Andy quickly got up from where he had passed out and hurried to catch up with The Crone who was already almost at the end of the hallway. By the time he reached her, she had come to a stop before the elevator that had been called with the press of a button. He gave a nervous expression as he joined her while she patiently waited for the lift.
Andy made a random suggestion motivated by his personal concern, “Why not use the stairs?”
“You think I was able to climb all those steps?” The Crone retorted. The elevator dinged as the metal doors slid open. “Not with these creaking bones, I didn’t. Now, come on.” She shuffled inside.
Andy hesitated for a short moment before stepping in after. Doors shut and the machine began downward. He took a breath to equalize his plausibly rational fears.
“Why so worried?” she asked.
“An elevator is the reason why I’m here,” he mentioned, then began some small talk, “How about you?”
“I entered through a door, myself,” she offered.
“Chances I can take that door back?” He honestly hoped.
“There’s no going back that way, I’m afraid,” she regretfully explained. “It closed many years ago.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he felt but had already prepared to be let down. Still, he tried to find another escape, “Might know of any other way out?”
The Crone scratched her chin as she pursed her lips and looked upward in contemplation. Hm. “Maybe I know a way. But you’re certainly not ready yet. You try to pass through as you are, you’ll probably die.”
“Well,” he pondered, “what would I need to do to be ready?”
The elevator dinged and the doors opened to the ground floor. The Crone stepped out without giving an answer as she began making her way toward the front exit of the building. Andy followed right behind, waiting for her to speak, but she seemed to have no interest in answering his question. As she took hold of the entrance handle, he placed two fingers on the door as a kind way to keep it shut. It was far from enough to keep her from leaving if she wanted to. Really, the gesture was only intended to have her acknowledge what he asked for. She made no attempt to pull.
Then Andy chose to press the issue, “What would I need?”
“You need to believe,” The Crone stated.
“I told you that I believe,” he quickly declared. “How could I not with everything that’s happened?”
“You believe reluctantly,” she understood. “You need to believe openly and fully, embrace magic and learn to move the Essence through you. But you’re a Witch that’s never cast even a single spell.”
“I’m not a Witch,” was what Andy immediately felt the need to respond with.
“And therein lies the problem.” She batted his arm with her cane, and he pulled away with an ouch. “You are a Witch, but you don’t believe it. You do not believe. You need to believe.”
Disbelief was on his face. “How can I be a Witch?”
“Your sister is a Witch, isn’t she?” The Crone equated. “That would be a good indicator that you possess magic as well.”
“How do you know that?” He was utterly surprised. “Can you read minds?”
The Crone laughed as she pushed open the door and went out into the dust-filled streets. The black sun was slowly on the rise but had not been out that long, so there was no unbearable heat beating down quite yet. The temperature was temperate and would even be considered by most to be great weather.
Andy was quick to be by her side as he demanded, “How do you know about my sister?”
“Magic,” she declared with an emphasis that seemed to mock him. She even added an accompanying gesture, her holding her hand up with fingers spread wide.
Andy was left pondering. Then he was suddenly very invested, “Alright, convince me.”
“Convince you?” The Crone was entertained by the notion.
“Yes,” he affirmed. “How does this even work? Like the lights. The world is clearly destroyed but the lights are still on. I doubt there are any power plants keeping the city alive. It’s called magic. But what does that mean?”
“In the most basic of terms, magic is simply energy,” she explained. “The purest form fills the air in this place which is why the lights work. That energy is being directly absorbed by the electric circuitry.”
“Okay, no different than a wireless charger,” he was able to understand that much at least. “But then how do humans use magic?”
“Every human contains this energy called Essence, or our Arcane Body, or our soul which comes from an even greater source, the source of all life, the Celestial Body,” she explained. “Whether you acknowledge it or not is up to you, but it exists. However, the ability to manifest the energy is entirely reliant on belief, not just your own, mind you, but that of your ancestors before you as well. Tell me about your family.”
“Well, my sister—”
“I know what I need to know about her,” The Crone stopped him before he started, making a shooing gesture as she turned her head away. “What of the others?”
“My dad was an anthropologist and studied this stuff extensively,” Andy admitted. “But I don’t think he ever did magic. And my mom was a spiritual person, but I’ve never seen her do magic either.”
“But they believed,” The Crone felt confident enough to declare so. “And they probably followed after their parents who also followed after their own. A lineage of believers. Which begs the question, when did you stop believing in magic?”
“I never believed in magic,” Andy stated forthrightly.
“Lies,” she called him out. “You were a child once. All children believe in magic. It’s only when we grow into adults do we decide to stop believing. What happened?”
Andy gave a sad expression as if he actually did know when the magic was gone.
“Never mind,” she withdrew her probing. “Your reasons are your own. But it’s never too late to reignite that spark. Hold up your hand.” Andy did, aiming at her. “Point that way,” she directed irritably with her own pointing finger toward a car. He turned and aimed at the wreckage. “Say, Rikest.”
“What’s going to happen?” He asked instead.
“Lightning will shoot from your fingertips,” she explained. “It should work seeing as you have an affinity for lightning magic with a strong bloodline of believers and we are in a location teeming with residual Essence.”
“Affinity?” He wanted a definition for the word.
“The connection to a magic source that enables Witches to use magic even without much training in the arcane arts. Sheer willpower is often enough to activate simple spells.”
“What if nothing happens?” He kept delaying action.
“Something will definitely happen,” she assured. “Though, you lack a sense of control. The spell will most likely explode in your hand. You could lose a finger or two,” she then raised her hand and wiggled her remaining fingers.
“Why would you tell me that?” He was suddenly very worried.
“Because you keep asking questions. That’s a sign of hesitation, a lack of belief. But now you know what’s in store. If you can push past the consequences to cast the spell, I’d say you are beginning to develop your magical abilities.”
He swallowed dryly. “Rikest?” There was a burst of power that was far beyond anything he expected. He squeezed his fingers to try and hold it back. That was a mistake because the magic could not flow freely from his body anymore. Blue energy burst in the palm of his hand. He screamed in pain as he dropped to his knee and tightly squeezed his clenched fist. Air was sucked through his teeth to help endure the still stinging pain. The interior of his hand was blistered red and left raw.
The Crone took two quick steps to be right by his side as she regretfully said with a remorseful expression, “I shouldn’t have started you with that.”
“But I did it.”
“And I’m sorry I pushed you to,” she expressed.
“No,” blame was not what he was trying to convey. “I mean, I did it. God, it hurts.”
The Crone smiled at his prideful declaration regardless that he had been badly injured in the process. “Here.” She pulled out and applied an ointment that rapidly soothed him.
“Thanks,” he said gratefully, followed by saying humorously, “But no healing spells?”
“I don’t know how to cast spells,” she confessed.
“What?” Andy was confused.
“I’ll explain,” she promised. “There are two sides to magic manipulation. We categorize them as Spell Craft and Ritual Craft. I have no talent for Spell Craft. It is reactive and driven by emotion, casting magic with a simple word. How you say it, your cadence, your intent, the volume are all ways that can affect the spell. You do not think as much as you feel. I, for one, am more methodical in my ways. That is why Ritual craft suits me perfectly. How do I explain this? It’s about creating a system that triggers one event after another until you get the result that you want.”
“Sounds similar to programming,” he compared.
“You’re a programmer?” The Crone recognized. “Exactly like that. Well, you take the blood of a goat, splatter it on a virgin, spin around as you say, ‘mother may I,’ and then get a golden egg probably doesn’t make sense and is far from the same. But each of those actions results in the outcome.”
“Well,” Andy was confident enough to assume, “If I learn the methods and values of things, then I should get it fairly quickly.”
“Maybe.” But The Crone was shaking her head. “Though you either understand it, or you don’t. You can learn a few things, conduct basic rituals, but as they become more complex, they require personal input. You aren’t using a predetermined system but creating one. That being said, there is the in-between that is something I think you would be capable of, complex Spell Craft. If you understand the object, then you can manipulate it. Come.” She wandered to the car that Andy had been aiming at. The hood was popped, and the inner mechanisms were visible. “You know how this works?”
“I’m not a mechanic,” Andy made clear.
“You don’t need to know the ins and outs of the engine,” she clarified. “You just need to understand the function.”
“I guess I know how it works,” he half-heartedly acknowledged that to be the truth even though it still did not mean he knew much about cars in general.
“Then,” The Crone instructed, “try the spell, Ina Tema.”
Andy wanted to ask if this would react the same as the last, but he recognized his hesitation which would most likely only make casting more difficult. He pushed any concern aside and said with enough certainty, “Ina Tema.” The engine sputtered with just enough life for the cylinders to move a bit.
“I knew it would work,” The Crone said in a way that conveyed the opposite.
“That was a lie,” he called her out. “Now, who’s the one not believing? Anyway, I barely did anything? Though, I don’t know what I’m actually trying to do?”
“You’re trying to start the car,” she explained clearly. “I thought that was obvious.”
“Okay,” he now recognized the goal. However, “I’ll try again, but without gas and oil and the fact that this thing’s probably been sitting here for who knows how many years—”
“Excuses,” she disapproved. “What you say might be true, but if we had all that stuff then casting the spell would pretty much be pointless. We want the car to work without worrying about logic. In your mind’s eye, try replacing whatever you believe is needed with Essence.”
Andy was sort of getting it. He focused on the car again and took the time to think as much as was required for this to make sense. Was there gas?, he asked himself and answered yes, filling the tank with energy from his body. Was there oil?, he asked himself and the answer was yes, again. He repaired the car as much as he could until he was able to perceive it as being in working condition. Then, as if turning the key in the ignition, he cast, “Ina Tema.” The engine rumbled on.
“Congratulations.”
Andy did not feel he earned the cheers. In fact, he was surprised in a dissatisfied way as he looked upon his magic. “This seems too easy. After just my third spell, I can bring a machine to life? That doesn’t make sense. Truthfully, I really don’t believe in myself or this stuff enough to where I should be able to cast spells that work.”
“It’s easy here,” The Crone expounded. “Very easy in fact. Even if you weren’t a Witch, you would have produced results. And because you’re a Witch, those results are remarkable. But if you hope to replicate this spell elsewhere, you’ll need to train. I’ll be honest; when you go home, the only way I can see you using magic would be if you really wanted to. Otherwise, your life will go back to whatever kind of normal you were living beforehand.”
Andy considered her view and wondered what he would want if he ever did get back home.
“Now, come,” she interrupted his thought as she began making her way down the road. “We should find shade within my home. The temperature is starting to become uncomfortable.”
They traveled not too far down a few streets to come upon a skyscraper that was not discernably different from any of the others. Even so, The Crone approached without second guessing. Through the front, they made their way to a staff-only door and descended a short stair. The lower level was a maze of concrete halls.
Andy noticed oddities throughout the passages. Runes were transcribed on the walls. As well, various effigies were hanging from the ceiling and erected around doorways.
“Protective charms,” The Crone explained when noticing his interest. “They keep the cretins away when night comes around.”
“What even are those things?” Andy began to wonder. “If they’re anything other than monsters.”
“They’re what remains of the inhabitants of this world,” she told. “From my many years spent here, I learned this. This realm was afflicted by a great calamity a very long time ago, caused by the incomprehensible nature of a cosmic horror. The lucky ones were turned to ash. Those that survived became the distorted amalgamations that you ran from last night. Though, they were not the only things affected. This very city that stretches forever is just as much twisted from something once familiar. Mountains gained flesh and learned to walk. And the technology is amassing into a mind of an infantile God.”
“Why would something do this?” Andy concerned.
“I doubt whatever destroyed this world ever intended to do so,” she concluded. “It likely just turned its gaze, its eyes falling upon this world for merely a moment, and then looked elsewhere without knowing what it had done. Simply random chance. The most terrifying thing of all. But let’s put that all aside …”
They finished traversing the labyrinth to push through a door at the end and enter a room hidden within the depths. It was small and filled with plenty of simple things. A bed was placed in one of the corners and in another was a fridge. Shelves filled with books lined all the other walls. In the center were a chair and table.
“It’s not much,” The Crone admitted, “but I have everything I need. Take a seat on whichever you prefer. I’m guessing you must be hungry. I’ll whip something up. And then you can rest.”
“I’m not feeling that tired,” Andy assured her.
“You say that now,” she knew better than him, “But I found you, at most, an hour after day rise. You’ll pass out before you know it. But this is a safe place to do just that.”
Andy registered her words and tested himself by squeezing and releasing his hand a few times. It must have been adrenaline keeping him up because his grip felt pretty weak. He had to admit, “Alright.” Then he went over to the chair where he rested back and felt immediately heavy.