Dark apprentice, p.31
Dark Apprentice, page 31
Now that the spirit mentioned it, he probably had. Did Magic Sight show souls? It would explain why Medea was blindingly bright when he had the spell active.
“Come on. Forest is this way.”
He walked up the path. A thin strip of pink bordered the horizon as night approached. Wind flapped the edges of his coat, but Yoxtl’s fur remained eerily still as it hurried to catch up. In the dim light of dusk, it took on a silvery sheen.
“Why are you so obsessed with her soul anyway?” asked Nikolai. “She’s not going to give it to you.”
“Ha! You’re male. Do you not appreciate certain female forms regardless of their interest in you? We covet what we desire. Souls are magic, power. There’s not enough to go around these days. I lost my source of souls when my people died out. Whatever magic I have left, that’s it. Oh, I won’t disintegrate if I use magic—not like that thing in the jungle—but my power has dwindled to the point where I can’t do much.”
“What could you do before?”
“Lots of stuff. I could endow my priests with the power to perform miracles. I could protect them, in a roundabout way. I could create illusions to dazzle the eye and instill loyalty in my followers.”
Yoxtl grew pensive. “My reach was never that great, but for a time, I had a dedicated group of humans who worshiped me. They praised me for bringing the sunrise, for blessing them with good harvest, and keeping disease at bay.”
“In other words, you took credit for natural phenomena. Not a bad racket. What happened?”
“My people were wiped out by a mightier empire—killed, enslaved, or sacrificed to other gods.”
They approached Medea’s collection of rubble. Yoxtl fell silent as they passed the crumbling pillars and statues of dead gods littering the side of the path. What did it look like to the spirit? A graveyard? Is that why Medea had transported them here? Did her resident spirits insist on bringing some piece of home with them?
Yoxtl didn’t speak until the remnants of old civilizations were behind them. “My name faded and was finally forgotten, as the few who remained converted to the religion of their masters.”
“Christians?”
Yoxtl snorted. “They’re the obvious culprits, aren’t they? No, not the followers of YHWH. Christians came later, to kill those who killed my people. I was happy of that, at the time. It seemed like justice.”
As they passed the rock garden, Yoxtl leapt up and trotted along the edge. It gave the garden a curious glance but said nothing.
“So who did kill your people?” asked Nikolai as they veered toward the forest. The path had sharpened since his arrival, owing to its now daily use. Blackened patches of harp grass dotted the meadow on either side where he’d scorched them during lessons.
“The Tenochca, a polytheistic people.”
“Polytheistic? Why didn’t you join them?”
Yoxtl smiled bitterly. “I was never popular with neighboring spirits. ‘Too small.’ They refused to let me in on their religion. I had to go it alone, but monotheism didn’t have the same reach. Everyone knew pooling resources was the way to go.” Its ears twitched. “Then YHWH came on the scene. He’s a juggernaut, that one. Rules three major religions, all by himself! Can you believe that?”
“Three? How do you figure?” There had to be scores of Christian denominations.
“Judaism, Christianity, Islam—the Abrahamic religions. All his. Polytheistic spirits used to laugh at guys like that, like me. Now his followers are everywhere, and other spirits grow small.”
Nikolai halted on the path as swaying trees loomed before them. “You may find some of them here. Medea has several, but I’ve never met them. She’s forbidden them to speak with me.”
“Don’t I feel special. Until we meet again, mortal.” Yoxtl grinned and bounded into the forest.
Nikolai pulled his coat tighter against the breeze and walked to the hovel. A bargain would have to be made if he wanted to learn what Yoxtl knew of the curse. Time to see what information the library held on spirits.
Medea rolled out of bed and stretched. Last night she dreamt she’d forgotten something, which was probably her brain’s way of telling her she had. There was something she needed to do—but what? What day was it?
The spell that reminded her to eat pulsed annoyingly against her senses. A few centuries ago she figured out how to summon nutrients directly into her body from the surrounding environment, eliminating the need to eat. Unfortunately, going too long without solid food meant her digestive tract shut down, causing a host of smaller problems. Better to eat once a day and keep things in proper working order.
Medea conjured fruit and cheese at her desk. Concertino scurried over and she absently passed the lizard half a grape. She ate mechanically as she flipped through her journal, trying to find the date. No good. All the recent dates had question marks scribbled after them.
She moved to a stack of papers piled high on a nearby table and dug through. Notes. List of spells. More notes. Map. Ah, there they were! She tugged out several calendars marked with magical astrological events. Damn. They were at least fifty years out of date.
She looked at Tino. “I don’t suppose you remember the date, do you?”
The lizard licked its eye and said nothing.
“You’re no help.” A shame Tino only repeated back sounds. “Hey, have I ever exclaimed over forgetting something, on a day like today?”
In her own voice, the lizard said, “I left the brew in the lab!”
“That’s not it. Try another. Something more obscure.”
“Shit, did I feed the apprentice?”
Medea shook her head. “I fixed that one. They feed themselves now.”
“I missed the eclipse!”
She frowned. “No, but I think you’re on the right track.”
Tino recited a string of Latin curses, followed by, “I forgot Xiao’s comet again!”
Medea gasped. “Xiao’s comet!” She let out a litany of curses, not unlike those she’d just heard, and began frantically calculating the comet’s next appearance based on when it last showed up on her calendar. When she had a date, she bolted for the door, nearly slipping down the stairs as she made her way to the gateway room. After popping into the Hanged Man to confirm the date, she went to the laboratory and got to work.
A thud startled Nikolai awake. He glanced down to find the book that had been in his lap was now on the floor. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. All night he’d searched the library for information on spirits. For once, the grimoire had been helpful in locating books. Unfortunately, the information was scattered over hundreds of books in dozens of sections, and none of it made any sense. All he’d found were descriptions of religions and local legends, nothing on what spirits were or what they could do.
A book floated by. He peeked out of his alcove to find Medea making her way down the center aisle. A second book levitated in front of her.
“No lessons today,” she said in passing.
Might as well ask the walking encyclopedia herself. “Do you have a minute?”
She gave him a look that said she very much did not have a minute but halted anyway. “What is it?”
“I wanted to know more about spirits.”
“I told you all about them back at the Hanged Man, or weren’t you paying attention?”
“I was,” he lied. “I just didn’t have any context until now. I was trying to look up information, but none of the books have anything concrete. Do you have any recommendations?”
“You won’t find anything. Everything I know is extrapolated from centuries of research. Unfortunately, I haven’t had a chance to write it all down yet. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She walked away.
“Give me the short version,” he said when he’d caught up. “What are they? What powers do they have? What do they want?” Considering how distracted she was, he might get the short version today.
Medea sighed. “They’re sentient magic. I don’t know how, they just are. As for powers, illusion magic is common. They can teleport to known areas, or unknown areas if they have something familiar to latch on to. Their communication is odd—they don’t make sound waves, nor do they seem to use telepathy. They just speak and your brain understands, interpreting it like you would sound, and vice versa.”
He thought back to his conversations with Yoxtl. What language had it been speaking? He couldn’t recall. “That’s amazing. It was so seamless I didn’t even stop to think that I was talking to a spirit who’s spent its whole life—or whatever—in Mexico.” He turned to her with a grin. “Maybe you should ask your spirits how to make a better translation disk.”
“Don’t think I haven’t tried. Spirits have more to gain from humans not having access to universal communication. At some point they figured out mortals had souls, and ever since they’ve been convincing humans to part with them. They’re the face behind every deity.”
“But they can give magic to mortals, can’t they? Isn’t that how witches cast spells, with the help of a patron?”
“Yes, but in return, the spirit gets their soul upon death.” She halted at the library door. “Look, I’m busy, so I will be blunt. If that thing promised you immortality, it’s a lie. They want souls, and they can’t collect a soul unless you die.”
“But they can bargain for other things, yes?”
“Any bargain you make will not be in your own best interest. Your soul is . . . precious. That’s why I’ve forbidden the others to talk to you.” She took a step forward, her expression and tone full of warning, “Spirits without a following are particularly desperate. It’s your life, but I would advise against trusting the spirit. Perhaps it would be best if I kicked it off the island.”
Shit. This was exactly what he didn’t want. How could he get her to keep Yoxtl around?
“The spirit knew the people who lived in that pyramid. Think of how much it must have learned! Their culture, their spells—all the knowledge that was wiped out before you got there—you have a chance to resurrect it.”
She rubbed her chin; her eyes took on a faraway look. “You’re right. But spirits are notoriously tight lipped. I’m not sure it will—”
“Leave it to me. I’ll tell Yoxtl it’s a condition of staying here.”
“Alright.”
Medea grabbed her books and headed to the lab. He followed, curious to see what would make her distracted enough to put off lessons.
Every inch of available counter space was being used. The plant samples he had yet to catalog were shoved as far to one side as possible, and new ingredients sat haphazardly in their place. Five cauldrons bubbled cheerfully on the rear counter. Medea added her books to the center table, next to several rolled wooden mats. She chose a mat and unrolled it to reveal vertical script painted on the wooden slats. Chinese? Japanese? He didn’t know enough to say.
“What’re you making?” he asked.
“A little of this, a little of that. Xiao’s comet comes into range in about fifteen hours. While the comet may be visible for a week or so, there are potions that can only be created properly when it first arrives.”
“How on earth does a comet affect potions?”
“I really have no idea, but I’ve tried to make the potions at other times and they don’t have the potency. It’s the same for plant collection. Some ingredients work best if gathered in the light of the full moon, or during an eclipse, or at a certain time of night. I’ve found these things out through trial and error, and meticulous record-keeping. Here”—she gestured to the books—“see if anything interests you.”
Fat chance of that, given he couldn’t read them, but he stood and walked the counter, scanning for illustrations. Nothing jumped out, except . . . He pulled a small red-backed book closer. A man stood proud as enemies closed in from all sides. Broken weapons lay at his feet.
“What’s this?” He passed the book to Medea. She didn’t take it, nor did she look up from the text she studied.
“Learn Chinese or go get a translation disk. I don’t have time to read every entry to you.”
“Just tell me what it does. I don’t want to go to the library and back if it’s not worth making.”
Medea made a frustrated noise but glanced down. “Invulnerability Potion. Makes the imbiber immune to most damage for approximately an hour.”
“Most? Approximately?”
“Translations can be difficult without cultural context. Invulnerability potions are usually specific. They may protect against physical blows, but not poison or magic. The text doesn’t say, but this compendium is for magic applicable to soldiers, so my guess is it protects against external physical damage.”
“I see. And how long would it last?”
“There were no watches or mechanical clocks when this was written. They might have been using candles or oil lamps to gauge time passing, but the increments would have been different than today. I estimate anywhere between twenty minutes to two hours. It may also depend on how the potion works. This note here says the potion is for mages only.”
“I’m a mage, so it should work just fine for me.”
“Yes, but if it requires a mage, then it must use something only a mage would have.”
“Mana.”
“That is my suspicion. Like a shield, it will use mana to maintain the effect and disappear when your mana runs out. The more damage it absorbs, the faster it will fade.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Have you been doing your water-boiling exercises? If not, you will have little time indeed.”
He half listened. Invulnerability! Caveats aside, it was worth brewing. He ran to retrieve a translation disk from the library. The text maintained the vertical alignment under the disk, making it hard to read, but he eventually found the list of ingredients. Several minutes later, he had almost everything he needed placed neatly on the counter. There was only one thing missing—a fresh human finger.
29
PATIENCE OR SACRIFICE
The dungeon door opened. Without looking up from her potion brew, Medea asked the obvious question.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Nikolai paused. “I need a fresh finger.”
Not long after the dungeon debacle, she’d taken him back down to briefly explain the rules. Test subjects were for spell experimentation and ingredient harvesting only. And while he was welcome to use them, they had to be returned to their original state afterward. Considering how little interest he’d shown in healing magic, she doubted he’d taken the time to learn what was required.
“Can you replace the finger once it has been removed?”
“No.”
“Then you have your answer.” She added a sprig of rosemary to the cauldron.
“You could regrow the finger.”
The opportunity to teach him a lesson was too valuable to pass up. He’d be angry, but perhaps he’d finally see the value in spells outside his area of interest. “I could, but you are here to learn. You learn nothing if I bypass your struggles.” She paused, then added, “There is an easy solution. Use your own finger.”
She could almost feel the temperature in the room drop.
“My own finger? You expect me to cut off my own finger?”
How could someone so anxious to hurt others be so squeamish? “I expect you to do what is necessary. How badly do you want this potion?”
Nikolai returned to the counter with what was clearly feigned nonchalance. “I’ll just wait until the comet comes around again.”
“You will be waiting for quite some time. It’s on a nineteen-year cycle.”
“Nineteen years! I’ll be old by then!”
So melodramatic. “Please. You’ll be what, forty? Hardly old.”
“To you maybe. That’s half my life!” His face twisted with barely concealed rage.
She almost hated to do this to him, but it was the only way he’d ever learn. The ability to heal oneself was an integral part of combat. One way or another, she’d make him see sense.
“Look,” she said, “you have two choices. Either you wait for a more convenient time—”
“That’s not convenient!”
“OR you use your own finger.”
“This isn’t fair. You didn’t give me any time to prepare!”
“You think I had time to prepare? It’s a miracle I even remembered this cycle. You’ve known about this potion for what, fifteen minutes? It meant nothing to you yesterday.”
“I know about it now. Please, just let me take a finger from downstairs. It’s not like they need all ten.”
God, he was whiny when he begged. “It is far more important that you learn appropriate lessons than have that potion.” What the hell did he plan to do with it anyway? With his tiny mana pool, the effect would probably last two minutes. “Patience or Sacrifice—both are things you must learn. The choice is yours.”
“You’re supposed to be teaching me magic, not giving me character-building lessons!”
She straightened and put a finality in her tone. “I told you exactly how I teach. My goal is to make you stronger. Just because you don’t see the value of a lesson doesn’t make it worthless. You have a choice to make. I will hear nothing more on the matter.”
He glared at her, then stormed from the lab, slamming the door behind him.
How could she be so unreasonable? If Medea had let him know about the comet in advance, he could’ve sorted through the books and selected a number of potions. This was all her fault. She should be the one to lose a finger!
How could she think he’d remove his own? Pain wasn’t the issue—it was his body, his most precious possession. Even if the finger could be regrown later . . . Nikolai shook his head. It felt like sacrilege.
He’d just have to get another test subject on his own. Plenty of Medea’s gateways went to large cities. A Mundane transient or tourist wouldn’t be missed. Hell, he didn’t even have to bring them back. He could just take a finger.
