When he woke up, Jeb’s mouth tasted like ashes, and he had no recollection of his dreams. Smacking his gums, he tried to clear the taste away. When that failed, he Conjured Water to rinse his mouth out.
Burnt flavor lingering in his mouth, Jeb made his way to the cafeteria. Jeb heard the chiming of the bells and was relieved to find that it was a reasonable hour of the day for him to be rising. When the seventh bell stopped chiming, Jeb cautiously took a sip of the juice he had taken. Between that and the hearty breakfast, he once again felt fully in control of himself when he returned to the Library.
At his desk, Jeb felt as though there was a book missing, though he could not think of the name of any missing tome. After carefully reading the labels of each book on the desk, he was still unable to figure out which was missing. With nothing else to distract him, Jeb looked at the disheveled pile of papers in front of him. Sighing slightly, he returned to the entrance of the Library and grabbed another large stack of blank pages.
To his relief, the manic writing he had done the day before was not, in fact, completely illegible. Being able to make out the letters he had written, however, did not make the writing any more comprehensible. He kept finding references to “The Power Tome,” as though that was a book Jeb had checked out and was reading beside his work. It was obvious that he had been using a shortened version of the tome’s name, but there was not a single book that he could remember that focused on power, whatever that meant.
Sighing, Jeb rubbed at his eyes. The figures and graphs, which he remembered feeling completely natural the day before, suddenly hurt his eyes when he tried to focus on them. Jeb tried to recreate them on another piece of paper, but found that his hand was unwilling to copy the strokes. Somehow, that was the final warning Jeb needed to realize that something had gone wrong. He carefully stood and backed away from the desk, doing his best not to seem too worried. As soon as the desk was out of sight, Jeb sprinted into the hallways and to the Dean’s office.
“Dean Aquam,” Jeb panted, gasping for air. He beat on the door frantically, more than a little unsure why he was so concerned. Something about the entire situation felt off enough that Jeb was willing to trust the instincts in him which called for panic, though.
The door suddenly swung open.
“Jeb?” Dean Aquam’s voice floated out, tone soft and calming, “is something the matter?”
“I don’t know,” Jeb said, barreling into the Dean’s office and slamming the door shut behind him. He tried to explain what had happened this morning, but found that he could not speak of what went wrong. Every time that he tried to mention the Power Tome, his voice said something else instead, as though he had lost control over his own words. Jeb was still able to convey the idea that he was concerned about his notes, however, and Dean Aquam offered to come look them over.
Back inside the Stacks, Jeb was glad to see that the pages appeared undisturbed from where he had left them. He handed them over to the Dean, who began paging through them quickly, scanning the pages for something. When he had gone through the entire stack, he handed it back to Jeb.
“Jeb,” he said, voice carefully controlled, “would you attempt something for me?”
Jeb nodded.
“Close your eyes and try to call Rituals of Domination and Power to your hand.”
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Jeb frowned but did as the Dean requested. He felt a weight settle into his hands, and Aquam was noding when he opened his eyes.
“Do you know what this book is?” he asked.
Now that the tome was in his hands again, Jeb’s memories came flooding back. The diagrams on the page once again made sense. As he reached for the packet, however, the Dean swatted his hand away.
“Give me the book,” he said, tone as encompassing as the ocean.
Jeb’s hand moved before the rest of him caught up, giving the Dean the book. As soon as the tome left his hands, his mind felt clear again. The diagram was still parsable, though it was no longer as plain as it had been.
“Did you read this tome?” Dean Aquam asked.
Jeb nodded. “It’s how I learned to split my soul.”
“I would advise you to not use the book any further for at least a few years. Do you mind if I keep it in my office?” Despite the wording, it was clear that Dean Aquam was not giving Jeb an option.
“That’s fine,” Jeb said anyways. The book disappeared into the Dean’s robes, and he walked out of the Stacks. Apparently their conversation was over.
Now that Jeb knew what had happened, at least on some level, he was hesitant to resume his research. The promise of visiting his family, however, led him back to the stack of pages. Without the unheard voice of the Rituals of Domination and Power guiding him, Jeb ended up needing to rewrite most of his notes. No longer consumed by a frantic need to work, he listened to his body and took breaks as it asked.
As much as he was proud of himself for listening to his body’s needs, Jeb could not deny that he worked far less efficiently when he was not consumed by mania. Still, a few days before the next term was due to begin, Jeb set his pen down. He had a Ritual that he was nearly positive would work. It was not anywhere near as clean or polished as any other Ritual he had seen, and Jeb was sure that it would be leaking most of the Magic that he called into it. If he knew more, Jeb was certain that he could refine the Ritual without needing to actually perform it. Alas, he did not.
Jeb picked up the single page with the summary of the Ritual, took his lute from his room, and moved to the farm. He set the lute down and moved a few paces away. Unlike the Ritual to call the lute to himself, the Ritual he had designed still required motion. Jeb started moving in a circle, moderating his breath and each of his limbs. As he danced, he cast his mind to where he knew the lute sat.
Even though Jeb could clearly visualize the lute sitting on the grass when he closed his eyes, the Magic in the Ritual did not flare. His Magic Affinity was high enough that the Mana did not try too hard to escape, though he did notice more than a little dissipate into the atmosphere. When the Magic within the circle had grown to the point that Jeb was struggling to control it at all, he still could not connect to the lute. Running out of strength to resist, he reached out with his soul.
The Ritual seemed to amplify his soul, sending a signal out into the ether. It quickly reverberated around the shape of an object he knew well. Jeb felt the string of his soul resonate, and it shot out towards the lute. He followed the thread, trusting his body to move with his mind. After a brief lurching feeling, Jeb opened his eyes again.
He was a few strides away, directly beside his lute. Jeb’s stomach roiled and he turned to empty it on the grass. That’s something I’ll need to work on, he decided.
Still, the Ritual had worked. Jeb was able to teleport, even if it was far more effort than it was worth for the few strides he had saved. He left the lute where it was and moved back to his room in the dormitory. Once again, he started dancing.
Rather than attempting to picture the exact scene that the lute inhabited, Jeb simply cast his soul in the general direction of the farm. Given the unstable reality of the Academy’s geography, the direction was entirely a matter of feeling, rather than any sort of intellectual knowledge about their relative positions. No longer a string, Jeb’s soul rushed out in a wave. It condensed around the lute again, and he felt the lurching feeling again.
Once again beside his lute, Jeb found that he was far less nauseous than he had been the first time. He had gotten used to the feeling of his entire body reshaping and relocating quickly. Jeb debated between fixing the Ritual more and visiting his family. Given that there were only a few days left of the break, Jeb started dancing again. The taste of honey started filling his mouth.