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Rich said “baana gaelin ateshi,”, his voice confident. The small flame from a candle streamed from the wick into his hand, growing to the size of a small fireball.
“Excellent, Rich,” Majora said with a smile. The two of them were in the circular library where they had met last night. “You sound much more sure. You have picked up bending fairly well.”
“Thanks,” Rich said, smiling through his beard. Sweat had made his hair damp and his robes slightly sticky.
“I see you are tired. Let us recess from practice and discuss magic philosophy while your body recovers.” Majora sat on a divan and patted the other cushion for Rich to sit next to her.
“Sounds good.” Rich had been practicing the art of magic bending for two hours now. Using magic made him tired in a way he couldn’t quite describe. The closest he could place it was a combination of muscle failure, like doing pushups until you can’t do another one, and the mental fatigue of taking a two hundred question exam and having forty questions left.
“Let’s see if you were paying attention to me speak or if you were just eager to play with your newfound power,” Majora said as Rich took a seat on the divan. “Describe the levels of magic.”
“Well, bending is when you take something that already exists and bend it to suit your purpose. Altering is changing the properties of materials, like oil into vinegar or lead into gold. Creating is making something out of nothing. And destroying is unmaking something.”
“Excellent,” Majora said, reaching over to a coffee table. She poured two cups of strong black tea. “Which levels should you try to utilize most?”
“Bending first, then altering.”
“And why is that?”
“I don’t know...” Rich paused to think. “I guess because it’s faster.”
Somewhat,” Majora said. She smiled at him like he was an adorable kitten mewing. “Depending on the spell and what you’re trying to bend or alter, they can be very fast spells to weave in terms of speech and necessary focus. This is important in the heat of battle, where an arrow flying at you leaves very little time to speak and very little ability to concentrate. But that’s not all.”
Rich rubbed the back of his head, drawing blanks. “I can’t think of anything else you might have said. I think maybe I was too busy worrying about getting roasted by the fire.”
He shrugged and went to take a sip of tea. Majora’s smile evaporated. So did Rich’s tea, as she pointed to his cup and said, “chaybuhar haalinay.”
“No tea for bad students,” she said.
Rich frowned, feeling thirstier now that he was without. He looked at the teapot. “Chayfin jonum gael,” he said and a stream of tea came from the spout of the teapot to fill his empty cup. He smiled a wicked grin at Majora before he took his first sip.
She nodded. “Well-earned, sweet Rich. As you can see, a clever mage is able to improvise on the fly. The term ‘powerful battlemage’ is a misnomer, as an effective battlemage chiefly uses bending and altering but largely abandons the more powerful acts of creating and destroying in the course of a fight.”
Majora set her cup down. She moved a bit closer to Rich and put her hands over his as they held his cup. The warmth of her fingers and the softness of her skin made it feel like they radiated more heat than the tea in his cup. Rich became very aware he had never been this close to a girl, let alone a woman this attractive. He dry-swallowed. Her fingers gently wove between his, pulling the cup from his grasp, where she set it beside hers on the table.
“We still haven’t addressed the other reason mages rely more on bending and altering,” she said, her tone level. “The cost.”
Now he remembered. The higher order of spell, the greater the cost. It was hard to focus on intangibles like cost when you have fire burning in your hands and your robes are flammable.
“Doesn’t seem that big a deal,” Rich said. “I cast a few spells yesterday and with all the bending today, all I am is sweaty and in need of a quick nap. The whole ‘cost to your soul’ thing seems a bit over-exaggerated.”
“You wouldn’t see a cost your first day here. That’s about as long as any pendulum hero can possibly stay, but they all leave this world before magic exacts its cost. You are not so fortunate... your cost is coming.”
“Coming?”
“We teach beginners here that magic is a tapping into the Onesource, the unifying essence of life, the Celestial All. The different races do this differently, but humans take directly from the Onesource. It is the most straightforward, flexible, and reliable way to use magic. But in turn, the Onesource collects payment from your soul.”
One side of Rich’s mouth curved up in a grin. “How am I supposed to pay the Onesource... soulbucks?”
Majora shook her head, that look of finding a helpless kitten on her face. “Oh, Rich, your innocence is one of the things I find endearing about you. I hope you will be able to smile about it tomorrow. But in the meanwhile, you have rested enough. Come,” she finished, putting a hand on his knee and rising.
“What? More bending?”
“No. Now, we alter.”
*****
MELVIN WATCHED AS JASON’S arrow hit the target with a dull thunk. It was a bit off center, but still a bullseye. All the shots Jason had landed after the first errant few had been bullseyes.
“Man, this isn’t fair at all,” Melvin said. “How come you can tap into your inner Robin Hood so easy? Today’s your first time ever firing a bow... and one of your arms doesn’t even have any meat on it!”
Melvin was taking a break from his own practice with a scarecrow Druze had found along with Jason’s target. They had passed a few hours practicing their skills in the courtyard. Occasionally, Hierophane residents would gather in small groups along the walkways to look at them and talk in hushed murmurs.
Melvin looked up to the window where the library was. Every now and then, he’d see a flash of light and knew Rich was in there working magic with Majora.
“And it looks like there’s nothing stopping Rich from using magic,” he said. He looked at his sword and the scarecrow he had been taking clumsy swipes at for the past few hours with zero improvement. Then he looked at Jason.
“How come I still suck?”
“I like to think it’s not that you suck so much as I’m beyond awesome,” Jason said, squinting one eye as he looked down the draw of another notched arrow. His bony fingers loosed and this time the arrow split one he had shot earlier... bullseye.
Melvin let out a small growl and whacked his scarecrow. It took his serious blows like he was joking as it rocked back and forth from the swings. Druze had enchanted its wooden support stake to bend like rubber. The harder Melvin swung the more the scarecrow rocked, making his attempts to connect awkward and uncoordinated.
Jason scored another bullseye. “Nah, I think I know what it is,” he said, shouldering the bow.
He walked over to Melvin. “You remember when I first tried to shoot this bow, I was craptastic. You had to stand directly behind me just to make sure I didn’t put one in your ass.”
Melvin nodded. “Yeah.”
“I thought about when you fought that weagr in akhta. So I looked at the target and started thinking about my character, Cephrin, Fane archer of Nasreddin. I recalled all the best campaigns I ran, the ones where I shot my way through legions of trash mobs and took down big nasties I had no business going up against. Those were the times I was most in character, when the game almost disappeared. So when I’m looking at the target and I’m thinking about this stuff, it’s like Jason disappears and Cephrin’s the one hitting the target. That make sense to you?”
Melvin shrugged. “Sounds simple enough. If I just get into character, then I can unlock an untapped reservoir of asswhip.”
“Yep,” Jason said. He nodded toward the scarecrow. “Give it a shot.”
Melvin held his sword up at the scarecrow. “I am Zhufira, warrior lady. Ample of breast, round of butt...”
“You’re not taking this serious, Mel.”
“That’s the thing, dude. I’ve never taken this serious.”
It was the truth. Melvin had only started playing six months ago because Jason had become so fascinated with it. He figured it better to join in rather than lose his best friend altogether. That’s when he had met Rich, who was fun to hang out with too, and a whole community of avid gamers. Melvin enjoyed the game while he was playing, but once it was done, he didn’t give it any more thought.
“This is your character, Mel,” Jason said. “And you’re her now... at least for awhile. What do you remember from your character stats?”
“Um...” He envisioned the decorative stat sheets and the page with the bio, but he couldn’t remember a word of it. What’s the point of memorizing it when it’s already written down?
“Seriously?” Jason looked at Melvin as if he had just wandered in drunk off the street. “Zhufira of the Khermer Tribe. The Khermer live far to the south, one of several tribes that populate the high plains of the Transvaal. Fierce warrior tradition—women, old people, hell, even cripples graduate with honors from the School of Rumble. Make great mercenaries... any of this ringing any bells?”
All Melvin remembered is wanting a female character so at least he’d have something pretty to look at while he was playing. He regretted how that worked out.
Jason nodded his head toward the scarecrow. “Just think about who Zhufira is and try.”
Melvin raised his sword and locked his gaze on the scarecrow. He was Zhufira, warrioress of Khermer, lady of the plains. He charged.
It only took one hard whack to send the scarecrow into a wild pitch. Melvin couldn’t keep up with its unpredictable path, striking haphazardly until the scarecrow’s return arc brought it crashing directly into him. He yelped as he took a face full of scarecrow and got knocked on his butt.
Melvin sat on the grass, looking up at the scarecrow. It took an arrow to the face, which sent it rocking back. Another arrow hit the face on its way up from its return swing. Melvin looked back at Jason, who was smiling at him.
“I think I just saved you from the wicked scarecrow menace.”
“Once I figure this thing out when we’re on the road, I’m going to whip your ass,” Melvin said, making an effort to stand.
Jason held out his bone hand to help him up. “So, you decided to come with me and Rich?”
Melvin took the skeleton grip. “Yeah, it’s probably better for everyone this way.” Until he learned how to use his latent sword skills, going off alone was probably suicidal. At least with Jason and Rich developing some sort of expertise, there was a degree of safety in their company. Mike had already proven he was capable of handling himself out here. Plus he had Runt with him... provided they had made it out of Fort Law in one piece.
“It is wonderful to hear that,” said a voice behind them. They turned to see Hierophant Majora walking through the courtyard toward them. Rich walked beside her, drenched in sweat, looking exhausted.
“I guess ‘anti-perspirant’ wasn’t one of the spells that made today’s lesson plan,” Jason said.
*****
IN THE DARK OF NIGHT, Rich found himself alone in one of the Hierophane’s courtyards. The subdued glow of paper lanterns left shadows to fall along the paths. Nothing stirred.
“How’d I get here?” he wondered aloud. Faint echoes of his question bounced around the dark, empty spaces.
The last thing he remembered was dinner. The food was good, something weird, reminiscent of chicken but not. Everyone was having a good time, except for Druze... he was perpetually like the Grim Reaper.
“You already know how you got here,” a voice said from the shadows. “The Rift Pendulum wanted you here. Or were you talking about something trivial like the courtyard?”
The voice sounded familiar. “Where are you?” Rich asked it. He looked up and around at the stillness surrounding him.
Movement caught his eye. A figure in black trousers and shirt emerged from the shadows. Rich gasped.
He was looking at himself, the spitting image of a teenage Richard Bates.
The Richard Bates clone smiled. “Why, I’m everywhere you are. Everywhere you go, Razzleblad.”
Rich stared as the boy circled him, his lips trembling behind his gray beard. “H... how?”
The boy continued circling around Rich. Clone Richard Bates closed his eyes as he walked, smiling, inhaling deeply as if he was enjoying the smells of a backyard barbecue.
“You’re my newest plaything, Razzleblad,” he said as he looked the mage up and down. “And gray robes!”
Rich blinked and the boy was gone. Then he felt an icy grip, strong as steel, grab him from behind. Rich looked down to see hands holding his chest, the fingers clutching at his robes as if they were trying to get at his heart. A voice, his own voice, whispered in his ear.
“You’re afraid. I can feel your heart beating, blasting its way out of your chest. If you don’t calm yourself, you’ll die here. You won’t be the first mage I’ve killed like this.”
Rich was frozen, unable to move or struggle. He closed his eyes, telling his heart to slow. It didn’t listen. He felt one of the hands move upwards, the fingers scurrying up like a spider. The fingers were on his neck and chin.
He opened his eyes and saw it really was a spider. Black and bigger than a fist, with a swollen white tail section that flared out with black spikes. It hissed.
“Yaeergh!” he batted it off and kept batting. He remembered when he was a little kid, the neighborhood bully had terrorized him with a spider like that. It was called a spined micrathena... only this one was twenty times bigger.
He felt the same scurry up his back.
Rich pulled at his robe, craning his neck to see what was back there and shake it off. There was nothing on his back. But the young Richard Bates was behind him, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“Oh, Razzleblad, you’re much too old to be afraid of a little spider. And you wield too much power. Do you have any idea what you can do as a gray robe? Let me show you.”
Around Rich, the Hierophane started to crumble and fall. It melted in places. He looked and saw its grand towers collapsing, the gardens burning to cinders.
He was in the middle of a sea of burning ruins. The screams of the tortured and dying pierced his ears from all around. His nostrils were full of the pungent bite of sulfur, the acrid smell of burning flesh. Richard Bates held his arms out like this was a gift.
“Make no mistake, Razzleblad. Before you and I are through, I will make this happen. Or more specifically, you’ll make it happen, gray robe. The only question is: will you be sane when you do it, or stark raving mad?”
“Stop this!” Rich yelled at his younger self. The sound carried him into the waking world, where he struggled against a hand holding him in his chair. It was Druze.
He was at the dinner table. It was well into the night, the room dimly lit by paper lanterns. His unfinished meal was on the table in front of him. Majora sat next to him, her face creased with worry.
“My sweet Rich,” she said in a hush. “Can you still smile about the price we pay for magic?”
“What was that?”
“It is past and future, dreams and nightmares, truth and lies, all seamlessly woven into a horror you must endure.”
Rich was quiet, still reeling from the experience. He wanted to call it a dream but it had all felt so real and vivid he halfway believed he was dreaming right now. Druze pulled his hand away and went over to stand behind Majora. She smiled at Rich.
“But you survived it,” she said. “And you are lucid. I think you will be able to handle the burden. Unlike today, I expect you will not have to cast magic as often during the course of your travels.”
“Is it always... like that?”
“The severity and duration are dependent upon how much you draw from the Onesource. But it is always very real and very haunting.”
Rich closed his eyes and exhaled, trying to get the smell of sulfur and scorched skin out of his nostrils. Majora leaned over, offering him a glass of water. He gulped it down, spilling water down his beard as he drank.
“Would you like to eat?” she asked. “I can warm your food for you.”
He shook his head. “Where is everyone?”
“Several hours have passed since supper. Your friends are in bed. When you fell asleep at the table and could not be roused, I knew the cost had come upon you. Druze and I stayed with you, to see you through it. You must be exhausted; the cost looks like sleep but it does nothing to restore fatigue.”
Rich nodded. He felt like someone who had gotten shaken awake every thirty minutes for the last four days, a tiredness that was a weight in his muscles and a cloud in his brain.
Majora nodded at Druze. She smiled at Rich. “Rest well, Rich.”
Druze led him to the living quarters and up to his room. Jason was in bed, snoring loudly. Rich, tired beyond what he had ever known, collapsed onto his bed.
Tired as he was, it took a long while to find sleep.