1.02 - M

The night of Pleariss was not a well-known one.

Take Weningrad for example, another City State located further west. There, travelers and tourists could spend weeks enjoying the different attractions without repeating even once. Museums, galleries, open theaters – it was a well-known fact that if you went to Weningrad you were going to have fun, or fun would go after you in the shape of half a dozen bards singing down the streets.

It was… not a place to be if you enjoyed quietness. Even the natives were known for being loud – expansive in gestures and manners, and incredibly hospitable as long as you didn’t offend anyone.

Pleariss was different. Softer, in a way. The nights here were quiet and cold, the wind that traversed above the Trenid River, forever cutting the city in two, chilling weary souls even in the heart of summer. A comfortable city, great for raising children in, largely safe, peaceful and worldly known for three important things.

First, its people. The population was majorly composed of Cheshires, yes, but it was a small majority and the incredible influx of merchants and travelers also meant that many people from other places of the world had settled down here. Species that you would only ever hear about in books, such as the isolated Yetis or the standoffish Elves, could be seen around working as bakers or tailors with naught a concern to how surprising it was to see them so far away from their usual homes.

It all made the city a lot more inviting to the eyes of whoever passed by its vine-covered great walls, which also made them a lot more open to engage in what was the second great aspect of Pleariss.

The commerce. And not just any type of merchandise was sold within its walls. No, no – Pleariss had specialized in something quite specific.

Food. Crops, if you wanted to be pedantic. The entire City State revolved around the great yield of the farmlands around it – expanses of land that were highly disputed and responsible for feeding entire nations with its produce.

Greater still, the natural magic that seemed to suffuse the soil around it also made it able to produce arcane crops like no other place in the world – an ability that was so beloved by its population, that the Casters native to the city invented an entire branch of magic just to help nature further.

Rural Magic was a thing. The name was quaint, but its effects… Well – if you were an inhabitant of great, plagued lands and hadn’t starved yet it would do you good not to laugh in front of its practitioners. Better to bow down and thank them with respect – for sure you’d get at least a discount come the next harvest.

Now, if you are very clever, then you know that the combination of such a degree of natural magic and its open gates to everyone willing to engage in trade, was bound to attract power. Sorcerers. And in Pleariss, only one School of Magic – the name given to the great paths of Sorcery – reigned above all of the others much more muted influence.

The Children of The Forest.

The history of how a School well-known for being from an entirely different continent came to dominate the City State was not widely known, ancient as it was, but the world knew who protected these streets from the influence of the other Schools. A valiant effort that was, unfortunately, never enough.

Sorcerers were slippery things. Hard to kill and even harder to punish properly. No matter how many Sorcerers the Children were willing to produce – and they could not make many without bringing calamity to themselves – it would be impossible to stop all the other powers from moving after what their farms yielded.

And one such School was present within Pleariss. In fact, one of the very last remnants of it. This was a School composed of women that would have been known for their foul deeds if anyone remembered them. A Path woven with the blessing of hidden Gods, their names known only to them. Sorcerers of great power, wielders of unspeakable magic–

–and one of them was currently using a bakery as a classroom, teaching a very excited Drow girl how to raise her first undead, right under the nose of the world.

As was said: slippery.

***

“Tell me. You must have read enough to know the parts of a witch’s ritual, correct?”

Malina nodded eagerly. She might have been eager to use the rituals within the books, but it didn’t mean she had skipped the basics. The witch knew better than that.

“Yes – um, there are three points. You need a Will, a Way and a Word. That’s what lets us conjure power without those… other things that mages use.”

“The matrices, yes. Though – have you delved into Spellspeech at all?”

“Um, not really?”

The Siren hummed, resting back on the chair. She took a second to think.

“We’ll remedy that later. Rituals are powerful, but slow – and we can’t have you relying on them during a surprise attack. It’s always better to know a spell or two. At least a simple [Shield]. Do remind me of that later.”

Malina nodded eagerly, the possibility of her forgetting that non-existent. Rituals and spells? The girl had to clutch her seat or she feared she’d float away in excitement.

“Now, you’ve listed the three W’s, but why not a Circle? Those are fairly common as well.”

The witch thought over the question, eyes narrowing as she tried to come up with an answer. A magical circle was present even in the fake ritual she was gonna use – but Malina hadn’t used one when she brought the mouse back to life…

Then again, had that been true witchcraft?

Malina ventured an answer, still uncertain.

“Maybe it isn’t necessary like the others? You can do magic without it.”

The Siren shook her head, half-denying.

“Not incorrect – but I’m not here to teach you simple magic, Mal. Even the most shallow of Cores can summon a sigh of wind if they focus well enough. No, a Circle is not needed to make magic – but it holds a purpose in witchcraft. Do you understand?”

Did she? Malina thought over, analyzing what was said – and was honest about her shortcomings.

“I… don’t think I do. Not entirely. What is a Circle for then?”

Lissandra smiled, satisfied, and motioned towards the table. The surface rippled and Malina watched entranced as an exemplary Circle appeared on the wood, as if carved on it. The Muse began her explanation.

“A Circle has two purposes. For our magic, it serves as a way to ground the energy we are pouring out there. It makes for a hard limit, one that exists beyond the confines of our Will so we don’t have to worry about calibrating ourselves. It frees our power, so to speak, in a limited area. For our Way, however, it ensures we don’t pull on the meaning of objects or ingredients that are not within it.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that could happen.”

“Mhm. I even think we have a book about that somewhere. Cases where witches ended up messing up a ritual because they didn’t separate the Way properly. Other mistakes too. Nin, do you remember it?”

The grinning demon had been largely quiet until now, hidden in Malina's shadow, but answered when summoned.

“No, Mistress.”

“Ah, pity. Well, anyway – why don’t you tell me what the three W’s are for, Mal? And could I get another scone, please?”

Lissandra called for one of the smiling staff, who had been going for round ten of deep cleaning a particular table – the wrinkled fingers and bruised wrist a testament to the curse placed on them. The waitress nodded and left for Lissandra’s order, saliva drizzling down from the corners of her stretched mouth.

Malina ignored the scene this time, her mind suddenly focused on stitching the correct answer. When her response was fully woven, rehearsed, and then re-rehearsed, she began speaking.

“First we have a Will, which is what the witch desires to do with the ritual. Her vision of the outcome. I know that it has to be clear for a perfect casting and that if you doubt the results or… come at it with only minimal effort, there’s an almost certainty that the ritual will backfire.”

Malina licked her lips, spilling her speech like a waterfall.

“Then we have the Way – those are the ingredients. They serve to focus our magic by drawing on their Meanings, their… importance. If you come with the wrong materials or ones that don’t align with your Will then it can backfire. Again.”

“Witchcraft was always a great pastime for the daring. But do continue.”

“At last there’s the Word. It instructs the magic on how to behave, clear incantations to guide the mana.”

Lissandra nodded, then took a bite out of her new scone. One of the waiters had brought it without Malina noticing, which made her blink, but the Siren acted as if she had all the time in the world. It did not ease the girl’s nerves.

Had she gone well? Malina forced herself not to bite her lower lip, fearing it would convey her apprehension – instead, she tightened her grip on the chair until her knuckles turned white. Lissandra finally swallowed.

“A commendable effort, Mal. I would not expect less from you. Though I guess some understanding does come with practice. Witches were never lauded for leaving great books – or clear instructions.”

The girl hesitated, then nodded. Had that been a compliment or not? Malina felt the days without sleep sapping her mind, just a bit, and she knew she would have understood it better if she was well-rested. With a deep breath, the girl passed a hand through her short, platinum hair, trying to bring back a semblance of tidiness.

“So what now?”

“Well, since you know how a ritual is set up, then all I have to do is teach you your first one.”

Ah. How they both grinned at that. Nintrakilous could not shiver like a human – but if he could? Well, now would be a good time to have one. Instead, the demon watched in silence as Lissandra passed a hand over the table, like an illusionist unveiling a trick, and three distinct shapes began to surge from the wood.

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“One Ritual can involve multiple ingredients, you know that – but to begin with, we’ll work with only three. So, Malina, tell me: What does it mean to Raise?”

The young woman’s eyes sparkled, the purple on them shining with excitement – and nerves – but Malina adjusted herself on her seat and put her face closer to the illusions, unwilling to blink.

The first object was a clawed hand, human-like but sculpted to look rotten – entire areas of muscle and skin absent, leaving odd groves on the illusion. It rose from the table as if someone had been buried underneath, the nails digging groves on the wood in a vain attempt to claw itself out of a grave.

The second was more like an image, one that made Malina back in surprise, blinking her wide, tired eyes at it. A sculpture of a veiled woman, sitting on a chair and wearing what seemed like a common servant’s dress. Half of her chest was exposed, left accessible for the baby that suckled the milk out of it.

Malina frowned, confused, then looked at the third illusion – and it was floating. It was still made to resemble wood, but the bird was levitating from the table. An odd species as well, long-beaked and long-legged, with a small head and wings that opened far, far wider than the length of its body.

Had she ever seen one? Malina tried to remember, only to find her old memories foggy with sleep. She clenched her hands tightly, fingernails digging into the palm of her hands until it burned, and forced the memory forward.

A crane. It was soaring straight up, like a lance trying to pierce the very sun – and Malina could not understand what that had to do with the Ritual. So she asked.

“A mother and… a bird? I thought we were doing necromancy?”

The Siren maintained the affable smile, her orange eyes hidden by her rising cheeks and leaving not a hint for Malina to decipher. The silence was kept between the two for a long minute before the girl gave up, squirming on her seat at the awkwardness. Once again, Malina checked on the illusions, trying to conjure why Lissandra would choose such things – and then giving up after she noticed another new client be affected by the Siren’s Ability as they entered the bakery.

Malina pointed at her choice.

“The hand. It fits, I guess.”

Lissandra finally nodded, and the illusions sank onto the wood – all except the first one. Instead, the rotting hand was placed on the center of the table, and Malina listened to the Siren speak seriously once more.

“Tell me how that is your Way.”

A short order, and one Malina saw no point in dithering about. The witch tried to place her thoughts in order.

“If I’m using necromancy, then to raise them is to… allow them to walk again. I can’t call for their souls but I can animate their bodies. I can make them crawl out of their graves for a second chance, even if it’s as mindless zombies. To raise is to, hm, enable.”

“Mm. A simpler Meaning… but solid enough. Next, Mal, what does it mean to be dead?”

Malina heard a soft scoff from her shadow, made out of disbelief – and even she paused for a moment at the size and gravity of the question. Lissandra, however, waited for no one.

Three images appeared. A pair of scissors cutting at a long string. A painted portrait, the figure indiscernible. A large predator, some sort of wolf perhaps, eating at a carcass.

Three unrelated ideas. But one look at Lissandra and Malina knew, just knew, each one could be used as a Way. They held Meaning – they were answers to that very question, three out of… infinity possibilities.

Maybe.

And that realization was what made the young woman stop, take a deep breath… and turn around. The server boy seemed to be almost prescient as he focused on her before she had fully turned, the grin on his face red with all the effort – and Malina was certain she saw the muscles spasm.

She gulped, but did not stop.

“Uh, sorry, but could you get me some cold water? And do you have anything to help someone wake up?”

***

In the end, they did have something to fight off sleep. It wasn’t even bitter – just a little sour. Perfect, in fact, if you did not enjoy sweets that much like Malina.

The drink was what the waiter called a smoothie. No milk, just loads of different fruits that were frozen in an enchanted icebox and turned into a thick puree that one could drink with a metallic, thin tube. Malina sent the accessory back to the kitchen after hitting her teeth on the thing.

Of course, common fruits would not be enough to wake her up as quickly as the drink did – and Malina was already feeling her drowsiness vanish after a few sips of the tall cup – but the waiter had explained there were arcane fruits within, with the main ingredient being the same berry that was used to decorate the rim of the cup.

An Eyefull Bushberry would be considered disgusting to most people – the fleshy, white pulp decorated with a series of red, thin streaks that pulsed and branched out of the half-covered black seed in the middle making it look like a very irritated eye. The fact it had been cut halfway through to serve as decoration only made it more unnerving. Malina swayed her body from left to right for a bit and she could swear it was following her movements.

A pair of scarlet nails plucked the decoration, and Lissandra let the berry fall onto her open mouth, looking much like the fabled temptress people had once called her. The Siren’s face tightened for a second at the sourness before her lips parted into a grin.

“Delicious. But let’s not dilly-dally for long. Are you ready to continue?”

Malina swallowed her nervousness with another sip of the smoothie, relaxing a bit as the sourness left her hair standing. She nodded.

“Then choose.”

The young woman’s attention diverted back to the illusions, and despite the command, Malina took her time. With her sleepiness held at bay, the witch finally found herself with the needed energy to tackle what was supposed to be a great opportunity – her very first Ritual, tailored by one of the brightest Sorcerers alive.

Part of her wanted to apologize at Lissandra, really, but the witch knew better. She would sap the opportunity like a calf on its mother’s tits, drying it entirely – and somehow, despite how exhausting it could be for her, Malina knew the Dark Muse in front of her expected nothing less.

She had disappointed in that first choice. It was time to remedy that.

So Malina slowed down, and thought.

“If scissors are cutting tools, and the thread symbolizes someone – then to be dead is to… end? It is always abrupt too. You will leave someone or something behind. Even if it’s just your body.”

The girl straightened her back, looked up – and Lissandra gave nothing away. So Malina tried harder.

“It feels… quiet. When you cut thread it makes almost no sound. It’s surprising and unexpected – but also silent. A glancing blow, a disease, a bad fall. You could be walking one day and just hit your head on the floor hard enough. To be dead is to end, quietly, with not a whisper.”

Malina’s confidence rose a sliver, even if the Meaning felt a bit strained – like a badly sewn piece of clothing. She observed the next one.

“A portrait. It’s the memory of the dead – how those left behind saw them. It could be a lie, I think? People think better of others when they die, they measure their words, try not to hurt the deceased as if they could be hurt at all. They will be… ah. I see. To be dead is to be remembered.”

Malina wondered if there was something more to it. Her idea was right, she knew – but somehow… the witch looked at her own hands, long fingers with nails cut short so she wouldn’t bite them. Was there more to it?

Then it dawned on her. There would always be more Meaning. People could see the same images and define different things, feel different emotions. These choices though, this entire process in fact, were all about her – how she saw the world, and how she understood it. But it didn’t mean she had to know everything right now.

So the girl left her uncertain impression behind and focused on the third one, trying to exercise her mind like she thought a witch should do.

“To be dead… the Gentleman has a title like that, doesn’t he? The Final Hunter. As if life were a chase and he would always get you in the end. To die was to lose the run…”

Malina tilted her head, her tongue itching. She took a sip of her smoothie and felt the liquid energy run once more from her stomach, then frowned at her own words.

Hollow. That was someone else’s faith – and even if she tried to emulate it, the outcome was shallow. No, the illusion represented something more – so the witch narrowed her eyes.

Twilight skies and a predator eating its prey. Teeth ripping flesh apart, digging for that tender game. Entrails left untouched, forgotten, but also sweet sustenance to scavengers and the like. Bones broken for their marrow and buried under coming snow and time, left to turn into dust. Fur forsaken, one with the earth once more.

“...To die is to be consumed. All things die and disappear in a way or another, eaten by predators, scavengers or maggots. They are dead, devoured, broken in a way that can’t be pulled together again. They exist within a hundred stomachs – once with a name, now rebaptized as food.”

Malina blinked, slowly edging away from the last illusion with a small frown. She felt certain about the Meaning – but those words… Where had they come from? Malina looked at Lissandra, and this time, the Siren held a grin, and mouthed a single word.

Choose.

Malina hesitated. Despite it all… The witch began to point at something, thought better of it, then edged closer to another option. The scene repeated itself a couple more times before she finally made a decision.

Lissandra raised a brow at that – and Malina felt her heartbeat run faster.

“Devour. Interesting. Why?”

She licked her lips.

“The scissors felt too final, somehow. Necromancy should be about a new purpose, a new opportunity – the third one shows me that. Was I… wrong?”

Lissandra waved her concern away.

“There’s no such thing as being wrong, Malina. A choice is a choice. And I approve.”

Malina’s face brightened instantly, lips parting into an embarrassed smile that made Lissandra chuckle before her face turned serious again. In a softer way than before, yes, but still managing to convey that same weight.

“Now, the last one. You have chosen what it means to raise and what it means to be dead, but no practitioner of death magic worth their weight would ever allow their creations to run free. In one way or another, you’ve brought them back – and that brings responsibility you cannot forsake. That’s why I’m teaching you this. So, Malina, what does it mean to Bond?”

Another choice appeared in front of the girl before she could fully process what Lissandra had said, though by the time the third illusion appeared Malina understood the warning – and the reprobation. She looked down to meet the third part of her ritual.

A pair of manacles. A man and a child, holding hands. A throned queen with a kneeling knight in front.

This one was the easiest. Malina recoiled at the first illusion, edging away from the chain that connected the manacles. That was no bond she was willing to make.

The second one made her pause – then shake her head. Few understood the importance of motherhood like the Dark Muses, sacred as it was to them, and Malina did not want that responsibility. Or that type of affection.

Instead, the third choice seemed to almost glow brighter at her, and the girl named the sensations going through her perception of the conjured scene.

Admiration. Loyalty. Fealty. Purpose.

Malina smiled, a genuine showing of teeth and pointy canines, and pointed at her choice.

“This one. A protector, loyal to a fault and that understands their role. To bond… is to believe in someone else.”

Lissandra nodded, asking no more questions, and the spell on the table faded with a quiet sigh. Malina’s shoulders relaxed, the young woman not even having noticed how tense she had been through this entire situation. She heaved a sigh, downed the rest of her smoothie, and cleaned her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt.

Malina waited for Lissandra to speak, and the Siren did.

“A Way has been chosen. A Will has been honed. Now, all you need is the Word. So, let us leave for a better location.”

The Siren got up, pushing her chair back, and Malina hurried to do the same. By the time they left the cursed staff and the bakery, the young woman had already found her tongue.

“Where are we going?”

“Well, your choices make it clear already, don’t they? If we are to find a body, it has to be from someone that was buried – or at least confined in some manner. What was your first Meaning again?”

“To raise is to enable.”

“Exactly. And if you are to let the dead rise, then first they must have fallen. So, a grave robbery it is. Huh. I should have stuck to the idea when I first gave it.”

The Siren walked down the street, not looking back, and Malina heard Nintrakilous groan in her shadow. The witch, meanwhile, tried hard to smother her excitement with buckets of common sensibility, something the Coven had always lacked a bit.

The only problem? The flame was proving itself a formidable opponent.