10 – A Relaxing Swim – Breakthrough

We ran out of rope.

It was inevitable. Our supply was limited, after all. We were only able to connect a chain of three islands, and barely a fourth. A new solution was needed.

We had a collection of thaums to work with now, having raided four islands of their natural – as natural as an Anomaly can be – treasures and slaughtered the local wildlife. I felt confident as I sat within the embrace of the Whizzing Arrow, a tarp overhead blocking out the worst of the sun, tools and materials within reach.

Kornos and I had workshopped ideas for infused gear, having eventually settled on the idea of boots that would allow us to jump high enough to escape the gravity of one island while also cushioning our fall.

At the start of the discussion, Kornos had practically begged for something that would allow flight, but I told him in no uncertain terms that it was impossible. Or, rather, that it was unfeasible. With the right thaums, it was possible to created infused gear that would allow for aerial maneuvering, however, they would burn through stamina so fast that you couldn’t sustain even a hovering position for more than a second or two, if that, let alone movement or lift.

Thus, we – I – settled on the somewhat less daunting task of creating an infusion that kept us from going splat as we fell hundreds of feet. Oh, and not break our legs trying to jump just as high. And make two of them.

No pressure.

Alright!

***

For a time, I watched Vincent work on the items that would make or break the rest of the expedition. He was quiet and contemplative, slowly going through his collection of thaums with a meticulous determination. His fingers brushed glowing rocks, pure-white fangs, and pitch-black claws. Leaves of stone and beads of glass containing an ocean frozen in time. From time to time, he would deem a thaum as having a relevant essence and set it aside.

This was going to take a while.

“Vin!” I called out when he had just set aside another thaum for later use. “I’m going to go for a swim. I’ll be back soon.” Then, in a barely audible volume, I added, “Probably.”

“Sure,” he replied, not even looking up at me. His tone wasn’t dismissive, he was simply deeply focused on his craft. I respected that. “Take the band, you’ll need it more than I do.”

A moment later, an object flew over the side of the boat, and I caught it. I swiftly slipped it on and felt the alien sensation of a new sense opening up to me. A quick check ensure that the only being nearby were Vincent and I. He would be safe for a while.

I stepped towards the ocean, the warm sand beneath my toes and the cool water lapping over them felt wonderful. There was several hours left until night, so I had plenty of time for a bit of a mini-adventure.

A smile found my face, my heart sped up. The unknown, the wonders of the world, the prospect of finding – or being found by – something new sent a shiver of excitement down my spine.

With a running leap, I dove into the warm, crystal clear waters.

It felt like returning to your hometown. Familiar feelings and sights, even if they were slightly different than what you were used to. It wasn’t home because it wasn’t a place of rest and safety, far from it, but the familiarity was welcoming and comforting. I felt it embrace me, recognizing my heritage and sliver of dominion over it.

I called upon the power of Riptide and pushed myself. Through diligent practice, I had turned a weapon of blunt force into a tool of propelling power. Instead of slamming into me and knocking me around, the current surged, carrying me along with it. I shot through the water like an arrow. My eyes took in the beauty of the aquatic environment of the Anomaly. Coral grew in a rainbow variety of colors and shapes and sizes, from purple tree-like structures to mixed orange-green boulders.

Sea anemones, or something like them, lived in scattered patches. I watched one stretch out several feet and scarfed a couple of scintillating-scaled fish from a passing shoal. It was mildly horrifying. It moved far more quickly than it had any right to. Also, I was pretty sure sea anemones don’t eat whole fish.

Nope. Not going near that mess, I thought to myself.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Adjusting my course with careful alterations to the current, I circled the area in front of our beach, taking extra care to stay as far away from the edge of the abyss as possible. It would be beyond embarrassing for my tale to end so early and for such a foolish reason.

While I couldn’t breath water, I could hold my breath for far longer than most, thanks to being the offspring of a fish god. It let me spend more time enjoying the beautiful sights of this strange slice of unreality.

Honestly, now that I thought about it, we really lucked out. Anomalies could be far, far more deadly than a few beasts and strange terrain. The air could have been full of poisons, or there could have been invisible blades of fractured reality hanging in the air, just waiting for someone to bisect themselves on them. The beasts could have been titanic in size, able to crush us under foot. Not to mention, this Anomaly was unusually stable; there were no hiccups – spontaneous patches of existence that mutilated whatever was caught in it into thaums – that I could spot. That was a good indicator that there was a powerful artifact holding this Anomaly together.

A bit tired of three square crabs a day for meals, I used a combination of Riptide and Undertow to stun a shoal of normal-ish looking fish before dashing forward and spearing some of them through on my cutlass. Before they could recover and unleash whatever horrors they might contain – never underestimate anything in an Anomaly, even a seemingly innocuous rock could hide a deadly predator – I blasted away, back towards the beach.

Soon enough, after examining the innards and not finding any poison glands or strange organs, I had a plate of cooked fish, garnished with probably-seaweed and definitely-salt.

Vincent popped his head over the edge of the boat, and I handed him a plate as well. He disappeared like a rabbit retreating to its den, causing me to laugh.

***

I absentmindedly nibbled on the food Kornos had handed me while I thought.

Over the past half hour, I had come to a conclusion.

They hadn’t taught us shit at the department.

I had first suspected this when I realized just how different the glove I had made functioned. It wasn’t anything like a tool – it was more like a living thing, sort of. It directed my movements and filled me with a sense of guardianship – which was a very strange feeling to describe. My first thought had been that this was a fluke, that this Anomaly had some strange property that messed with the infusion of thaums. After some experimenting, I promptly threw that possibility overboard. I was able to make an identical fire starter as the one I had made outside of the Anomaly.

With the possibility of outside influence dismissed, that left only two others. Either it was something specific to the thaums I used, or it was something I myself had done. Unfortunately, I couldn’t replicate that infusion; the nature of thaums meant that exact duplicates were virtually impossible to find. Sure, you could find two thaums that were extremely similar, but close enough examination would find subtle differences. So, again, I had to dismiss that possibility, at least for now.

That left myself as the source of the aberration.

We had been taught at the department that thaumaturgy was both science and a debate. You argued with reality, using your knowledge and understanding of the world, that your interpretation of the function of an object’s properties was correct.

Obviously, a glove could not be chivalrous; it was an inanimate object. So, how had I done it? How had I assigned a property that could only be applied to living beings to an inanimate object?

I glanced at the watch in frustration. Several hours had passed, and no progress had been made on the boots. Even though I had a feeling that understanding the inconsistencies in my understanding would be critical to infusing the boots, I didn’t have the time to waste. I would just have to go for it.

Thus, I threw out all preconceived notions on how thaumaturgy should work, and only factored in my own experiences with the craft.

The boots needed two function: enhanced jump height and fall protection. Additionally, it needed to prevent the wearer from breaking bones on launch and on fall. Instead of aiming for two different protections, if I could achieve both requirements in one thaum, that would make future fusions easier.

Thus, I had two core thaums to make: Jump enhancement and limb reinforcement.

I started with the jump enhancement. There were many ways I could go about this, but the simplest and most compatible with the reinforcement thaum would be to enhance the wearer’s leg muscles with a burst of strength.

I pulled out several thaums that could serve this purpose. Taught, from a cord of muscle from a skychaser. Swift, from a blood-red leaf taken from a tree of green leaves. Corridor, a hollow tube of rock. Violent, the fang of a skychaser. Muscle, a strip of bark that looked like purple tendons from an unknown beast. Expanding, from a strange bit of sea life Kornos had brought back to me not but a few minutes ago.

I concentrated, focusing on building the mental image of the final product and the conviction to assert my interpretation of the pieces and their fusion.

Then, I raised my mental hammer and struck.

Connected muscles, fiercely taught, violently sprung.

For a moment, I felt something. Hollow. A piece missing. I feared I had left out something critical in my interpretation. But no, it was something else.

I concentrated, desperately holding together the thaums in their half-fused state. If I let go, if my concentration broke for even a moment, they would shatter, or they would fuse to something inert. I was sure of it.

What was I missing? What did it lack? I searched frantically for an answer. And I found one. And while I couldn’t understand it, while I couldn’t properly quantify it, I knew, intuitively, what it needed.

My memories of the first leap from the beach to the island, the excitement, the thrill, the burning in my legs, the way the muscles contracted and expanded. I refined my hammer of will and intent with those memories, and struck the fusion once more.

Staring at the completed thaum, I let out a shaky breath. Tension left me, and I slumped back, feeling a bit weak, but basking in satisfaction.

Now, I just had to do it again. But for some reason, that didn't intimidate me as much anymore.