17

  Back when Sage and I discussed my build, she had given me an explanation of how magic worked on Feyhold, and had identified the different types of casters. Firstly, what I called Mana was known to the residents of Feyhold as being a result of The Flow. The metaphor Sage used to explain it was that of a twisting, surging river of unaspected power, that flowed just beneath the surface of our visible reality. In that sense, it was everywhere, all at once. Most people thought it responsible for not only magic, but that it was essential for life. Some held that it was the force of creation itself. “Unaspected” simply meant it was a neutral force until shaped by a caster. In order to cast spells, the caster “pulled” the flow into themselves, reshaped the power as a sort of energetic pattern, a type of arcane formula, then released it as a spell.

  For some casters, it was a less exact art, less rigid and more receptive to creativity. Others changed the Aspect of the Flow when they pulled it in, then used patterns or arrangements within the context of that Aspect. The example Sage gave was that of an elemental fire mage; the mage pulled in the flow, shaped its aspect into Fire, then cast spells through that aspect, applying fire magic in various ways. This had the effect of turbo charging the spells. Other mages could use fire magic, but a mage who specialised in this aspect would be much more powerful when casting fire spells and have access to a wider variety of related spells. This was what Tally and Squish had meant when they said they were supplied by the finest of the Dark Flow; Gerard’s Necromantic arts used the Dark Aspect to shape the Flow.

  The more complex the spell, the more difficult it was to arrange the flow into the proper pattern. Powerful spells required more mana, and a mage’s prowess was often determined by how quickly they could pull and shape the Flow. Very talented casters, often Arch Mages, could apparently cast multiple spells at the same time. ‘Mage’ was a term that was applied wholesale to magic users in general, but casters could be roughly broken into several categories. These were Wizards, Sorcerers, Specialists, and Celestials.

  In terms of game statistics, Wizards were Intelligence-based, and channelled their magic through spellbooks, using precise and tested patterns to cast spells that were always reliable in their strength and application. The spells would cost a specific amount of mana, and would have specific and exact effects, eliminating the potential for unreliability. Their spell books could contain vast libraries of spells, but they had to be acquired through the study and copying of scrolls. Especially talented Wizards could apparently design new spells using an advanced version of the Spellscribe skill and it was considered a great point of pride to have invented a new spell. Sage said a player from last season was responsible for creating several new spells that were used by casters to this day.

  Sorcerers, meanwhile, were Charisma based casters who shaped the flow according to the strength and conviction of their will, rather than using a tool like a spell book. Their collection of spells mostly remained in their own mind, cast from memory. They were perfectly capable of casting intricate spells, but the strength and precision of the effects were determined by the individual’s talent and willpower, and could be considered volatile should a Sorcerer be emotionally unstable when casting. The freedom from using precise methods made sorcerers more creative casters, and they could manipulate various aspects of their spells according to their own creativity, often achieving new and interesting results.

  Specialists were casters that could fit into either the intelligence or charisma categories of casting methodology, but they preferred certain Aspects over others and emphasised them in their casting. They were especially powerful with their chosen Aspect, but other types of magic suffered in power as a result. Gerard and Lily were both specialists; Gerard was Dark aspected, and Quicklily used the Life aspect. I didn’t yet know what method of casting either of them preferred, but I would find out before long. I was looking forward to seeing what each of them had up their sleeves.

  Celestial casters were charisma-based, and had their access to the flow focused through the lens of their chosen God. Their spells were tied to whatever concept that God represented. Interestingly, their magic was not exclusively healing or buff-based magic like in most RPG’s I’d played, and in some cases they didn’t use healing-type spells at all. For example, the Goddess of Fortune, Belodath, would employ unique spells that manipulated luck or chance in favour of the caster. The power and selection of their spells could vary depending on their God’s favour. Or whims. These spells were specific in their application and were created and held by the Deity, who then granted access to the celestial caster. In practice these spells took the form of prayers that were spoken aloud.

  It was with all this in mind that I stood opposite Gerard early the next morning in the cobbled square that made up the entrance to the Shrine of Elaris. It was both open and secluded from the townsfolk so we could enjoy a measure of privacy whilst I pursued the arcane arts. Sage said my ability to cast was naturally present, but latent. The World Spell had activated it, but the process we were about to undertake would open up spellcasting as a game mechanic. Gerard’s original reticence to teach me seemed to have abated some and turned into a sort of quiet resignation. Something about this weighed on him, but I couldn’t say what. He stood a short distance away, clasping his hound’s head cane, bowler hat cocked. His suit jacket sat folded atop my cloak, which was settled near one of the four obelisks that framed the square. He had insisted on this, of course.

  He hadn’t explained his original reluctance to teach me, but Quicklily had straight up refused. She had said I was entirely unsuited to the Life Aspect, and that was that. I had no idea what she meant, and she didn’t care to elaborate. She had also said she didn’t have time for ‘arming children.’ Now that we had confirmed the raid, she had to meet with the town’s Mayor to break the news and start planning. Hopefully it would shock the otherwise lazy town into action. We needed some kind of defence if we wanted to survive this, and it was going to take more than 3 adventurers and a handful of zombies, some of whom were more suited to book keeping or waiting tables.

  After further prodding, Gerard had finally agreed to test me for my casting type and, if he could, teach me something simple I could start with. He seemed slightly put off by Lily’s refusal, almost as though he was betraying her by agreeing to help. Perhaps he was simply irritated at having to perform an unpleasant task. I wasn’t sure. It wasn’t my intention to cause tension between them, but I needed this to happen before class specialisation or else my path would be much more difficult. I had insisted that helping me would be helping themselves; that it would make me more useful when the raid came. That had seemed to convince the Necromancer.

  He watched me for a moment, something unreadable in his expression, then he took off his hat and set it gently atop his suit jacket near the obelisk. He leaned his cane against the obelisk itself, and he spoke as he stood and moved to stand opposite me again, about six feet away. He took a breath, then began taking off his fine gloves as he spoke.

  “I’m going to cast a spell on you. It’s the spell my Master cast on me on my first day as an apprentice. He was a miserable prick, but an undeniably talented instructor. My father insisted on the best, of course,” he said this last with slight distaste, then continued. “You’ll feel something like a wash of cold air; that’s the magic taking hold. Don’t panic. It’s an odd feeling the first time, a little like being tossed naked into a snowstorm, but only for an instant.”

  He folded the gloves and stuck them into his back pocket before continuing. “The spell is called Origin Story, and it can only be cast on a person once. If you have the talent for casting, it’ll force open your connection to the flow, and you’ll reflexively draw and release power, just like breathing. Only, a little more shocking the first time. In doing so, the spell will completely open you to me, and in a manner of speaking I can ‘see’ the source of your connection to the flow. It gives me a glimpse into your past, into the emotions that swirl about your centre, into the things that drive you, and the things that terrify you. All of these things will determine how you relate to the flow and how you shape it.”

  He looked at me seriously, his grey eyes steady. “It’s a very…intimate spell, Luck. It’s designed to reveal an apprentice’s mind to a Master, to gauge the worthiness of his character, and to learn the best method to teach him. Normally you’d be under the care of a wizened mentor for this, but instead you get me. …lucky you,” he said ironically. “Understand, you’ll be surrendering yourself to me. You’ll be more vulnerable than you’ve ever been, and you’ll be aware of it…acutely. This is why it can only be cast once; it unlocks the vault we all keep tightly locked within us. A vault that remains locked for a very good reason. Our mind, our sanity, is held together in part by the walls we build to keep the wolves at bay, you understand? Our mind can only barely sustain such an intrusion. It can’t stand to be seen; to allow such vulnerability would be to stand without defences or justifications, without delusions or pretences. No one dares attempt the act but for this very specific purpose. It is not pleasant, Luck. It’s dangerous to you, and I can’t unsee whatever you have inside you.”

  I drew a breath, thinking it over. I didn’t want to do it. It sounded like baring myself in a way that could never be forgotten or dismissed; like a shame that would exist in perpetuity once exposed. I barely knew Gerard and it sounded like I was about to turn over the keys to my entire identity to the man. I had no problem admitting my faults, it wasn’t that. I’d made a thousand mistakes in my life, and I’d had to make peace with that. Denial was pointless, and it only inhibited learning from those mistakes. I could face my mistakes. But could I handle someone else facing them? Could I let someone see me the way I saw myself, let them go beyond that and see me in a way I wasn’t even capable of perceiving? Naked in a way that transcended nudity into absolute transparency. No walls, within or without. I thought a moment longer, then resigned myself to whatever was coming. It doesn’t matter. It’s worth it. It’s all worth it, I told myself. This is a step towards Abi. Every step was so precious; so critical. When I finally spoke, it was with quiet regret. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for whatever’s about to happen.”

  Gerard regarded me for a long moment, then sighed and nodded. He fished something from his pocket and passed it to me. It was a geometrically perfect hexagonal crystal lens about the size of my palm. I turned it over in my hands, studying its gleaming edges. “Hold both hands out, palm up, the focus in one hand, the other empty,” said Gerard. I did so, taking the focus in my left hand, and looked up at him. He set his jaw. “Kneel and close your eyes. You won’t want to be standing for this.” I raised a brow, but knelt without a word, slightly extending both hands, palms up. The crystal lens was cool atop my palm, and I felt wind sweep through the clearing. I listened to it whisper through the surrounding trees as I closed my eyes and took in a breath.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “I bet my mind looks like that scene from Labyrinth with all the weird staircases,” I said, trying to break the tension. Not that Gerard would have any clue what I was talking about. It made me feel better, anyway. A little.

  “Brace yourself,” was all Gerard said in reply. I heard a vague murmur then a sound like someone threw a delay effect on fabric tearing. Then I sucked in a wild breath, gasping as I was encased in a glacier, with blistering cold and the unfathomable weight of a frozen mountain assaulting me from all sides. Pressing, then pushing, then crushing. Panic was beginning to well up in me, my heart racing and my mind screaming for release. Then, suddenly it was gone, like a wave of cold breeze as it moves past and away. For a moment I felt relief, then I saw the eye.

  It was inside me. Inside my chest; facing inward. I could see the eye in my mind, its shape written in flowing, iridescent purple flame. It was closed. Then it began to open, and it was like a purple version of the god-damned eye of Sauron. A lance punched into my solar plexus like someone had hammered a railroad spike straight into my chest. I made a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a groan as it drove into me like a wedge, and it began to pry me open. As the eye slowly opened to reveal a wide, accusing gaze, the invisible spike in my very fucking essence began to expand and force open a gaping hole that was like a thirsty vacuum in space, trying to pull in everything. It pulsed, and it was an irresistible, gasping drag on the current of the universe, like a man slipping over the edge of a cliff, trying desperately to find purchase. Then the churning, insatiable black hole at my centre caught hold of something. A thread. A trickle. It was so god-damned cold, like a trickle of ice water coming straight down out of snow-capped mountains. Then it was a stream, then it was a jet, an injection surging straight into the gaping hole in my solar plexus like someone had opened a valve.

  The hole in me pulled in the surging ice water and its pressure began to concentrate in me, filling my body, then my mind, with what was becoming liquid light. I was its container. The freezing, bright force filled me, then immediately sought to escape its containment. It wanted to take shape. It flowed outward from my center, seeking pathways of release. Pushing, driving outward from deep within, an irresistible force that finally burst into a path flowing down my right arm. Then it was desperately seeking a point, a place of escape. It pushed against some invisible barrier that existed right at the surface of my skin, an energetic second skin that I’d never been able to perceive before.

  The power tore through the barrier like a needle through fabric, and it pierced through my flesh, up and out of my upturned right palm. I could feel potential hovering just above my hand, roiling and growing and searching hungrily for a shape, for a purpose. It commanded a response from me, and I desperately clawed through my mind, seeking something. Then, there it was. So simple. So fucking elegant. It was the shape, the signature, of light. It snapped into what I could only describe as its right place, then it pulsed and burst into reality. I felt it hovering there, a spherical, luminous presence with its own soft weight, gently guided by my will.

  I did not have long to enjoy this feeling. The pressure of the power within me had abated, but there was a rawness to my being, like I’d been scraped clean by a knife made of ice. I was exposed; my skin had been torn away as the power had flowed through it, taking the walls around my mind with it. Then, a thunderous echoing void opened up around me, leaving me so very alone beneath its vastness. Then I looked up to see the eye, flickering with purple flame, hovering there in the blackness, open and glaring, drinking me in; every ounce of me. I was seen. I was known. I was witnessed in such absolute terms that my mind shrunk into a scared boy who clung to himself, shaking in the corner of some vast black room.

  It was a monster, a ceaselessly staring cannibal whose gaze devoured me an ounce of flesh at a time, tasting each bite. Knowing me, as no one should know anyone. Knowing me like I was a thing, an object to be studied. The weight of its gaze was crushing me like I was beneath a titanic sphere of stone. It watched how I squirmed beneath it. Fear flowed from me like blood as it pressed down, and the monster drank it, tasted it, yearned for more, and took it. It basked in my vulnerability. An eternity later, it had drunk its fill.

  I barely noticed the eye slowly slipping shut, the presence withdrawing. I was so, so hollow. I felt soulless, empty in a way that invited echoes into the yawning, vast darkness that was my mind. I was so tired; so god-damned tired. My eyes cracked open to stare down at the cobblestones of the clearing. I was on all fours. I vomited. I coughed and spluttered, then vomited again. I blinked away the bleariness from my eyes and looked up to find Gerard haphazardly sprawled on the ground. He propped himself up with one arm, and his head was just hanging, still. Then I saw his shoulders shake. Once. Twice. Then, three times in rapid succession. Almost convulsing. I saw the faint glitter of reflected light as tears drained from his eyes to dangle and drop from his downturned nose. He was sobbing. He seemed to sense my gaze and looked up. He looked…frightened. Not frightened of me, but for me.

  “Oh, Luck…” he said, choking back a sob, staring at me as tears continued to trickle down his face. It was so strange, seeing this normally composed man so torn open, so raw. I imagine I looked much the same. “How can you-” he trailed off, trying to find words. “Gods, Luck. I.. I saw what you’re grieving for…” He was still staring, his hard grey eyes reddened as tears welled up and flowed anew. “I saw two of you… each facing away, neither seeing the other” he said, struggling to get the words out. “One…he would do anything. Anything, to set everyone free. He is so gods-damned innocent, so beautifully na?ve. Like a child…” He stared down at the cobbles. “Like a stupid, stupid child." Then, he looked up at me, his eyes red-rimmed. I met his gaze.

  “And the other?” I asked, though I knew the answer. Maybe I just needed to hear it from him..

  “The other… “ he looked at me, the barest edges of trepidation, of fear, edging in. “He’s terrifying, Luck. He’s growing stronger. He would do everything to get what he needs. He’s ready to leave a trail of dead that stretches from horizon to bloody horizon, just to mark the path to his goal. He won’t stop. He won’t ever, ever stop.” He said this as though haunted, and I felt guilt and shame for what he’d seen. He’d seen more, too. More than he was saying.

  “I need that part of me. That's how I survive this. That's how I get home. There will be a time to set it aside, when all this is done,” I said, my voice at once drained of energy and filled with regret. I looked up to see Gerard rising to his feet.

  “Be careful, Luck,” he said quietly. “Be careful one doesn’t kill the other. There’s a place where they meet. Find that place, or you’ll be so stacked with regrets there’ll be no more room for the love you’re protecting.” He composed himself. He retrieved his bowler hat and settled it atop his head. He looked at me seriously, then went on. “You should know this as well; there’s a piece of you that was denied even to the scrutiny of Origin Story. Something missing, or walled off. I don’t understand it, but I suspect it’s something important. There may be a talent in Estaren or Trayst that could investigate, but whatever it is, it’s beyond the scope of my abilities.” I stood as well, dusting myself off. I sighed.

  “I know what it is. Sort of. Not what’s missing, but I know it’s the doing of the gods, I guess you could say. They said they ‘edited’ my memory. They claim they plucked me from the jaws of death on my world; that I had done something reprehensible. Something terrible that hurt a lot of people. Something that got me sent here, where I’m supposed to earn redemption. I don’t know what it is, Gerard,” I said quietly, “and I don’t know why they think they have the right to punish me.”

  I looked over at the man, my eyes dark. “But that other me…I…made him. He’s…like a mask, a costume. See, I know what’s coming. I know exactly what these fucked up gods have in store for me. I’m going to have to do some terrible things, and this is how I’m coping with it.” I spat and wiped my mouth. “But I’m starting to wonder. Maybe that asshole has always been a part of me. Maybe he woke up before I got here. Maybe that’s the reason I’m supposed to redeem myself.” I sighed and shook my head. “How any of this equals redemption, I have no fucking idea. None of it makes any sense. I was just a harmless guy, Gerard. A nice guy. Nobody. Nobody at all,” I said in soft bewilderment. “I used to be a musician, you know? A singer, too. I gave it up when I became a dad. It’s not a life for a kid, or any dad who gives a shit about being there for his kid. Before I came here, I spent my days working a shit job and loving the only good thing I had left in my small life. Her name is Abigail, and she’s nine years old,” I said as I stared down at the cobblestones of the square, and I let myself drift, just for a moment.

  In the memory that bloomed then, I’m laying on the grass in our backyard, and it’s summer. Abi is just three years old. I collapse after chasing her around the yard, and as I catch my breath, her little head pops into my vision against the dappled canopy of the red maple above us. Sunlight flickers through the leaves, and she’s standing, looking down at me, wearing a big goofy, toothy smile. Her long blonde hair is hanging down around her face, and it blows gently in the wind. Her eyes are so, so blue, and my heart swells with a love that is crashing over me like a tidal wave. Sometimes, the magnitude of love is frightening. I try to tell myself she needs me as much as I need her. I try to tell myself my life has meaning when its purpose is to fill hers with love. Life is so fucking fragile, to lose that love, to have it taken, that would be true Hell. I tremble at the fear of it. I’d face any monstrosity before I faced that loss, I’d cut down anything, anyone who was antithetical to that goal. Words echoed in my mind:

  …and you will know me by the trail of dead.

  I only hoped I could live with myself when it was all done. I looked back up at Gerard. “She’s the only reason I haven’t given up. I have to get home, or none of this, none of what’s to come, will have any meaning.” I ran my fingers through my short hair. Self soothing, I realised. Gerard didn’t reply. He knew all of this now.

  “So, that spell…that was fucking intense,” I said finally.

  “Productive, though,” said Gerard thoughtfully after a moment. He looked me over with his trademark dubiousness, then straightened his hat. “I suppose congratulations are in order.” He paused for effect, letting the words hang. “You’re a sorcerer, Luck.” As he finished, a notification flashed up onto my screen. I was exhausted, but I couldn’t help but feel a pinprick of pride. Fucking right. It was an achievement:

  Achievement Unlocked: May the Flow Be With You

  Holy shit, dude. You know magic.