As I readied for bed, I considered Mr. Fergus’s gifts. The pen’s description suggested that its heat resistance allowed it to write in molten metal and create runes for scrolls. I didn’t know how to do this yet, but a stylus would be essential when I learned.

  I got comfortable and began deciphering the Read Magic scroll. It started with a set of terms and definitions like an algebraic theorem. But the incantation’s length and jargon lost me, forcing me to start over. The exercise reminded me of memorizing and reciting the process of photosynthesis for my biology class. I needed to understand each step’s components to retain everything, but my brain wasn’t up to the task at the day’s end. Weariness faltered my efforts, and I quit, letting fatigue prevail.

  Reading Magic might lead to better things, but spending my only power point on a spell as esoteric as Mineral Empathy wasn’t a threshold I felt comfortable crossing—at least not yet.

  I trusted Mr. Fergus, but banking power points saved my life in Our Lady of Balance. There wasn’t any reason to spend them now. For all I knew, he’d planted the arcane magic book in the special collections. My entire self-education could have been part of his grand design. As long as I reached the cheese, I didn’t mind running through his maze.

  Wasting a power point on Mineral Empathy gave me access to another freebie spell of Mineral Communion with the second scroll. Power points might come in handy in a tight spot, and I knew little of what dangers to expect in the wilderness. As much as I wanted to indulge in the second scroll, I waited and silently apologized to the aging librarian.

  I drifted to sleep in Belden one last time.

  My mind had quieted the morning after. Still in bed, I picked up the Read Magic scroll and reread its terms and definitions. Focusing on the words felt easier, and I read them from beginning to end. An interface alert heralded a newly gained power.

  The vocabulary of magic filled my head. Casting spells used to sound like gobbledygook, but now, their individual words and syntax held meaning.

  Magic words represented the true names of things. Knowing a name gave sorcerors the power to incorporate it into a spell, explaining why demons were reluctant to reveal their identity.

  I recognized the name of electricity in the incantation for Shocking Reach. Without knowing Scorch, I couldn’t identify the words for magical fire. My newfound knowledge felt like I’d gained a toehold of control over the universe. For the first time in a week, I laughed.

  Fabulosa watched me from under her covers.

  I picked up the scroll for Mineral Communion and scanned the words. Their sequence made no sense, like scrambled words in a sentence. But since I understood some of the terms, I could guess what the incantation accomplished. My ignorance of Mineral Empathy, its prerequisite, prevented me from reading it.

  But I had one power point.

  However, understanding Read Magic had unlocked a new tier 2 power, Counterspell, which nullified non-instant spells while being cast. Why spend a power point on Mineral Empathy and not a combat-relevant power like Counterspell? What player wouldn’t want Counterspell?

  But knowing how to Read Magic made me giddy. Before second-guessing myself, I purchased the spell.

  After uttering the spell, I looked at the stone wall by my bed and drew out a sense of where the stones came from and how long ago someone pulled them from a riverbed and used them to support this building. The extent of the spell revealed little more than the bricks’ contentment in their new role as parts of the inn’s wall.

  This power held all the uselessness of Animal Empathy—a freebee cantrip. What a waste of a power point! It might have been terrific for an archaeologist, sculptor, or prospector of precious metal, but this did little to soften the annoyance that I’d squandered my only power point.

  After throwing the covers off in disgust, I dressed with sharp, jerking motions. Sensing the rustling of fabric, the ladies scrutinized me with concern.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Charitybelle squinted her eyes. “Patch? What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing. Everything is great. You’ll be glad to know these stones are quite happy to be holding up this wall. Isn’t that a load off?”

  The girls exchanged questioning glances.

  I grew so angry with Mr. Fergus that I didn’t bother to explain myself. Perhaps it might make me proficient in mining or somehow improve in blacksmithing—though neither activity appealed to me.

  I wanted to get out of Belden. After pulling my boots on, I realized I’d forgotten the second scroll. The whole reason for spending a point on Mineral Empathy involved acquiring its successor, Mineral Communion.

  I picked up the parchment and read it. The gilded words warmed as I scanned them. After I read the entire text, the heated metal burst the scroll into flames, causing thin metal flakes to fall at my feet.

  Fabulosa recoiled, startled by the unexpected flash of light.

  I looked at my list of available powers. Acquiring Mineral Communion had unlocked nothing. I didn’t understand Mr. Fergus’s line of thinking. Had he assumed I wanted to become an archaeologist? His geology books provided excellent resources for natural studies, but had I given the impression I wanted to follow in his footsteps?

  Casting Mineral Communion bathed the room in magnificent glowing colors as if painted in black light inks. Handprints and footprints covered every surface, and the stones projected visions of the past into my mind, disorienting me with double vision.

  I closed my eyes to focus on scenes of people using the inn before—the stones’ memories. The visions came in random order, flashing and overlapping, giving me a general history of what the rocks witnessed over the years.

  I grinned, held up my arms for balance, and moaned in awe.

  “Apache?” Charitybelle sat up. Still shaking the sleep out of her head, she looked concerned. She turned to Fabulosa, who only shrugged and shook her head.

  I traced my hand against the magical impressions of bunk beds that had once aligned against the wall. “This was where they used to put the beds.” I gestured to the floor. “And they used to have rugs here! Fur rugs! They kept the stones warm all year round.”

  Fabulosa furrowed her brow. She couldn’t see the room’s history and curiously watched me follow the phantom footsteps.

  The colored steps dazzled me. I focused on the floor, and visions of the past flooded my mind. “The maid washes the floor in her bare feet!”

  My companions followed my gestures but saw nothing.

  These visions would allow me to see traps and locate secret doors. I turned to them and threw my arms out wide. “You guys—we have got to find a dungeon!” I bounded out of the room, following the footsteps only visible to me.

  Before the door swung shut, I could hear Charitybelle’s voice. “What did I miss?”

  On my way to breakfast, I absorbed the inn’s history from the stone floor. The stones projected mental visuals that mushed into overlapping scenes whose sequence seemed random. It seemed ironic that stones paid little heed to chronology. To isolate one vision took considerable concentration, and I had no control over what I saw.

  When the ladies joined me, I explained my excitement.

  Fabulosa nodded but said nothing.

  Charitybelle switched topics and recited our itinerary for meeting the boat upriver. “We should grab some fresh produce from the farmer’s market before setting out.”

  I gave them my void bag. “Fill it up. By the way, have you given Mother Marteen a farewell?”

  Charitybelle nodded. “Fab and I saw her yesterday while you went to the smithy. Why?”

  “I wanted to thank her. Making just one buckle made me too filthy to visit, so I took a bath. I’ll meet you guys at the docks after I pay my respects. It’ll give me an excuse to see if our battle ruffled any feathers.”

  After leaving the inn, I followed the town’s traffic patterns using Mineral Communion. It seemed a shame the spell worked only once a day. Applying the spell to read the memories of dirt, rusted metal, or composite mixes produced only static as if it needed solid, sizeable chunks of rock to conjure a memory. Metal artifacts remembered nothing before someone forged them—as if reshaping or reheating them reset their identity.

  Mineral Communion gave me the option to ignore memory visions to see only surface-level impressions—fingerprints and footprints—and this lighter mode didn’t clutter my sight with after-images. Footsteps and tracks on stones glowed with vibrant visual effects. It would be great for tracking monsters over rocky terrain.

  I explore the temple grounds with my new eyes, admiring its stone monuments. When I focused Mineral Communion on the stone and marble artwork, they projected visions of pedestrians like us enjoying themselves. One scene showed stone crafters working on the statues.

  I came across a memorial dedicated to the martyr St. Adrian the Lame. He’d disappeared after the city executed the pontifex for the heresies of alcohol. Had the pontifex somehow avenged his accuser from beyond the grave? The statue’s memory shed no light on the mystery.

  Ironically, their conflict amounted to a minor footnote in history. Prohibition lasted only a generation before popular opinion overturned it.

  Mother Marteen called out to me. “Hello, Mr. Apache! Charitybelle mentioned you were going abroad.”

  I tuned out the Mineral Communion images to focus on the abbess while accompanying her to the temple. “We’re taking a flatboat to Basilborough this morning!”

  “Oh, my, how exciting! You should reach Basilborough by tomorrow. I hope you get a clean vessel. I’ve not always had the best luck on the river.”

  “We’re heading east. I think there’s a valley between Highwall and the Bluepeaks.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I hope you’re careful. It’s dreadful territory. We lost all the ground we gained from the goblin wars. Few scouts and hunters venture into the frontier, you know.”

  After assurances that we’d be careful, I changed the subject as we walked past the temple’s entrance. “Thank you for letting us use the library, and I apologize for disturbing the temple.”

  “Pish posh, my boy. I’m happy things worked out. Three lives for three lives!” Her chipper interpretation of such traumatic events amused me.

  “I apologize if we made a mess. We wiped everything clean before we left.” I gazed at the unblemished floor, grateful the Compression Sphere explosion hadn’t left a burn mark.

  Again, my hostess countered with a flap of her hand. “We consider the blood of vengeance a sacrament. After all, one must set the universe back into balance at all costs.”

  We shared one last smile before bidding each other farewell.

  At the temple’s exit, my buff for Mineral Communion expired as I turned my attention to the pontifex’s statue. I spotted something odd—the waning spell revealed the figure wasn’t made of white marble.

  Curiosity compelled me to investigate, but the alcove height prevented closer scrutiny.

  No one in the temple paid me any mind.

  After checking to see if anyone saw me, I felt a familiar pang of apprehension about getting into trouble. Unlike in my younger days, people didn’t follow me with distrustful eyes. But I wasn’t trying to deface anything here—only examine a statue.

  I hoisted myself up and into the alcove where the non-statue stood. As I climbed, I took care not to sully the white marble ledge with my boots.

  When I reached to touch the figure, my hands passed through it. The sculpture was an illusion. Detect Magic also showed that the statue’s footsteps glowed. Why would a statue’s footprints glow? Mr. Fergus said magic with permanency came from runes. Someone casting Detect Magic from the ground couldn’t see them, making me wonder what this hidden clue meant.

  I leaned over the alcove’s edge and read the inscription beneath it upside down. “Judge no one until you stand in their place.” The words inspired me to try something crazy. I turned and backed into the incorporeal figure and stood in its footprints. My weight triggered two pressure plates, and the alcove spun to the sound of grinding stonework.

  The sudden movement caused me to lose my balance, and when I stepped away to regain it, the pedestal stopped and returned to its original position.

  Again, I superimposed myself onto the statue’s pedestal, which rotated me toward a narrow, dark stairway inside the temple walls. As the alcove completed its 180-degree spin, sunlight disappeared, and vertigo assailed my senses. Reeling back against the niche, I fell unconscious.