almerra alone had three that she knew of.
So she could join one of the adventuring guilds dotting the kingdom. It was the last lifestyle she would ever desire in any other situation, but it seemed perfect for her current dilemma - which wasn’t saying much, because none of her options appealed to her. But should she become one of those rare adventurers known across the kingdom, perhaps the world, all of her problems would be solved.
It was also entirely likely that she would instead end up dead in the middle of some distant forest. She shook her head to dispel that possibility; she would not fail.
As thoughts of glory and fame whirled about in her head, Clara set about collecting a few of her more practical garments, the few genuinely useful magical objects she had acquired over the years, and her grimoire. As an afterthought, she added her staff to the belongings she was going to take with her. It wasn’t magical, but it had served her well at least once now, and seemed to be made of surprisingly sturdy wood for something purchased from Ezexius.
Clara found it hard to focus on the task at hand, her limbs heavy and eyes stinging, but she worked through it. ‘Within the hour,’ her father had said, so she intended to be gone long before that. Bundling up her belongings and collecting any loose coin she had lying about, she slipped out of her room, hoping she wouldn’t run into anyone else on her way out. She wouldn’t be able to stand explaining the situation to either Arthur or Cordelia.
Thankfully, it was late, and no one seemed to be lurking about the house. It didn’t take much effort to slip out of the house unseen, and before long she was outside the bounds of the estate. Reduced to little more than the clothes on her back and the grimoire that was the source of her problems as well as her salvation, Clara set off down the road towards her fate.