Foundations of Magic
In the weeks following my awakening, spring arrived in full bloom. Hunters set off with bows and spears, searching for beasts recently awoken from long slumbers. Planters dug through freshly-thawed soil in an effort to provide for their families, while children ran around with glee.
It would have been a nice sight, had the villagers not decided that I was a murderer.
And it probably wouldn’t help if they discovered me sitting in this secluded pasture, seemingly talking to myself.
“Mother will kill me if she finds out,” I said.
“Then we’ll just need to finish before she does,” Zakarot replied.
“That’s easy for you to say,” I said. “You’re already dead.”
I was seated in a bed of grass, with Zakarot across from me. It had been my enigmatic mentor’s idea to slip out through the window in our washroom, under the pretense of soaking my wounds.
Myself, I’d been a little reluctant to disobey my mother’s explicit order.
Which, of course, forbid me from practicing magic until cleared by the Magocracy’s inbound representative.
Alas, the anticipation and anxiety gnawing at my core were almost too much for me to bear. The yearning to put my newfound abilities to the test, to traverse once more into the realm of magic, couldn’t be denied any longer.
So there I was.
The abnormally warm sun bore down on me from above, searing my sleep deprived eyes. These, too, were a result of Zakarot’s meddling; I hadn’t been able to get a full night’s rest since witnessing that vision.
While I understood my parents’ apprehension toward my abilities, they didn’t know what was at stake.
I couldn’t keep waiting for that mage, not when the Apostles could arrive at any moment.
“Who do you think it is?” I asked, picking at the grass. “Someone strong?”
My question elicited a mocking snort. “Do you really want to know? It’s not like you would recognize their name.”
“I keep forgetting that you can see into the future.”
“Mmm…” Zakarot had a tendency to clam up whenever I questioned his personal details; how he knew about the future, how the foresight worked, who he was during life. On account of not wanting to piss off a ghost that was probably much stronger than me, I’d decided not to pry. “Let’s get to work before someone checks to see if you’ve drowned.”
With a little too much vigor, I jolted upright and nodded. The moment I’d been waiting for had finally arrived. “What should I do? Freeze something? Make a little figurine like my mother…?”
Zakarot seemed amused by the excitement practically dripping from my lips, and let out a chuckle. “Getting a little ahead of yourself, kid. We’re not going to be doing anything like that.”
All of my thoughts seemed to leak out of my ears at that point. Several breaths of silence passed between us as I processed his words. “We’re not?”
The spirit shook his head. “As they say, always learn to swim before learning how to sail.”
“I don’t know how to do either.”
He leaned forward. “Exactly.”
My enthusiasm swiftly expelled, I slumped down and glared at the spirit with dissatisfaction. All the courage I'd mustered to disobey my parents and endure the scorn of our neighbors, only to be denied the opportunity to learn anything useful.
What a letdown.
“Then why did you even bring me here?” I asked irritably. “If you wanted to be taken out for a walk, you could have just said so.”
“If I’m a dog, then you’re deaf,” Zakarot countered. “As I said, we’re here to learn the foundations of magic. Only a fool would think to wield a weapon without any knowledge of how to use it.”
Guess I’m a fool, then…
Zakarot clapped. “That’s the wisest thing you’ve said all day.”
I also kept forgetting that he could read my mind, and proceeded to send him a mental message full of such colorful language that my father would have washed my mouth out with salt.
“But I’ve already used magic,” I reminded him. “Back on the cliff.”
“Oh, so you know how you did that?” Zakarot countered, leaning closer. “You could do it again, right now, if I asked you to? Could you fight off an Apostle if they showed up here?”
Suddenly a distant flower looked quite interesting to me.
The fact was that I did use magic on that cliff-top; enough to turn everything in my vicinity into ice. Though clearly not as much as I'd have liked. However, my actual practical knowledge was merely based upon fictional stories, written by authors that were probably just as ignorant.
Though the concepts of ley-lines and aspects were familiar to me, knowing seemed like only half the battle. My awakening being nothing more than an instinctual response to being attacked, I had no idea how to replicate it.
According to my mother, intense stress was one of the most common ‘triggers’ for young magic-users. Some families even subjected their children to life-threatening challenges to force their awakenings.
But I didn’t feel like falling from another cliff anytime soon.
Zakarot went on. “Had I known that my anchor was such an experienced magic-user, I never would have brought you here. Truly, I bow to your prodigious repository of knowledge. Indeed, this humble spirit is unworthy–”
“Just get on with it,” I grumbled.
The spirit nodded, pleased with himself, and lifted three fingers. “There are three layers to a human’s magic. The first is basic conjury: the simple process of turning yourself into a conduit for a ley-line’s power, and then directing said power. This is first accomplished through ‘reading’ ley-lines with your Sense, and then ‘bonding’ with them.”
“Sense?”
“All magic-users are sensitive to otherworldly powers, such as the aspects. Your mother used her Sense to track you down in the woods, though we’re outside of her range now.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Animancers take it a step further. Essentially, seeing spirits is no different than reading the ley-lines. Your Sense is just more potent than others’.”
“Like a hound’s,” I said.
“If you would like to compare yourself to a slobbering animal, sure.”
I said something about him being a slobbering animal, but the spirit promptly ignored me and continued on with his lesson.
“As I was saying, reading ley-lines and identifying a compatible ley-line to bond with is the first step to all forms of magic.
“Some people, like your mother, can skip this process due to their blessings. She has a blessing similar to the High Houses’, which means that she has a ley-line to the Frost Plane connected to her soul. She’ll never establish a bond with another ley-line, but her affinity for cryomancy is greater than everyone else’s.”
“But I don’t have a blessing,” I said.
“Which means that you’ll have to sift through the ley-lines and find a suitable candidate. This takes an incredible amount of focus and discipline, so I want you to get familiar with the aspects’ behavior as soon as possible.”
A question had been nagging at me for years, and I suddenly realized that there was someone here who could answer it. “Where do blessings come from?”
Much to my dismay, Zakarot shrugged. “Some come from the Nine, like your mother’s. The rest—such as your brother’s—are more of a mystery.”
“I’m immune to my brother’s blessing.”
“Mhmm,” Zakarot nodded his head. “There are certain ones that can be negated when used on a Fateless, usually control-type blessings.” I must have made a funny face, because the spirit sighed and began to clarify. “Blessings have two main classifications: passive and active. Passive blessings like your brother’s are more subtle, and fall under categories such as control. Your mother’s blessing is active, which means it's something tangible that can be turned on and off.”
“Why don’t control-type blessings work on us?”
“I’ll answer that question when I find out where they come from,” Zakarot replied, dryly. “Anyway, we’re getting off track. The other two layers of magic aren’t really important right now, so let’s talk about how a magic-user’s strength is measured.”
I perked up at that.
“The Magocracy’s exams are the most common method, and they primarily test two factors: Outflow Level and Bond Count. Bond Count, as the name suggests, is the amount of bonds you can establish without suffering from backlash. As of right now, you can only form a single bond. That will change as you deepen your connection to the Planes.
“Your Outflow Level is the amount of power that you can draw from a single bond without suffering from backlash. Once both are measured, the Magocracy sorts you into their ranking system: Novice, Journeyman, Adept, or Expert. There are more ranks but those are special, and I don’t want to confuse you.”
Too late.
“Sure,” I said. “But what about mine? And which is better—Outflow Level or Bond Count?”
Zakarot sighed again. “Outflow is usually considered the most important factor. Even if someone is able to form three bonds, someone with a higher outflow could draw more power from only a single bond. You froze an entire cliff-top during your awakening, so figure that one out for yourself.”
I straightened up, sticking my chin into the air. “So, I’m really strong.”
“You’re really dangerous,” Zakarot corrected. “Slinging around magic can be deadly even for experienced mages, and you’re a dumb little kid who’s already nearly killed himself.”
“Nearly…” I muttered, leaning back on my hands. “Couldn’t you have told me all of this in my room, though?”
“We’re not done,” he told me. “Close your eyes.”
My eyes narrowed as I eyed the spirit in suspicion. I’d been taught never to close my eyes around strangers, but the fate of everyone in the village rested upon my cooperation with Zakarot. It was a stalemate–accept his help(?) or watch the village burn to ashes.
I closed my eyes.
“Now, focus on the first time you drew upon the Plane of Frost's power."
I thought back to the cliff-top.
Anika Beckett stood across from me, her arm held on my exposed sinews, a grisly sight that made my stomach churn. With black eyes straight from the depths of a child's nightmare, she'd eyed me down before charging.
Everything afterward was hazy.
I recalled my blood turning to ice, the world being painted white. A sea of bitter cold water enveloped me, while wintry serpents coiled around my body and sank their fangs through my flesh. Then, it all vanished as soon as it'd appeared, casting me back into a world of crystal.
My hunter had been consumed by the rogue aspect, seemingly frozen solid.
“Remember that feeling,” Zakarot said. “Now, concentrate on the world around you. The frozen tundras of Geimhread, the harsh winters in Flykra Village. The snow beneath you and the wind biting at your flesh. Bring to bear fifteen years of living in this land.”
Once again, I did as my dark passenger commanded.
Though I had a general disinclination toward the cold, I’d always been fond of the winter season itself. While others looked out their windows in boredom, I used the weather as an excuse to stay in my room. I would wrap myself in blankets and read all day long.
It was something I couldn’t ordinarily do without being chewed out by my family.
The adults had legitimate concerns regarding the season. Animals either hibernated or went further south when winter came to Geimhread. Food became scarce, and many didn’t have access to indoor heating. This was why spring festivals were so common throughout the region.
“Your connection to the aspect plays a large factor in how easily you can form a bond with it,” Zakarot explained. “Perhaps this is why you’ve been able to use cryomancy already.”
I nodded in understanding, still focused on all of those memories—good and bad.
“Do you feel it?”
My mouth opened to ask what I was meant to be feeling, then stopped.
A prickling sensation began in my fingers and toes, spreading up my limbs to the rest of my body. The sensation started as an itch that wouldn’t go away and intensified into a stabbing, a piercing pain like someone was jabbing needles into my flesh, until the prickling wormed its way to the inside.
Through closed eyelids, I somehow knew that there were things moving around in-front of me. No, all around me from below and above. It felt as if a thousand silkworms were spinning their cocoons within my body, each strand carrying its own message.
Some were indiscernible, so thin as to be invisible, while others carried such a depth that they seemed larger than mountains.
These silken threads made my blood feel like it was turning from a liquid into a solid, made me shiver with an intense cold that betrayed the otherwise warm weather, in open defiance of the sun’s rays beating down upon me.
I fought the urge to shiver and cry out.
“Do you feel it?” Zakarot asked.
“Yes,” I answered hesitantly. “I-I think so?”
“Raise your hand, and form a bond.”
My arm lifted into the air as if controlled by someone else, fingers extended outward towards Zakarot. We stayed there in silence for a long time, just waiting.
Waiting…
And waiting…
“What are you waiting for?” Zakarot asked.
“A bond to form,” I replied.
Another moment of stillness passed before he spoke again; disappointment in his voice. “That's not how this works! It takes conscious effort on your part, not waiting around until something happens!”
“Well, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing!”
“It’s not that hard!”
“Magic isn’t hard?” I asked incredulously. “Maybe you’re just a bad teacher.”
A voice whispered in the back of my head.
Or maybe you’re no good at this.
That was like a blade through the gut, unsealing the old insecurities and anxiety. I briefly felt my face flush, fighting the urge to give up and run back to my room. So many times I’d tried to learn new things, only to fail like this. And my family always joked about it, as if they found it funny.
I didn’t.
“…That’s not true,” Zakarot said. “I wouldn’t have come back here if I didn’t think you had the potential to see this through. You have talent, Zavis.”
His statement startled me. An overwhelming wave of emotion swelled up inside my chest and spread throughout the rest of my body. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. Not with such confidence plain in their voice, such a fervent belief that I could accomplish something.
“You need to have a clear goal,” he said. “What is your reason for bonding with this Plane?”
My answer was immediate. “To protect my family.”
“Alright. Try again.”
I did.
Again, nothing happened.
Zakarot sighed.
“Here, open.”
I opened my eyes, finding Zakarot kneeling suspiciously close to me. Remembering what happened last time, I backed away. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Shh. Come here.”
The spirit’s bandaged hand reached toward me, but I swatted it away. Which felt a bit like trying to grab a hold of the wind. “If you’re trying to show me another vision, you can keep it.”
“Just hold still.”
“No.”
With a sigh, Zakarot continued reaching for my face. This time, when I attempted to swat his hand away, the spirit vanished. Before I could even react, he reappeared directly in-front of me, bandaged fingers right in-front of my eyeballs.
“Hey, stop–”
He plunged those fingers into my eyes.
“Wha?!” I cried out, falling backwards into the grass, hands shooting up to cover my ruined eyes. Tears streamed down my face, heart racing.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Zakarot replied. “I don’t even have a physical body. It’s all in your head.”
Though I heard his words, none of them registered. I spent what felt like an eternity rolling around the ground, clutching my face in agony. The dissonance between having two fingers plunge into your eyeballs but feeling no pain was difficult to accept. Like when you’ve lost a limb but still feel the aches afterward.
“Open them,” Zakarot said.
“Gods damn you,” I cursed, still rubbing incessantly at my eyes.
“You can count on it,” he replied. “Open your eyes.”
Reluctantly, I did as the spirit told me. My eyes fluttered open, before being clamped shut again. “What did you do?!”
“Keep them open, idiot.”
Pressing my palms into both eyes until I could see drifting stars, I reopened them. Just the same as the first time, the world was warped. I was blind. Zakarot blinded me. I couldn’t see anything. He betrayed me. I trusted him. I–
No, that’s not right. I can see.
Fighting against the panic, I forced my eyes to stay open, fixating on the rhythm of my breath. I wasn’t blind; the world did look different, but I could see. The world’s color had been washed away, replaced by varying shades of gray and black.
Studying the monochrome world through squinted eyes, I came to realize that Zakarot was the only thing that looked the same. The spirit sat on his haunches, staring at me from beneath his hood. His robes were black anyway, always giving him the illusion of being wrapped in shadows, but the tattered edges were a dusty brown.
Before me lay a blank canvas, painted in shades of darkness. The grass, trees, and flowers were no more than smudged shapes adorning an otherwise barren surface. Raising my hand, I beheld it through broken eyes.
Like the rest of this black-and-gray world, my hand was devoid of color, its surface creased with dark lines. Flexing my fingers, I observed as their shadows writhed and crawled, skittering across my palm.
“You’re seeing the world as I see it,” Zakarot told me. “Our contract allows me to lend you certain abilities, and I call this one Spirit Sight.”
“Uh-huh,” I replied, still gazing at my palm. “Was that the best you could…”
Something caught my eye. I turned to find myself surrounded by green mist, swirling in ribbons around us both. My first reaction was to swipe at these trails like a cat, but my hand passed through uselessly. Aside from a shiver that ran deep into my core, blood freezing into ice.
And as I followed the green trails, I realized that the world wasn’t quite as colorless as once thought. There were more trails, like paint strokes of varying colors. Some were almost transparent, flowing smoothly through the air like water. They were accompanied by the scent of rain upon fresh grass.
Other trails, these ones glowing a faint white-blue, followed closely behind. The white seemed to attempt mimicking the water’s movements, but struggled to move with the same fluidity. I observed one such trail overtake the other, the transparent water slowly changing color as if freezing at the touch.
The most dominant were golden ley-lines that gave off their own light, seemingly filling every space of the clearing. They were warm but not painfully so, moving so quickly that they looked like streaks of oil across the canvas.
Looking down, I saw even more colors. An intricate web of copper colored trails crisscrossed the ground I’d previously seen as stark and featureless.
They appeared to be coming from beneath our feet, and unlike the others, didn’t fly through the air. Instead, they tumbled unhurriedly, almost lethargically, beneath the earth.
“Care to guess what you’re seeing right now?” Zakarot asked, his voice reminding me that I wasn’t alone.
Somehow, I already knew the answer.
“They’re ley-lines.”
My eyes left the ground, following the trails up, and up further until looking into a tapestry of wispy green ley-lines. As I gazed into them, I felt a refreshing breeze splash against my face.
Zakarot nodded. “The aspects each have their own behaviors, their own personalities. Learning them takes time, and for most, it's impossible to learn about all of the aspects. But for you, with my eyes, you can study them all. Etching their relationship with one another into your memory.”
My eyes turned to the sky, following the threads until—
“Oh, wow…”
I’d expected to see an expanse of gray or black, but instead, I found myself staring into a swirling vortex. Caliginous clouds swirled like a funnel, and in their center, a pale light that hung where the sun should have been.
“You should watch them closely,” Zakarot continued, seemingly observing the ley-lines himself. “The way the aspects move in the wild is very similar to how they’ll behave when you draw from them. Spirit Sight will help you get a feel for how it’ll be like to guide them yourself…hm?”
Jaw slackened, eyes wide, I stared into the vortex’s center. The spirit’s voice was merely background noise. It was like staring into the maw of a great storm, making me feel small and insignificant by comparison.
The impression carried by this storm was of something greater, something unfathomably ancient and powerful.
“Are you even listening to my exposition? This stuff’s important, you know!”
Thin, almost invisible strands of purple light streamed from the vortex’s radiant core. They looked like ley-lines, but felt different from the others. They were followed by something, a soft chorus barely outside of my hearing. I focused on this melody, and immediately regretted it.
HelpmeHelpmeHelpmeHelpme….
WhereamIwhereamIwhereamI??
Mother?...Father…?..Brother…?
LetmeoutLetmeoutLetmeoutLetmeout..!
The music was made of an unbearable susurration of whispers, carried down from the vortex like twisted lyrics. There was no order to the voices, their scrambled words making my head spin. Each voice, though unable to be separated from one another, each carried a different impression.
Anger. Regret. Love. Lust. Joy. Greed. Betrayal. Peace.
My head was throbbing, threatening to crack like an egg. Tears were running down my face, but I couldn’t wipe them away. I was completely entranced, body frozen. My aching limbs started feeling lighter, as if I was losing weight. The vortex above seemed to be growing larger, the great distance between us diminishing. I was being pulled in, and couldn’t say no. It was so simple, so easy to give in.
You can’t hide from me…
Another voice, clearer than the rest.
I will chase you to the end of creatio—
“Enough.”
Zakarot’s familiar voice dominated the monochrome world, space rippling as if someone had thrown a stone into a puddle. The susurration immediately ceased, the purple ley-lines disappearing.
Finally, color began to return to the edges of my vision as I slumped over into the grass. My fingertips brushed against my cheek, wiping away fallen tears.
They came away red.
“Whoops, I should have warned you not to stare at the sky for too long. My bad.”
Heaving, heart pounding in my chest, I rubbed at my throbbing eyes.
“Explain.”
“Which part?” Zakarot asked. “I’m assuming you mean that giant whirlpool.”
I found myself unable to answer. Those whispers were still playing in my head on loop, and all I could do was nod. Zakarot cleared his throat, though I suspected that was only for dramatic effect.
“That was a Font of Power–essentially a giant ley-line that’s always opened. Think of it as a door for the dearly departed to enter the Soul Plane, and for anima to re-enter this world. That would be those purple ley-lines you saw.”
“I-I could hear voices,” I whispered, voice hoarse.
“Forget about those. They’re just the vestiges of the dead, impressions that will disappear once their souls are broken down.”
Though I nodded in understanding, that made me feel even worse. I’d heard so many voices, belonging to so many people. Men, women, children. Those were their last words, their final thoughts
They were people with lives, hopes, and dreams, now being sucked into a hole to be broken down like disposable waste.
That was the end of everything?
That was what awaited us—me—at the end of all this?
My thoughts naturally flowed back to Anika Beckett, the woman I’d had a hand in killing. To my brother and mother, ruthlessly murdered in the near future. What would their ‘vestiges’ sound like? What would they feel like?
It made everything feel so, so pointless.
“If we change the—I mean, when we change the future,” I wondered aloud. “Will it change? That cycle, I mean.”
Zakarot didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure if he’d even heard me. It was hard to tell when his face was obscured by that veil. But as a spirit himself, someone who had experienced death, he likely had many thoughts on the matter. He escaped the cycle.
There was no-one better to answer my question.
The spirit took a deep breath and stood up, his gaze locked on the sky above. I warily followed it, but fortunately saw nothing more than a familiar cerulean expanse. Yet, I still could picture what Zakarot was seeing with perfect clarity. Cursed to hear those whispers for all eternity.
For the first time since meeting him, I pitied Zakarot.
“I don’t know,” he told me. “But I would love to find out.”
Foundations of Magic
In the weeks following my awakening, spring arrived in full bloom. Hunters set off with bows and spears, searching for beasts recently awoken from long slumbers. Planters dug through freshly-thawed soil in an effort to provide for their families, while children ran around with glee.
It would have been a nice sight, had the villagers not decided that I was a murderer.
And it probably wouldn’t help if they discovered me sitting in this secluded pasture, seemingly talking to myself.
“Mother will kill me if she finds out,” I said.
“Then we’ll just need to finish before she does,” Zakarot replied.
“That’s easy for you to say,” I said. “You’re already dead.”
I was seated in a bed of grass, with Zakarot across from me. It had been my enigmatic mentor’s idea to slip out through the window in our washroom, under the pretense of soaking my wounds.
Myself, I’d been a little reluctant to disobey my mother’s explicit order.
Which, of course, forbid me from practicing magic until cleared by the Magocracy’s inbound representative.
Alas, the anticipation and anxiety gnawing at my core were almost too much for me to bear. The yearning to put my newfound abilities to the test, to traverse once more into the realm of magic, couldn’t be denied any longer.
So there I was.
The abnormally warm sun bore down on me from above, searing my sleep deprived eyes. These, too, were a result of Zakarot’s meddling; I hadn’t been able to get a full night’s rest since witnessing that vision.
While I understood my parents’ apprehension toward my abilities, they didn’t know what was at stake.
I couldn’t keep waiting for that mage, not when the Apostles could arrive at any moment.
“Who do you think it is?” I asked, picking at the grass. “Someone strong?”
My question elicited a mocking snort. “Do you really want to know? It’s not like you would recognize their name.”
“I keep forgetting that you can see into the future.”
“Mmm…” Zakarot had a tendency to clam up whenever I questioned his personal details; how he knew about the future, how the foresight worked, who he was during life. On account of not wanting to piss off a ghost that was probably much stronger than me, I’d decided not to pry. “Let’s get to work before someone checks to see if you’ve drowned.”
With a little too much vigor, I jolted upright and nodded. The moment I’d been waiting for had finally arrived. “What should I do? Freeze something? Make a little figurine like my mother…?”
Zakarot seemed amused by the excitement practically dripping from my lips, and let out a chuckle. “Getting a little ahead of yourself, kid. We’re not going to be doing anything like that.”
All of my thoughts seemed to leak out of my ears at that point. Several breaths of silence passed between us as I processed his words. “We’re not?”
The spirit shook his head. “As they say, always learn to swim before learning how to sail.”
“I don’t know how to do either.”
He leaned forward. “Exactly.”
My enthusiasm swiftly expelled, I slumped down and glared at the spirit with dissatisfaction. All the courage I'd mustered to disobey my parents and endure the scorn of our neighbors, only to be denied the opportunity to learn anything useful.
What a letdown.
“Then why did you even bring me here?” I asked irritably. “If you wanted to be taken out for a walk, you could have just said so.”
“If I’m a dog, then you’re deaf,” Zakarot countered. “As I said, we’re here to learn the foundations of magic. Only a fool would think to wield a weapon without any knowledge of how to use it.”
Guess I’m a fool, then…
Zakarot clapped. “That’s the wisest thing you’ve said all day.”
I also kept forgetting that he could read my mind, and proceeded to send him a mental message full of such colorful language that my father would have washed my mouth out with salt.
“But I’ve already used magic,” I reminded him. “Back on the cliff.”
“Oh, so you know how you did that?” Zakarot countered, leaning closer. “You could do it again, right now, if I asked you to? Could you fight off an Apostle if they showed up here?”
Suddenly a distant flower looked quite interesting to me.
The fact was that I did use magic on that cliff-top; enough to turn everything in my vicinity into ice. Though clearly not as much as I'd have liked. However, my actual practical knowledge was merely based upon fictional stories, written by authors that were probably just as ignorant.
Though the concepts of ley-lines and aspects were familiar to me, knowing seemed like only half the battle. My awakening being nothing more than an instinctual response to being attacked, I had no idea how to replicate it.
According to my mother, intense stress was one of the most common ‘triggers’ for young magic-users. Some families even subjected their children to life-threatening challenges to force their awakenings.
But I didn’t feel like falling from another cliff anytime soon.
Zakarot went on. “Had I known that my anchor was such an experienced magic-user, I never would have brought you here. Truly, I bow to your prodigious repository of knowledge. Indeed, this humble spirit is unworthy–”
“Just get on with it,” I grumbled.
The spirit nodded, pleased with himself, and lifted three fingers. “There are three layers to a human’s magic. The first is basic conjury: the simple process of turning yourself into a conduit for a ley-line’s power, and then directing said power. This is first accomplished through ‘reading’ ley-lines with your Sense, and then ‘bonding’ with them.”
“Sense?”
“All magic-users are sensitive to otherworldly powers, such as the aspects. Your mother used her Sense to track you down in the woods, though we’re outside of her range now.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Animancers take it a step further. Essentially, seeing spirits is no different than reading the ley-lines. Your Sense is just more potent than others’.”
“Like a hound’s,” I said.
“If you would like to compare yourself to a slobbering animal, sure.”
I said something about him being a slobbering animal, but the spirit promptly ignored me and continued on with his lesson.
“As I was saying, reading ley-lines and identifying a compatible ley-line to bond with is the first step to all forms of magic.
“Some people, like your mother, can skip this process due to their blessings. She has a blessing similar to the High Houses’, which means that she has a ley-line to the Frost Plane connected to her soul. She’ll never establish a bond with another ley-line, but her affinity for cryomancy is greater than everyone else’s.”
“But I don’t have a blessing,” I said.
“Which means that you’ll have to sift through the ley-lines and find a suitable candidate. This takes an incredible amount of focus and discipline, so I want you to get familiar with the aspects’ behavior as soon as possible.”
A question had been nagging at me for years, and I suddenly realized that there was someone here who could answer it. “Where do blessings come from?”
Much to my dismay, Zakarot shrugged. “Some come from the Nine, like your mother’s. The rest—such as your brother’s—are more of a mystery.”
“I’m immune to my brother’s blessing.”
“Mhmm,” Zakarot nodded his head. “There are certain ones that can be negated when used on a Fateless, usually control-type blessings.” I must have made a funny face, because the spirit sighed and began to clarify. “Blessings have two main classifications: passive and active. Passive blessings like your brother’s are more subtle, and fall under categories such as control. Your mother’s blessing is active, which means it's something tangible that can be turned on and off.”
“Why don’t control-type blessings work on us?”
“I’ll answer that question when I find out where they come from,” Zakarot replied, dryly. “Anyway, we’re getting off track. The other two layers of magic aren’t really important right now, so let’s talk about how a magic-user’s strength is measured.”
I perked up at that.
“The Magocracy’s exams are the most common method, and they primarily test two factors: Outflow Level and Bond Count. Bond Count, as the name suggests, is the amount of bonds you can establish without suffering from backlash. As of right now, you can only form a single bond. That will change as you deepen your connection to the Planes.
“Your Outflow Level is the amount of power that you can draw from a single bond without suffering from backlash. Once both are measured, the Magocracy sorts you into their ranking system: Novice, Journeyman, Adept, or Expert. There are more ranks but those are special, and I don’t want to confuse you.”
Too late.
“Sure,” I said. “But what about mine? And which is better—Outflow Level or Bond Count?”
Zakarot sighed again. “Outflow is usually considered the most important factor. Even if someone is able to form three bonds, someone with a higher outflow could draw more power from only a single bond. You froze an entire cliff-top during your awakening, so figure that one out for yourself.”
I straightened up, sticking my chin into the air. “So, I’m really strong.”
“You’re really dangerous,” Zakarot corrected. “Slinging around magic can be deadly even for experienced mages, and you’re a dumb little kid who’s already nearly killed himself.”
“Nearly…” I muttered, leaning back on my hands. “Couldn’t you have told me all of this in my room, though?”
“We’re not done,” he told me. “Close your eyes.”
My eyes narrowed as I eyed the spirit in suspicion. I’d been taught never to close my eyes around strangers, but the fate of everyone in the village rested upon my cooperation with Zakarot. It was a stalemate–accept his help(?) or watch the village burn to ashes.
I closed my eyes.
“Now, focus on the first time you drew upon the Plane of Frost's power."
I thought back to the cliff-top.
Anika Beckett stood across from me, her arm held on my exposed sinews, a grisly sight that made my stomach churn. With black eyes straight from the depths of a child's nightmare, she'd eyed me down before charging.
Everything afterward was hazy.
I recalled my blood turning to ice, the world being painted white. A sea of bitter cold water enveloped me, while wintry serpents coiled around my body and sank their fangs through my flesh. Then, it all vanished as soon as it'd appeared, casting me back into a world of crystal.
My hunter had been consumed by the rogue aspect, seemingly frozen solid.
“Remember that feeling,” Zakarot said. “Now, concentrate on the world around you. The frozen tundras of Geimhread, the harsh winters in Flykra Village. The snow beneath you and the wind biting at your flesh. Bring to bear fifteen years of living in this land.”
Once again, I did as my dark passenger commanded.
Though I had a general disinclination toward the cold, I’d always been fond of the winter season itself. While others looked out their windows in boredom, I used the weather as an excuse to stay in my room. I would wrap myself in blankets and read all day long.
It was something I couldn’t ordinarily do without being chewed out by my family.
The adults had legitimate concerns regarding the season. Animals either hibernated or went further south when winter came to Geimhread. Food became scarce, and many didn’t have access to indoor heating. This was why spring festivals were so common throughout the region.
“Your connection to the aspect plays a large factor in how easily you can form a bond with it,” Zakarot explained. “Perhaps this is why you’ve been able to use cryomancy already.”
I nodded in understanding, still focused on all of those memories—good and bad.
“Do you feel it?”
My mouth opened to ask what I was meant to be feeling, then stopped.
A prickling sensation began in my fingers and toes, spreading up my limbs to the rest of my body. The sensation started as an itch that wouldn’t go away and intensified into a stabbing, a piercing pain like someone was jabbing needles into my flesh, until the prickling wormed its way to the inside.
Through closed eyelids, I somehow knew that there were things moving around in-front of me. No, all around me from below and above. It felt as if a thousand silkworms were spinning their cocoons within my body, each strand carrying its own message.
Some were indiscernible, so thin as to be invisible, while others carried such a depth that they seemed larger than mountains.
These silken threads made my blood feel like it was turning from a liquid into a solid, made me shiver with an intense cold that betrayed the otherwise warm weather, in open defiance of the sun’s rays beating down upon me.
I fought the urge to shiver and cry out.
“Do you feel it?” Zakarot asked.
“Yes,” I answered hesitantly. “I-I think so?”
“Raise your hand, and form a bond.”
My arm lifted into the air as if controlled by someone else, fingers extended outward towards Zakarot. We stayed there in silence for a long time, just waiting.
Waiting…
And waiting…
“What are you waiting for?” Zakarot asked.
“A bond to form,” I replied.
Another moment of stillness passed before he spoke again; disappointment in his voice. “That's not how this works! It takes conscious effort on your part, not waiting around until something happens!”
“Well, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing!”
“It’s not that hard!”
“Magic isn’t hard?” I asked incredulously. “Maybe you’re just a bad teacher.”
A voice whispered in the back of my head.
Or maybe you’re no good at this.
That was like a blade through the gut, unsealing the old insecurities and anxiety. I briefly felt my face flush, fighting the urge to give up and run back to my room. So many times I’d tried to learn new things, only to fail like this. And my family always joked about it, as if they found it funny.
I didn’t.
“…That’s not true,” Zakarot said. “I wouldn’t have come back here if I didn’t think you had the potential to see this through. You have talent, Zavis.”
His statement startled me. An overwhelming wave of emotion swelled up inside my chest and spread throughout the rest of my body. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. Not with such confidence plain in their voice, such a fervent belief that I could accomplish something.
“You need to have a clear goal,” he said. “What is your reason for bonding with this Plane?”
My answer was immediate. “To protect my family.”
“Alright. Try again.”
I did.
Again, nothing happened.
Zakarot sighed.
“Here, open.”
I opened my eyes, finding Zakarot kneeling suspiciously close to me. Remembering what happened last time, I backed away. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Shh. Come here.”
The spirit’s bandaged hand reached toward me, but I swatted it away. Which felt a bit like trying to grab a hold of the wind. “If you’re trying to show me another vision, you can keep it.”
“Just hold still.”
“No.”
With a sigh, Zakarot continued reaching for my face. This time, when I attempted to swat his hand away, the spirit vanished. Before I could even react, he reappeared directly in-front of me, bandaged fingers right in-front of my eyeballs.
“Hey, stop–”
He plunged those fingers into my eyes.
“Wha?!” I cried out, falling backwards into the grass, hands shooting up to cover my ruined eyes. Tears streamed down my face, heart racing.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Zakarot replied. “I don’t even have a physical body. It’s all in your head.”
Though I heard his words, none of them registered. I spent what felt like an eternity rolling around the ground, clutching my face in agony. The dissonance between having two fingers plunge into your eyeballs but feeling no pain was difficult to accept. Like when you’ve lost a limb but still feel the aches afterward.
“Open them,” Zakarot said.
“Gods damn you,” I cursed, still rubbing incessantly at my eyes.
“You can count on it,” he replied. “Open your eyes.”
Reluctantly, I did as the spirit told me. My eyes fluttered open, before being clamped shut again. “What did you do?!”
“Keep them open, idiot.”
Pressing my palms into both eyes until I could see drifting stars, I reopened them. Just the same as the first time, the world was warped. I was blind. Zakarot blinded me. I couldn’t see anything. He betrayed me. I trusted him. I–
No, that’s not right. I can see.
Fighting against the panic, I forced my eyes to stay open, fixating on the rhythm of my breath. I wasn’t blind; the world did look different, but I could see. The world’s color had been washed away, replaced by varying shades of gray and black.
Studying the monochrome world through squinted eyes, I came to realize that Zakarot was the only thing that looked the same. The spirit sat on his haunches, staring at me from beneath his hood. His robes were black anyway, always giving him the illusion of being wrapped in shadows, but the tattered edges were a dusty brown.
Before me lay a blank canvas, painted in shades of darkness. The grass, trees, and flowers were no more than smudged shapes adorning an otherwise barren surface. Raising my hand, I beheld it through broken eyes.
Like the rest of this black-and-gray world, my hand was devoid of color, its surface creased with dark lines. Flexing my fingers, I observed as their shadows writhed and crawled, skittering across my palm.
“You’re seeing the world as I see it,” Zakarot told me. “Our contract allows me to lend you certain abilities, and I call this one Spirit Sight.”
“Uh-huh,” I replied, still gazing at my palm. “Was that the best you could…”
Something caught my eye. I turned to find myself surrounded by green mist, swirling in ribbons around us both. My first reaction was to swipe at these trails like a cat, but my hand passed through uselessly. Aside from a shiver that ran deep into my core, blood freezing into ice.
And as I followed the green trails, I realized that the world wasn’t quite as colorless as once thought. There were more trails, like paint strokes of varying colors. Some were almost transparent, flowing smoothly through the air like water. They were accompanied by the scent of rain upon fresh grass.
Other trails, these ones glowing a faint white-blue, followed closely behind. The white seemed to attempt mimicking the water’s movements, but struggled to move with the same fluidity. I observed one such trail overtake the other, the transparent water slowly changing color as if freezing at the touch.
The most dominant were golden ley-lines that gave off their own light, seemingly filling every space of the clearing. They were warm but not painfully so, moving so quickly that they looked like streaks of oil across the canvas.
Looking down, I saw even more colors. An intricate web of copper colored trails crisscrossed the ground I’d previously seen as stark and featureless.
They appeared to be coming from beneath our feet, and unlike the others, didn’t fly through the air. Instead, they tumbled unhurriedly, almost lethargically, beneath the earth.
“Care to guess what you’re seeing right now?” Zakarot asked, his voice reminding me that I wasn’t alone.
Somehow, I already knew the answer.
“They’re ley-lines.”
My eyes left the ground, following the trails up, and up further until looking into a tapestry of wispy green ley-lines. As I gazed into them, I felt a refreshing breeze splash against my face.
Zakarot nodded. “The aspects each have their own behaviors, their own personalities. Learning them takes time, and for most, it's impossible to learn about all of the aspects. But for you, with my eyes, you can study them all. Etching their relationship with one another into your memory.”
My eyes turned to the sky, following the threads until—
“Oh, wow…”
I’d expected to see an expanse of gray or black, but instead, I found myself staring into a swirling vortex. Caliginous clouds swirled like a funnel, and in their center, a pale light that hung where the sun should have been.
“You should watch them closely,” Zakarot continued, seemingly observing the ley-lines himself. “The way the aspects move in the wild is very similar to how they’ll behave when you draw from them. Spirit Sight will help you get a feel for how it’ll be like to guide them yourself…hm?”
Jaw slackened, eyes wide, I stared into the vortex’s center. The spirit’s voice was merely background noise. It was like staring into the maw of a great storm, making me feel small and insignificant by comparison.
The impression carried by this storm was of something greater, something unfathomably ancient and powerful.
“Are you even listening to my exposition? This stuff’s important, you know!”
Thin, almost invisible strands of purple light streamed from the vortex’s radiant core. They looked like ley-lines, but felt different from the others. They were followed by something, a soft chorus barely outside of my hearing. I focused on this melody, and immediately regretted it.
HelpmeHelpmeHelpmeHelpme….
WhereamIwhereamIwhereamI??
Mother?...Father…?..Brother…?
LetmeoutLetmeoutLetmeoutLetmeout..!
The music was made of an unbearable susurration of whispers, carried down from the vortex like twisted lyrics. There was no order to the voices, their scrambled words making my head spin. Each voice, though unable to be separated from one another, each carried a different impression.
Anger. Regret. Love. Lust. Joy. Greed. Betrayal. Peace.
My head was throbbing, threatening to crack like an egg. Tears were running down my face, but I couldn’t wipe them away. I was completely entranced, body frozen. My aching limbs started feeling lighter, as if I was losing weight. The vortex above seemed to be growing larger, the great distance between us diminishing. I was being pulled in, and couldn’t say no. It was so simple, so easy to give in.
You can’t hide from me…
Another voice, clearer than the rest.
I will chase you to the end of creatio—
“Enough.”
Zakarot’s familiar voice dominated the monochrome world, space rippling as if someone had thrown a stone into a puddle. The susurration immediately ceased, the purple ley-lines disappearing.
Finally, color began to return to the edges of my vision as I slumped over into the grass. My fingertips brushed against my cheek, wiping away fallen tears.
They came away red.
“Whoops, I should have warned you not to stare at the sky for too long. My bad.”
Heaving, heart pounding in my chest, I rubbed at my throbbing eyes.
“Explain.”
“Which part?” Zakarot asked. “I’m assuming you mean that giant whirlpool.”
I found myself unable to answer. Those whispers were still playing in my head on loop, and all I could do was nod. Zakarot cleared his throat, though I suspected that was only for dramatic effect.
“That was a Font of Power–essentially a giant ley-line that’s always opened. Think of it as a door for the dearly departed to enter the Soul Plane, and for anima to re-enter this world. That would be those purple ley-lines you saw.”
“I-I could hear voices,” I whispered, voice hoarse.
“Forget about those. They’re just the vestiges of the dead, impressions that will disappear once their souls are broken down.”
Though I nodded in understanding, that made me feel even worse. I’d heard so many voices, belonging to so many people. Men, women, children. Those were their last words, their final thoughts
They were people with lives, hopes, and dreams, now being sucked into a hole to be broken down like disposable waste.
That was the end of everything?
That was what awaited us—me—at the end of all this?
My thoughts naturally flowed back to Anika Beckett, the woman I’d had a hand in killing. To my brother and mother, ruthlessly murdered in the near future. What would their ‘vestiges’ sound like? What would they feel like?
It made everything feel so, so pointless.
“If we change the—I mean, when we change the future,” I wondered aloud. “Will it change? That cycle, I mean.”
Zakarot didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure if he’d even heard me. It was hard to tell when his face was obscured by that veil. But as a spirit himself, someone who had experienced death, he likely had many thoughts on the matter. He escaped the cycle.
There was no-one better to answer my question.
The spirit took a deep breath and stood up, his gaze locked on the sky above. I warily followed it, but fortunately saw nothing more than a familiar cerulean expanse. Yet, I still could picture what Zakarot was seeing with perfect clarity. Cursed to hear those whispers for all eternity.
For the first time since meeting him, I pitied Zakarot.
“I don’t know,” he told me. “But I would love to find out.”
