There were multiple issues with the map Zed carried. For one, it was too big to be held comfortably in two hands. Another issue was its detail; there were no street signs or labels, merely squiggly lines of curves and turns. A third issue was more of a personal bias than an actual issue but since it applied to him, Zed counted it as the most important. Gregory had most likely chosen this specific map to mess with him.
Because there’s no way in hell a small town like this uses this for a map, he thought, passing a building he could’ve sworn he’d gone by thirty minutes ago.
He clenched his jaw, holding back his frustration and refusing to believe there was a possibility that he had a horrible sense of direction and soldiered on.
He spent the next hour meandering through the town, trying to figure out the way to his destination. On the map there were only two points marked. One indicated the camp management caravan—his point of origin—and the other indicated the house he was supposed to meet Festus in.
Zed’s lost wandering was not without excitement, however. He took his moments entrapping the layout of the town in his mind. Without Oliver to serve as a tour guide he saw the town in his own perspective, uninfluenced by Oliver’s opinions and narratives. By the time he finally found his destination, he was happy to know that the town wasn’t much different from the picture Oliver had slipped in with his narratives during his first tour.
But there were differences.
The people didn’t seem as happy when Oliver wasn’t explaining how Miss Telemin who worked as a laundry woman for a small segment of the town was actually once a ballet teacher who still had moves and often entertained the children with spins and twirls whenever she had the chance. For one, he could see the stress in Miss Telemin’s eyes. She had bags most likely from sleeping too little and eyes almost bloodshot. He guessed she’d cried this morning before leaving her house.
It was this way with most of the adults. Each of them bore a touch of loss here or a stain of unsatisfied greed there. Zed was beginning to realize that sometimes face value untainted by the knowledge of the scenes that exist in the background often showed the truth. The people who lived here were trying to be content. The key word was trying. And it seemed some of them were on the edge of failing.
Zed could’ve sworn he’d seen one of the men whose name he couldn’t remember staring at nothing, lost in sad thoughts, if his face was anything to go by.
The children, it seemed, were the only ones most immune to the sadness. The adults drowned in the past they’d lost and the future that showed no promise while the children reveled in the simple existence of the present, as most children do.
There were also men he’d spotted once in a while walking about with one tool or the other, axe and wood and machete. They wore no uniforms but Zed felt it was a fair assumption that they were part of the hunters of the town. He came by them rarely and kept his distance. Watching them, they carried the pride of hunters and the fatigue of those who had seen what they should not but were more than willing to fight on.
He was glad to find them amiable to those they passed by, displaying none of the cliché entitlements of those in position of physical and violent authority. They greeted those who greeted them and kept their silence to those who held silence for one reason or the other. One thing Zed noted, however, was that everyone saw their lack of contentment in each other. Everyone saw the past they would not get back.
Not unless the VHF comes to town, he thought.
Jason and the others may not like it, but the truth was simple. VHF had the life everyone here was hoping for. The past everyone missed was the present VHF controlled. They had soft drinks, and that was basically the height of civilization. If they had that, he was hard pressed to believe they didn’t have much else.
Again, he found himself wondering if he was willing to fight if it came to it as he knocked on a door and prayed he had the right house.
The door opened to an old man with thinning hair and hollow cheeks on the first knock. He was shorter than Zed by at least six inches and looked like he was supposed to be standing bent over a walking stick instead of standing with a straight back and arms behind his back, staring up at Zed as if he was lost.
“Wah?”
Zed’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”
“Wah ye wan?” the man asked.
“Are you Festus?” Zed asked, the massive map rolled up in hand so that he held it like a scroll.
“Who as’in?”
“I was told to come here and talk to Festus.”
“Who tell?”
“Heimdall?”
“Heimdall tell or ye as’ me if Heimdall tell?” the man asked, with the confusing paradox of a patient face and an impatient voice.
“Heimdall tell,” Zed answered, a bit confused.
“I Festus,” the old man said. “Wah Heimdall tell you wan’?”
Zed was following the conversation, at least he hoped he was. He’d never heard the man’s accent before, not in any of his memories. And not in his current life. Maybe his English was poor because it wasn’t his first language. Zed took his time looking at the man and found he could not place the man’s race. He looked as American as the next old man with hollow cheeks and thinning hair.
“Ye deaf?” Festus asked. “Heimdall sen’ ye fix ear?”
“No,” Zed said. “Heimdall send me learn runes.”
“Ye,” Festus frowned, “learn rune?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Mage should learn rune,” Zed said, then shook his head. “No. He sent me because he thinks mages should learn runes.”
“Why ye tal’ much?” Festus asked. “No plen’y wuds. Mage shoul’ learn rune enuf.”
Zed nodded, a bit worried at how he was going to learn about runes from a man he was already having a touch of difficulty communicating with.
“Ye wan’ learn rune,” Festus mused. “Anoter one. Quick. Inside. Ye leh’ out ambien’ mana.”
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With that, Festus stepped back, giving Zed enough space to enter. It was an invitation Zed accepted, taking a brief glance about them before entering.
Once inside, Festus closed the door behind them and any doubt Zed had about the man being a mage of sufficient enough understanding to teach him was gone. Even if language was a barrier, he would learn whatever variety of English Festus spoke. And if that didn’t work, he’d learn signs or codes or Klingon.
Inside, the building was dark and cold, the air dense and slightly heavier than the one outside. But Zed saw everything inside, saw them well enough to be both terrified and awed.
The house was a scattered mess of papers and books and parchments that looked like the one in Zed’s hand. They varied in color and some had burn marks at their edges where someone had most likely set them alight.
Each piece of paper or leaf of open, burnt or torn books had different inscriptions on them. Lines twirled and curved and curled, some were straight as rods and others squiggly and turned about like a snake set on fire. Most of them looked like countless varieties of failures. But the ones that were successes, Zed could tell at a glance.
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* You have entered a zone with increased mana density.
* Mana recovery increased by 9%
* Stamina recovery increased by 12%
* Health recovery increased by 7%
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Zed made an impressed sound as he dismissed the notification. He wondered if it was because of all the attempts at making runes or if there was simply something special about the house.
He looked back at Festus to ask and found a symbol on the door. It took him back to the shed. Whatever it was, it looked a lot like the one he’d seen on the paper with ink that looked burnt. However, there were significant differences. It was clear and concise, and vastly more complicated. It looked like the advanced and more genteel older brother. The one with a complicated past and a sophisticated personality.
Where the symbol at the shed had carried perhaps two curled lines and three straight ones, this one carried enough curled lines to draw a monkey and seven straight ones. How the man had managed to carve it into the wood of the door with such precision and artistic control was beyond him. And there was also the fact that he could see it clearly yet not contain it in his mind. It hurt to look at and it took Zed a second to realize what the problem was. He could see it clearly yet his mind felt full and slowly its edges began to blur until the entire thing was no more than a splotch.
Zed staggered back, vertigo hitting him like a freight train with enough disconcertion that he felt his body shift to regain his balance as his attribute of equilibrium kicked in. He knew what the problem had been as he held his head and stabled himself. He’d seen the symbol more clearly than the others and had subconsciously begun trying to make sense of it; to understand it.
When he regained his composure, Zed found Festus staring at him with a touch of amusement.
“Ward rune,” Festus explained. “Chimera of mana shield rune, force rune, sentry ward, and other runes you not understand.”
“Fair enough,” Zed said. “But there’s something I understand better now.”
“That is?”
“You. I understand you better now. Was the initial accent a fake?”
Festus walked past Zed, headed deeper into the house.
“Not a fake,” he said. “Studying runes addles the mind. Messes with speech as well. Takes a while to regain proper cognitive command. And wipe your nose, can’t have you dripping blood all over my runes.”
Zed wiped a hand across his nose and it came away with a stain of blood. This was the second time he was getting a nose bleed from looking at a rune.
“What of the mess?” he asked, following Festus inside. “Will you blame that on the runes, too?”
“Don’t be a smart ass, kid,” Festus said. “Every researcher is a mess. The mess is research.”
Zed picked up a piece of paper with squiggles and curves and saw it clearly. He raised it up and waved it.
“This a rune, too?”
Festus looked back and squinted to see the paper.
“Not a rune,” he grumbled. “Research.”
Zed turned the paper to look at the contents again. “Just looks like squiggles to me.”
“That’s what researching runes without actual runes looks like.”
“They look like squiggles?”
“Yes,” Festus said, turning back and heading deeper into the house. “At least when a mage without a rune specialization does it.”
Zed paused. “Wait. You’re saying you don’t have a rune specialization? But they called you a rune mage.”
“Those idiots wouldn’t know a rune if it drew itself on their face and sharpened their eyesight,” Festus scoffed. “They call me a rune mage because I’m the best at making runes in town. But no, I’m no rune mage. I’m a force mage.”
“What’s that?”
Festus looked at him with an odd expression. “Force magic. Force spells.”
Zed nodded. “Got it. Force mage not a rune mage. Are you always studying runes?” he asked, gesturing at the chaos around them and moving the conversation along. “Is this common? The English problem and the constant mess?”
Festus gestured to Zed’s feet instead of answering.
“Is that common?” he asked.
Zed looked down at his empty feet and wiggled his toes before looking back up and shrugged.
“Yep.”
Festus made a thoughtful sound.
“Then, yes,” he said. “I’m always doing this, so this is common.”
“So if this was a fantasy story, you’d be the deranged sage in the woods with a crack in his head and, hopefully, the ability to call on the name of the wind.”
“And that would make you the main character of the story,” Festus said. “Destined to gain great magic and vanquish the demon king while I teach you old magic in mysterious ways. You don’t look like a fantasy protagonist, though.”
Zed cocked a brow at him. “I take it the cognitive command is back.”
“Yea. So it's back to work for me.” Festus shuffled into a side room waving Zed off over his shoulder. “Look around, pick a rune, learn, then leave. That way we don’t waste each other’s time.”
“I don’t think that’s going to work,” Zed called after him.
“It won’t,” Festus said from within the room. “That’s how runes work. You try, you fail, and you try again. Eventually you get tired of trying and stick to spellforms and your specialization. It’s generally faster and better. It’s just not stronger.”
“Well, that’s the problem,” Zed said. “I don’t have spellforms or specializations.”
There was a mild scuffle and Festus poked his head out of the room.
“No spellforms?” he asked.
“No,” Zed answered.
“No specialization?”
“No.”
“I hesitate to ask,” Festus said slowly, “but what type of mage are you?”
“A mage without spellform or specialization.”
“No.” Festus shook his head. “What type of mage specifically are you?”
“An attribute mage?”
“Are you telling or asking?”
“Telling.”
“Ever tried to connect to a spellform before?” Festus asked, then shook his head. “What am I asking, you’re Beta rank, even if your aura’s a mess, of course you have.”
Zed shook his head. “I’ve actually not.”
Festus paused. “Then how do you know you can’t use spellforms if you haven’t tried? And how do you know you’re an attribute mage?”
“I’ve got a regenerative attribute and something that helps with my balance.”
Festus’ lips turned up in a touch of excitement and he stepped out of the room. His smile was wide and still growing. Zed hoped it was a good thing.
“You have friends in town, correct?” Festus asked.
“Correct.”
“And they didn’t bother to teach you magic.”
“Heimdall said it was a waste of time for an attribute mage.”
Festus laughed heartily, a mixture of gladness and excitement.
“Rightly so,” he said. “But you don't just give up on a mage because you think you know it all. Besides, sometimes attribute mages can have an attribute that helps them have a better hold on mana, it’s not been seen or noted anywhere but it’s a possibility. I have a theory that if there is one, they can hold a mastery over both spellforms and runes. If that’s true, then they can become a very powerful mage.”
Zed nodded as Festus talked, approaching him.
Zed watched the maniacal gleam stretching the old man’s face into a mute cackle and worried at the man’s sanity. But the idea of being a powerful mage was tempting. And while he didn’t have an attribute that touched on what the man was talking about, he did have hypersensitivity and something called mana-blessed, though the latter wasn’t an attribute. More like a race… maybe.
“What do you say I teach you how to connect to spellforms,” Festus said, standing in front of him. “Then, after that, if it doesn't work, we can teach you rune casting. This town's already full of grumpy know-it-alls as it is. No need to let you suffer for their stupidity.”
Zed shrugged. He’d already missed the second hunter’s exam he was supposed to take, and from the way Ash spoke, it seemed the next one wouldn’t be for a while. He had time to spare. And the thought of having the potential to be a powerful mage was enticing.
“Good,” Festus grinned. “Let’s see what kind of mage we can make you.”