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Dexter
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The orcs stared at me as I explained my idea. If the orcs were certain of their loss at their current level of resources, then they’d need to quickly gain a ton of resources and manpower to offset the disparity. Getting resources from Adympia wasn’t a guarantee and even then they wouldn’t have an increased supply of men. Elves weren’t likely to help them, Adympian or otherwise. Therefore, the only solution to their problem was to turn to their own and ask for help. If Gashur united with the other tribes, it would tremendously boost their firepower and give them a chance at taking down Adympia. They remained silent as I finished explaining. One of them finally turned to another, breaking the silence “Could that work?” They asked. “It sounds supremely ambitious. Uniting the tribes is by no means a small task.”
Another orc nodded and interjected angrily. “Ambitious is an understatement. His idea sounds downright insane. The tribes have been warring for decades. There is hardly an agreement of peace, and even that is on shaky grounds.”
The first gestured defensively. “Assuming he is able to do it, the rest sounds to have merit.” He turned back to me. “Are you certain you will be able to accomplish it?” He asked me. I thought for a minute. “Gashur might be only fifteen thousand square miles, but any additional Tribes-States might double that. Plus, they might have useful resources and materials. If we have enough in an alliance it won't matter how big Adympia is. The only issue right now is my lack of information.”
I finally nodded affirmatively as I turned to him. “I think I can. It's going to take some time and information to formulate an official plan, but I should be able to once I get my thoughts together.” The orcs stared at me skeptically. I tilted my head back and rubbed my head as I brought my thoughts to a more present matter. “Right now, I'm more concerned with securing the title than thinking that far ahead.”
Some of the orcs didn't seem to like that notion. “What do you mean you have to secure your title?” An orc asked. “You were voted Champion, you've earned the title.”
I shook my head. “Not according to Dubak,” I explained. “He said the council isn't likely to bestow the title on someone that hasn't become a declared warrior.”
The orcs collectively groaned as they heard that. “That old rule?” One of them asked. “That was made to discourage young ones from foolishly charging into a battle. It has never been enforced.” I stared at him curiously. “Then why would? . . Perhaps the Council anticipates public outrage at us gaining the title. There were half a dozen stacks of weapons besides our pile. Those orcs probably voted in the hopes that an outsider wouldn't be the one chosen. So, the Council wants us to prove ourselves to the public first. . You think? . . Hatred doesn't just disappear. The rest of Snakhagr needs a reason to respect us.”
I finally let out an intrigued hum and shrugged. “Then the situation might be a bit more complicated than I first thought,” I stated, tapping my head thoughtfully. “You guys might accept, or at least tolerate, me, and my accomplishments, but the orcs outside the Northern district might see it as one massive ruse.” The orcs considered my words. “If I want the rest of Snakhagr to be on board with this, I'm going to have to play by all your rules, no matter how ridiculous they are.” “or how fucking annoying it is.”
The orcs seemed to heavily consider my last statement. “I suppose your words have merit.” One of them finally remarked. “If you wish to move forward with your plan, you shall require all the support you can muster.” I nodded as I stood and stretched. I looked down at my hands. They were starting to wrinkle from the water.
I stood and started climbing out of the pool. “For now, I think I've soaked long enough, and it's time I head back out.” The orcs nodded as they parted to let me pass. I walked past and made my way to the changing hall.
“That was a bit insightful.” I thought as I changed into a clean set of clothes. “At least we now know why the council isn't just giving the title to us. . I still find it fucking annoying. We earned it fair and square. . Why did I use the plural again? I don't fucking know, it's just happening.” I shook my head as I focused on putting my glasses on. I moved my head around as the crack in my glasses came to the forefront of my mind. “Fucking damn it. Jolagh should have been more careful.” I left the bathhouse and started walking back to the barn. It was growing dark outside. I couldn't see the sun behind the clouds, but I could tell it was getting very late in the day. The orcs were starting to wind down their tasks on the buildings. Piles of burnt timber were laying on the edge of the street, separated by a couple of yards or so. A cart was slowly making its way down one side of the street and loading the useless lumber onto it. I waved towards the orcs as they lifted the charred wood and threw it onto the cart. They waved back as I walked by. “This, I can get used to. I hope I can get the rest of Snakhagr like that.” I suddenly spotted a familiar sign, an orc drinking from a mug. It hung from one of the few buildings that still looked busy. “Must be one of the few places open right now. If the battle was as eventful as the orcs in the bath make it out to be. . Lots of orcs with lots of tales, a bar would be a good place to tell them.” I decided it might be worth it to drop in for a few minutes. “Also need to properly thank that orc for the alcohol, if he even works there.”
I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The entire bar fell silent as the door closed behind me. I looked around the room as I became aware of a few dozen pairs of eyes on me. The scattered tables I’d seen before were now much more orderly, any evidence of the battle gone and replaced with piles of food and drink. Half a dozen barmaids were wandering around, placing mugs and plates at various tables. Suddenly, the bartender waved me over to the bar. “Welcome to The Foaming Flagon.” He chimed happily. “What can I get you?” I walked over. “Guess there aren't really any drinking laws here.” I looked at the bartender as I sat down on an open stool, placing my used clothes in my lap. He wore the typical animal skin shawl. His dark hair was tied back into a ponytail, and his green eyes seemed to radiate amusement. I squinted slightly as I realized something. He seemed familiar.
I gave his question a moment as I thought about the possible options. “I guess . . a beer.” The bartender nodded and reached behind the bar.
He pulled out another bottle of golden brown liquid and placed it in front of me. “On the house.” He said. I raised my eyebrow as I pulled the cork from the bottle. Now I recognized his voice, he was the one that had given me the bottle of beer that morning.
I raised the bottle to my lips and took a whiff. It definitely smelled the same. I took a swig as I looked at the bartender again. “You're being extremely generous with the alcohol.” The fluid burned as it traveled down my throat.
He nodded again. “I should think so.” He replied. “You saved my life. I owe you a life debt.”
I stared at him in shock. “You're one of the three that left an amulet at my door?” I asked him, setting the bottle back down.
He grinned and nodded again. “Although, I was the first.” He stated, wiping along the bar with a cloth. “The two Marfu brothers did not do the same until they heard me speak to the council in the Great Hall.”
I stared at him as I pieced his name together. “So . . you must be Brugo.” I finally said. The bartender nodded again. I smirked as I took another sip. I was slowly getting used to the fiery concoction. It tasted like beer, oddly enough. I expected something softer, maybe more watery, but it tasted like the beer you could get just about anywhere. “Guess there's only so much you can do to strengthen the taste.” I let out a satisfied ah as I set the bottle down again. “I suppose I should thank you then.” I finally remarked. “From what I hear, I wouldn't have this opportunity for a title if it wasn't for your nomination.”
Brugo grinned slyly as he turned back to wiping the bar. “Of all the sights I expected within a battle, I did not expect to see an outsider impaling an elf after saving my life.”
I smirked as I recalled the memory. “To be fair, I doubt I would've made it through that battle had you not charged that elf,” I remarked, taking another sip. “I was starting to reach the end of my rope when that pair charged me. I didn't even get away, unscathed, from one of them.”
Brugo raised his eyebrow at me. “You outsiders must have long ropes if you were still able to impale that elf,” Brugo remarked.
I shrugged. “Not that long. Even that was close to my end.” I countered. “Their commander stabbed my stomach not long after that. The pain was unbearable. I ended up passing out after getting back home.”
It was Brugo's turn to shrug. “You still accomplished more than many orcs I know.” He countered. “Most would pass out after doing half of what you did that morning. And whatever you did to those elves must have taken quite a bit stamina to pull off.”
I looked at Brugo in confusion. “You must know a bit about magic then,” I remarked. “I don't imagine everyone knows about the energy costs for a spell, and even I don't know how to deliberately draw from my stamina pool yet.”
Brugo nodded. “I have a family member at the Elder Mother's Institution,” Brugo replied. “She spoke of some of her lessons when she first started attending. I picked up enough to know when a spell is powerful and when a spell is weak.”
I raised an eyebrow at that. “If you already know so much, why not try and cast a spell or two? If you have a family member at the Institution you might have some talent as well.”
Brugo shook his head. “Magical talent is not so easily obtained,” Brugo replied. “Your birth is not indicative of magical abilities. Even if you descend from two powerful mages, you are still likely to have no magical talent. When my sister found out she had some skills in the mystic arts, the Institution came and tested the rest of my family. Not a single lick of magical talent could be found in me or my siblings.” I stared at him as I considered what that meant. “Interesting, no genetic factor. So, how is the presence of magical talent determined? If it's not genetic then. . They've probably puzzled over that question for centuries. We're not going to answer it by ourselves. Not right now, anyway. . . Again with the plural? . . Just shut up and ask about it.”
I rubbed my chin as I considered the random nature of the magical distribution. “So, what are the odds that someone is born with magical talent?” I asked Brugo. “If it's not a question of blood, how does the world determine who receives magic and who doesn't?”
Brugo considered for a moment then shrugged. “No one knows.” He replied. “The best anyone is able to tell, there are about fifty births to every one orc born with magical talent. I'm unsure if there is a difference for elves or outsiders, but the number of wizards and mages at the institution appears to support the claim.” I nodded as I did some calculations. “ten thousand orcs, fifty to one. .”
I considered the number carefully before pushing the idea. “So, the institution holds about . . two-hundred orcs?” I asked.
Brugo nodded affirmatively, wiping the table another time. “A little over two-hundred and fifty,” Brugo replied. “Some of them are powerful mages that have lived for hundreds of years, others come from all over Gashur to learn from Garahk herself. But yes, of the current number orcs in Snakhagr, the institute hosts two-hundred of them.” I nodded as I took another sip and glanced around the bar. Most of the orcs had turned back to their own conversations.
A thought crossed my mind. “You fight extremely well for a bartender.” I suddenly remarked, turning back to Brugo. “You must have held that elf for, what, a minute or two? And that's not factoring in the fully armed elves you fought off before him.”
Brugo smiled as he heard the compliment “I was told that many times when I was being trained at the barracks. After what happened almost fifty years ago many orcs chose to take combat lessons. I was among them, all the better to defend my home I suppose.” I nodded at the prospect. “Okay, now we've got a piece of the timeline.”
I pointed at him with the tip of the beer bottle. “That makes sense,” I remarked. “It's better to prepared for something and not have it happen than to not be prepared and have it happen anyway.” Brugo nodded at the idea. Suddenly, a loud bang rang throughout the room. All conversations immediately ceased. I turned to find the source of the noise. I saw an orc standing in the doorway of the bar, hand placed firmly on the door, pinning it to the wall. His frame took up almost the entire door. His silvery-white hair was pulled back in a ponytail. His shawl was made from some spotted animal, white spots dotting the mostly brown fur. His bright green eyes seemed to burn with hatred.
His eyes scanned the bar carefully. “There was a rumor that the outsider was present.” He growled as he stepped inside. His voice was deep and rumbling. He quickly spotted me and marched over. He stopped just in front of me, glaring down at where I sat. I looked up at him with apprehension. “Appear nonchalant, maybe he'll calm down.”
I took a swig from the bottle to calm my nerves. “Can I help you?”
He glared at me angrily. “You can Leave Snakhagr.” He growled. “I will not have your presence tainting the rank of Champions.”
I shook my head as I turned back around, taking another sip. “No can do buddy. Even if I was allowed to leave the city, I don't intend to abandon it because some uppity orc doesn't like me.” I felt my right eye twitch involuntarily. “You just Had to insult him.” The stool I was on was suddenly yanked back, and the orc was now in front of me. I had half a second to register the event before the orc placed his foot on my chest and pushed hard. I flew back as the pressure forced air from my lungs. I got a second hit as I fell on my back, knocking what little wind I still had out of me. Somewhere along the way I let go of the bottle and I heard it shatter somewhere out of my line of sight. I was now on the ground, struggling to breathe, as the orc towered over me.
He roared at me angrily as I gasped for breath. “I will not be spoken to like that by some puny outsider. I have protected this city for too long to have another of your filth try and destroy it.” He drew an axe and leveled the blade at my throat. “I know not what has been done to the Northern District, but I refuse to let you corrupt the rest of Snakhagr.” I squirmed on the ground as I desperately tried to take in air. The blade suddenly drew back. I focussed my attention on the orc. He had the axe behind his head, ready to bring it back down. “I could end you right here.” He hissed. Those words caused my blood to run cold. I desperately scrambled back, trying to get out of his range. I struggled to make my lungs do something, anything, as the orc merely took a step forward. Suddenly, a blade appeared at the orc's throat and a voice rang out.
“That's ENOUGH, Agrob.” It shouted. My left eye clenched shut as I continued to take in shallow gasps. “God damn it. Of course, he tries to kill me. As if he wasn't enough of a problem.” I turned to the source of the bellow. I saw Brugo, sword drawn, blade level at Agrob's throat. An empty scabbard was clutched in his other hand as he used his other to lay grip the blade. I slowly climbed to my feet as my lungs finally started taking in some air. Brugo continued as Agrob kept his arm wound back. “This behavior is unacceptable, not here, not anywhere. This is not what Champions do.”
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Agrob scowled at Brugo as he glanced at the blade leveled at his neck. “You dare threaten me?” He growled.
Brugo seemed to falter briefly at that, but then steadied himself and repeated. “This is not what Champions do.” He stated firmly. I grabbed the back of an open chair as I slowly regained my ability to breathe. I leaned on it, coughing, as Brugo and Agrob had a stand-off in the middle of the bar. I felt my right eye twitch uncontrollably. “Keep your fucking mouth shut. I think we've established that no good can come from your passive-aggressive remarks.” I slowly gasped lungfuls of air as Agrob finally lowered his weapon and Brugo let out a small breath. “I think it would be best if you left,” Brugo said firmly. Agrob glared at him, then turned to me.
He gave me a cold and unwelcoming look as I leaned on the chair. “Pathetic.” He finally muttered, slowly stomping towards the door. My right eye twitched again. “Don't even think about it.” I continued to lean on the chair as I finally gained full control of my lungs. I gasped as I pulled lungful after lungful of air into my body. The pain in my abdomen slowly faded as Agrob’s footsteps receded towards the door. Another bang rang through the bar as Agrob slammed the door behind him. I coughed again as Brugo walked over to me. I looked around the bar. The orcs stared at me in stunned silence. I spotted a small puddle on the floor. Shards of glass were sitting in the golden-brown fluid.
I turned apologetically back to Brugo. “Sorry about that.” I coughed, gesturing at the broken bottle.
Brugo sighed as sheathed the sword back into its scabbard. “I should've warned you about him.” He said. “It would have saved both of us a lot of trouble.”
I shook my head as I slowly straightened. “I shouldn't have antagonized him,” I stated, breathing hard. “My big mouth only ever makes things worse.” Brugo suddenly leaned down and grabbed my used clothes from the floor. He handed them to me as he gestured at one of the barmaids. She immediately moved towards the puddle of beer.
Brugo rested a hand on my back as he slowly guided me back to the bar. “If he were anyone else, I'd say you chose your words wisely. Most any orc would develop some sense of respect for you if they saw your actions that morning. Unfortunately, not everyone believes you were the one that performed all those deeds. And I fear that he sees your actions as a ploy by Him to weaken Gashur.”
I nodded as I sat back down and Brugo moved to get back behind the bar. “I can see where he'd get that idea,” I mused, setting my clothes back in my lap. Brugo placed his sword somewhere behind the bar. I rubbed my chin as I explained my reasoning. “The time between my arrival and the army's is comparatively small. And given the fact that I got out, not only alive but in line for a full-blown title. It would certainly ring suspiciously for the more cautious people listening to the series of events.”
Brugo raised his eyebrow. “You are strangely understanding for someone that just had their life threatened.” He remarked.
I nodded as I let out a sigh. “That's the thing though,” I replied, placing my finger on the counter. “I feel fucking pissed at him. Yet my first instincts are calm and calculating. I risked my life, I lost someone. The elves took her away, and some orcs want to kill me for it and yet . . . all I can think about is why he's acting this way.” Brugo seemed about to say something, but I interrupted him. “And it's not empathy. Empathy would mean I'm sympathizing with him. It feels more like I'm trying to determine, logically, what set of information and thoughts would motivate him to do this?”
Brugo considered for a moment, then shrugged. “It might be connected to the Chieftess,” Brugo suggested. “He was particularly affected by her death. In fact, that battle was what earned him the title of Champion.” I let out a low hmmm as I considered his words. “So, he's a Champion as well. I guess that makes sense, I'm definitely not the first one to earn it. Bulak was pretty affected by the Chieftess's death as well. She didn't try to kill me, though. . . What if. . .”
I looked up at Brugo. “What's Agrob's last name?” I asked him.
Brugo looked at me in confusion. “Last name?” He asked.
I let out an almost exasperated sigh as I explained. “The name people use to distinguish between two people with the same first name, the family name if you will,” I explained. “Benjamin Franklin, Dexter Rodriguez, Amelia . . . I don't know her last name, come to think of it.” Brugo just continued to stare at me. “I know you orcs have something at least similar to that. I received a letter from Narod Malthu.”
Brugo’s expression suddenly changed to one of understanding as he nodded. “Ah, you mean a Father's name.”
It was my turn to be confused. “A what?” I asked.
Brugo gestured insistently. “A Father's name.” He repeated. “The name your father was given. Narod son of Malthu, Brugo son of Parfu, Agrob son of Ulgan.”
I nodded as I finally understood. “So, that would make Bulak, Bulak Dubak?” I asked. Brugo nodded. “Okay, then who was the Chieftess's father?”
Brugo furrowed his brow in confusion. “It was Ulgan as well,” Brugo replied. “Her and Agrob were siblings. It's not a big secret.”
I let out an aggravated sigh as I rubbed my face. “Yes, well I didn't know that,” I growled. “That's something that makes things a lot easier to figure out and understand. I can now precisely determine why he wants to kill me.” I rubbed my head as I let out a breath. “So, he earned the title on the same day he lost his sister. . . He must have done some pretty amazing things to earn the title. . . He must have been extremely motivated. . . sigh he watched his sister die, didn't he?” I let out another low sigh as I continued reasoning. “He did something during the battle that earned him his title. If he lost his sister in that same battle, then he likely watched it happen. . . Just like I watched Shel die. . . I can't completely blame him for his actions, not when I'm in the same situation he's been in.” I sat there as I realized I was starting to feel sorry for him. “And there's the Empathy,” I muttered.
Brugo’s expression turned to one of surprise. “That was rather quick.” He remarked. “A moment ago, he was ready to kill you. Now you are being sympathetic towards him?”
I nodded as I let out a sigh. “That's been me the last couple of days,” I remarked. “In one minute I can go from really pissed off to calm and calculating. And it only seems to get worse by the day.”
Brugo let out a hum as he seemed to think. He finally looked up as a realization dawned on him. “It sounds as if you are in conflict.” He remarked. I stared at him in confusion. Brugo continued as he saw my expression. “You recently went through something traumatic, correct?”
I let out a small laugh. “I killed at least fifteen people if anything I'm the traumatic event.” I retorted cockily.
Brugo shook his head sternly. “That's not what I speak of.” He said simply. My face fell as I saw the seriousness of his remark. I looked down slightly as I realized what he meant. “You lost someone you cared about. There is no denying it. The damage to one’s mind is enormous in the wake of loss. This damage has been known to create conflict within soldiers. There is a part of you that wishes to follow one path and another that wishes to follow. These two paths are in conflict and your psyche is fighting each other to choose the better. If you cannot choose your next actions, which voice to listen to, then they shall continue to fight until one of them ends up on top. The world underestimates the tolls the mind has on us.” I looked back up at him as he pulled out a mug and began wiping it as he continued. “Your voices will continue to fight over your next actions and drain your energy until you feel cold and empty inside. There is little else more difficult to overcome. However, there is hope for you and the actions you wish to undertake. You can be the mediator, you can be the one that decides which instincts to follow. You can decide which parts of yourself you wish to side with.” I let out a sigh thought about his words for a minute. “He might have a point. If I can’t decide on a path, I’ll just be stuck. I need to decide whether to act or prepare. It sounds like a simple decision, but I can’t seem to make up my mind. I want to stay behind and prepare for the rite, but I also want to charge out there and get to Adympia. Logically speaking, I should abandon the latter and prepare, but I can’t shake my desire to run out there. I just get so angry thinking about that baron guy. . . . . I need to reassess myself and get rid of the useless idea.”
I let out a breath as I rubbed my head again. “You give . . solid advice,” I said slowly. “Thank you.” Brugo smiled slightly. I checked my watch, 6:21. I looked back up “I hate to do this, but I should head out. I don’t want to leave Amelia alone for too long.”
Brugo nodded as he reached behind the bar and pulled out another cup. “One more before you go?” He asked.
I considered for a moment then shook my head. “Just some water,” I replied. “I don't want to take advantage of your generosity,” Brugo smirked as he reached behind the bar again and pulled out a jug of water. He poured some water into the cup and set it in front of me. I reached for it as he pulled out another cup and poured some water for himself.
He then lifted the cup as he spoke loudly. “To Dexter.” The bar grew quiet. “Without whom I would not be here today. May fortune smile upon you, your ambition be never-ending, and your enemies tremble before you.” He then lowered the cup to his lips as a resounding Hear! Hear! echoed through the building. I smirked as I lifted my own cup to my lips and drank deeply. The cool liquid soothed my aggravated throat as it traveled down.
Once I finished, I placed the cup back down and stood. “Thanks again,” I said, waving goodbye to Brugo. He nodded as he began wiping out the cups. I turned and left the Foaming Flagon. I started walking back as it gradually grew darker. “A lot of information and ideas to digest. I better tell Amelia about it. . . Although, I don't want her to worry. . . Maybe leave the almost getting killed part out of it. And, for right now, she doesn't need to know the full plan.” I started focusing on prioritizing the list I made. If I was going to eventually attack Adympia, I'd need to know the various ways magic transferred energy. “I should find out the limitations for some of the spells. I'll also need whatever that Elf leader knows; troops, supplies, armaments.” I suddenly noticed a fire being lit and I turned to the source. An orc was on top of a roof, moving away from a now lit brazier. I gradually saw more brazier being lit intermittently along the rooftops. “I guess that's what they use for street lights.” I thought as I continued moving through the city. The glowing braziers were surprisingly effective at bathing the street in dim orange light. I stretched as I felt a strange calm coming from the flickering lights. The dancing flames seemed almost hypnotic as I made my way towards the barn.
I finally climbed my way up the hill and towards the barn door. I pulled at the handle, expecting Amelia to be standing over the book, maybe practicing a new spell. Instead, the barn was pitch black, not even a lantern was lit. I cast Illuminate, straining to see in the gently flickering light. “Fucking again. Stay steady, damn it.” I turned back to the barn and saw Amelia, head down on the table, fast asleep. “Well, that just makes explaining easier.” I tossed my clothes on a nearby chair and slowly walked over. I trod lightly as I tried not to wake Amelia. My heavy footsteps still echoed slightly in the barn. Amelia’s back rose and fell in time with her breathing as she slumbered.
I glanced down at the open book sitting in front of her on the table. It was open to the entry on Levitate. I closed the book as I brushed her auburn hair from her face. Her freckled face was pressed onto the wood. I smiled as I saw her expression. “So cute. Guess whatever she did really tuckered her out.” I hung the flickering orb in the air and lowered my arms under her, gently lifting her. I strained slightly as I tried not to wake her. “Okay, definitely heavier than I thought. A hundred and fifty pounds is more than I anticipated.” I slowly crept over to her bed, my legs shaking slightly from the weight. She stirred slightly as I walked but didn't wake up. I gently set her on the bed and covered her with a blanket. Her chest rose and fell as she turned her head to the side. She looked so peaceful like that. “Definitely don't want to disturb her.” I made my way back to the table. “Time to practice Levitate.” I looked up at the slowly flickering orb. “But first.” I lifted my hand and focused on the orb. The flickering slowly died to a steady glow. “I'll need to figure that out if I want to actually use spells in a fight.” I turned back to the book. “For now, practice.”
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I spent a good hour practicing Levitate. I spent most of it exploring the various rules of the spell. I entertained the idea of trying to throw the book but decided against it. I might wake Amelia again. Instead, I tried to see to what extent I could manipulate the book. I tried making the book move as fast as possible. “If I can get objects up to speed. . Might work as a sort of railgun. . But if Leroy's already thought of that I'll need to make a countermeasure.” I already found there was a range limit on the spell, about seven yards in any direction. I tried spinning the book in a circle. It spun as I tried to move it faster, but it never got fast enough to break a record. I estimated it was only moving as fast as I could run. It definitely wasn’t viable in terms of a weapon. “I guess that railgun idea is a no-go.” Another idea suddenly crossed my mind.
I turned to one of the Textbooks laying on a nearby table. “Each book weighs about three pounds. If I can lift up to ten pounds with this. . . I wonder. .” I brought the floating book down to the one on the table. I tried to grab the textbook while still carrying the old book. But the spell remained firmly locked onto the floating book. “I guess it can't switch targets. . . You could still lift the object, just cast Levitate on it. . That's not the point. If I need to lift multiple objects I don't want to take up multiple openings for spells. Each one I use means less of an opening for combat spells. . . Fair enough.” I set the book down as I rubbed my head. “So, the spell locks onto a target, and can't switch off it until it's released. I wonder if there's one that uses the same principle, but compresses it into, like, a floating tentacle or something. I can move things quickly, but not faster than what I could by manipulating it myself, not with this version at least.” I turned to my bucket of tools. “How much force is the spell creating anyway? There's the force to lift it, then whatever leftover force for sideways movements.” I cast the spell on one of the wrenches, lifting it from the bucket. “I'll need some perspective on how much force I can apply.” I gently floated the wrench over, directing my attention at a nearby post. I pointed the end of it towards the post. I would need to push hard for this one. I threw my hand forward as I forced the wrench barreling towards the post. There was a soft thud as the wrench made contact and stopped. It definitely wasn’t enough to make a dent in the post. I walked towards the wrench and grabbed it from the air. “And now the perspective.”
I turned my back to the post, positioning myself to strike it with the wrench. I brought the wrench forward, preparing to strike. “You run the risk of waking Amelia.” The thought interrupted my strike. “She hasn't woken up yet I doubt she will now.” I started bringing my arm down, hard. It suddenly stopped as the thought interrupted again. “She's tired, we've already woken her up, I don't want to do it again.” I stared at my arm. “The fuck? Why'd you do that? . . I don't want to wake her.” I tried striking again, but again something stopped me. “I need a perspective on how much force the spell can apply. Don't interrupt me. . . At least don't use your full force. We both know how hard we can hit and we know how soft that hit was. You don't need to wake the whole neighborhood. . Fine.” I brought my arm forward, this time pointing the wrench downward. I let my shoulder go limp and the wrench swing into the post. A soft bam emanated from the wrench. “Happy? . . Very. Now we know it's barely stronger than gravity-induced momentum. Not useful in a combat situation. We'll need to learn how spells can be modified. . Why do you keep using the plural? You're just one person. . .Why are you having an argument with yourself? If we're suddenly going to bring logic into this, we might as well address all the inconsistencies. . . How are you so annoying? . . SHUT UP.”
I slammed my palm into my forehead as the thoughts began arguing with themselves. I clenched my eyes shut, trying to shut them out. The bickering faded slightly as I felt my vision sharpen into focus. They remained as they practically whispered a conversation to each other. I growled as I tried to silence the voices again, but they didn’t go away. “Why is this happening?” I asked myself. I hoped something would answer, but all I heard were the angered voices in my head. I growled angrily as I felt helpless to stop them.
Suddenly, “Intriguing.” My mind was suddenly silent, muted by the unfamiliar voice in my head. It was different, it felt alien. I felt apprehension as I tried to hear the voice again, but there was nothing. I opened my eyes as I suddenly sensed someone watching me. I stared in shock as I saw a brazier standing in the middle of the room, just in front of the sliding door. I gazed at it, unsure if my eyes were telling the truth. “What the fuck?” I felt afraid. I felt like I should recognize the brazier from somewhere, a place I don't remember being with faces I don't remember seeing. I focused on the brazier as I tried to bring up a memory that didn’t exist. The metal holding the flame was molded into complex swirls, cradling the ember in interlocking vines. I watched as the flame within cast an orange glow on the door behind it.
I blinked and suddenly the brazier was gone, vanished without a trace. My heart raced as I looked around the barn and tried to rationalize what I'd seen. “Calm down, maybe you're just sleep-deprived. That's it, you're just really tired and starting to hallucinate.” I clenched my eyes shut again. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. “Just breathe. . Maybe it's time we call it a day.” I opened my eyes as my heart finally slowed. I let out a low sigh as I moved to put the wrench back. “No point in panicking over potentially nothing.” I slipped the wrench back with the others and started climbing into the loft. My muscles felt sluggish and sore as they carried me upward. “Definitely need some sleep.” I thought as I climbed into my hammock. I began going through the list of things to do before the rite. “Combat, magic, weapons, information. I'll have to deal with everything when it comes.” I thought, anxiously, before drifting off to sleep.