NOVEL NEXT 50. Fate’s Expression
Excerpt from Ehugh Thoughtspeaker’s ‘Imparting Wisdom: Guidelines for Teaching.’
“In our analysis of the process of thinking, we have found that much of our thinking is conscious, purposeful and logical. We grasp a problem, concentrate on it, collect evidence and draw conclusions. We found, however, that there are times when we can hardly be said to ‘draw’ the conclusions; we arrive at them, they occur to us, sometimes when we are not consciously occupied with the problem. The thinking has been going on at subconscious levels. The greatest thinkers have even been known to solve their problems during sleep—master mages use a kind of dreaming trance to enhance this natural ability.”
Jiin’s tale had left Yenna completely unsure how to respond. What can I possibly say that would convey my feelings here? As the mage struggled to respond, Jiin gave a nod and stood up from her seat.
“Well, don’t let me keep ya. I’m sure ye’re too busy to listen t’me keep goin’.”
“W-Wait, Jiin.” Yenna nearly choked on her words. If I don’t speak now, goodness knows what she’ll think I took away from that. “I just wanted to say… I’m really sorry to hear about all that. I’m…”
“Nah, nah.” Jiin shook her head and smiled. “Don’t be sorry. I met Mayi, didn’t I? S’pose it all had a happy ending, so it’s all fine. An’, thanks fer listenin’, Yenna. An’ fer yer help with the magic stuff. Maybe with a bit of practice, I’ll be able to magic myself to be like the kesh, eh?”
The stonecarver gave a wink and a gesture downwards, though the reference flew over Yenna’s head—she awkwardly laughed along too, and let Jiin go. With the room to herself, once again alone with her thoughts, Yenna’s mind turned to her own family. Her upbringing in Ulumaya had been typical—raised by the people of the village alongside all the other young kesh, as is tradition. While her peers raced or played make-belief, Yenna read books. She read books so voraciously that they would begin to fall apart, reading them front and back and front again—the elders of the town had even given her the name Bookbinder, an epithet for her habit of binding those well-loved books back together. Yenna couldn’t think of any close friends she had ever had, any significant misdeeds within Ulumaya—a boring, ordinary, typical upbringing, perhaps even a little sheltered. How, then, had she ended up here?
Thinking about it was starting to drag Yenna down a dreadful path of unwanted introspection, so the mage busied herself—anything to be rid of the kinds of thoughts that rattled in the dark of her mind, as always. Yenna set up the portable imager on the low table in front of her, activated the sequence of magical commands that would allow it to contact the witch Lumale, and waited.
It took several minutes for the witch to respond. Yenna held the slender knife in her hand, looking it over to pass the time. Its grip was the perfect size for the mage, its unpleasant weight a product of Yenna’s unfamiliarity with such weapons—and the implications it bore besides. The dagger’s slender blade was also an excellent conductor of magic, in a way that reminded Yenna of a mage’s wand. As an extension of Yenna’s rings, it could provide a perfect focus through which to channel spells that are too risky to hold with one’s own hands. The possibilities it presented swirled in Yenna’s mind, abating the worries the mage felt over having to speak to Lumale once again.
“Ah, mage, still in one piece?”
The witch’s melodic, mocking tones echoed through the portable illusion imager. The swirling magic above the device coalesced into an image of Lumale’s featureless face—today, the silupker wore a veil of golden chains hung horizontally across her face.
“I am. I have completed your task—removed the bracelet as you demanded. I would like to know my next steps, but also… why did it become a dagger, of all things?” Yenna held up the item in question, placing it so that Lumale could inspect it closely.
“A dagger—fascinating. You’re more bloodthirsty than you give yourself credit. An expression of your fate, and it’s a tool of murder. Well done, mage—let us hope I do not regret empowering you so.”
Yenna frowned. “An… expression of my fate?”
“A history lesson, mage. When a hopeful initiate wants to become a witch, her master marks her in a clear and binding way—a bracelet, a collar, a tattoo. She must prove she is ready to become a witch before it can come off, or else know that mark of shame all her life. Back when the Aulprean magi hunted witches for sport, an initiate worked hard to remove their mark before she was found. A test of trust, as well as a test of skill—can hardly tell the magi where to find your master if they know you for a witch as well.”
Lumale gave a wry laugh, and Yenna quietly wondered if the witch hadn’t lost a would-be apprentice this way before.
“That doesn’t answer my question, though. What is this dagger?”
The witch gave a dramatic sigh. “Patience, patience. When an initiate completes her test, proves herself worthy, she removes her binding and creates from it a boon—a shackle repurposed to a tool. It is ancient magic, from before the age of wizards and witches. Fate itself conspires to grant you that which you will need most. I wonder then—who will you kill?”
A shiver ran down Yenna’s spine. The priestess Suee had insisted that Yenna had somehow placed herself ‘outside of fate’. How, then, did this dagger come to be? Was there another force at play? Were the witches of old perhaps mistaken as to the source of this boon? Yenna’s introspection was interrupted by a crass, jangling laughter from the imager.
“No need to feel so down, mage. ‘Tis barely a life lived if you haven’t ended someone else’s.” Once again, Lumale gave the intense impression of a smug smirk—perhaps her lack of a face was the only thing preventing a perpetual mocking grin.
“Wait—why do you keep calling me mage? Does this task not make me a witch? There are still so many questions, and you have been–”
“I’ve given you about as much as you’ve deserved, mage. I’ll never know what possessed me to risk it all on teaching you—that book perhaps, clouding my thoughts. You are still a mage because you still think like one, waiting for formal lessons. Perhaps I shall loan you a book or two? ‘Witchcraft for Simpletons’, maybe?”
“Ah, a book would be–” Yenna caught herself and carried on. “At least tell me what I’m to do next—and what happened to me when I internalised that last colour. It was like I could hear the thoughts of other people, though it quickly faded.”
“Hm, sounds like a shaky foundation. But that’s to be expected when you complete your goals so half-heartedly. You had an awakening of the soul—much like the rush of the senses when you learn the secret of magic, you have begun to unfurl the fetters placed upon the soul. A heightening of your mundane senses is to be expected, including a sense of other’s feelings—with some practice, you may regain this power.”
Lumale turned away for a moment, her visage vanishing from the illusion. A clicking of stone hooves echoed from the imager, then the witch returned.
“If you wish for me to acknowledge you as a true witch, you will discover the truth of the colours betwixt colours, and gain mastery of the dark- and light-tinges of your six colours. My only advice for you is to ignore your mage’s instinct for cowardice—push yourself to the edge, and keep going. Grant strength to your emotions by testing them deeply, in all things. Love and hate, gain and loss, bitter hate and fondness. Break through your limits, mage.”
Yenna could feel her heart in her chest, a growing anxiety gnawing at her—the emotions she had felt gaining control over the six colours of magic were intense already, and now Lumale wanted Yenna to look deeper? Her hand shook—with fear, but also excitement. It would have been disappointing if those six colours were all there was to witchcraft, but the depths she might have to go to… Yenna’s eyes fell on the dagger, and she shuddered.
“Thank you, Master Lumale. I look forward to learning more.”
The witch gave a wicked laugh. “Try not to die, mage! I should be very disappointed to see you come so far so quickly, only to stumble and fall. Farewell.”
Yenna reached to deactivate the imager, then stopped. “Wait! I had one last thing to ask of you!”
“Oh, do make it quick. I’ve got something in the oven.”
The slightly exasperated whine in Lumale’s tone gave Yenna pause, mildly comedic against all the doom and drama of witchcraft. The mage had almost forgotten her master had taken up the rather mundane art of cooking, an odd footnote against the rest of her strangeness.
“It’s about something that happened to me, just yesterday. I was attacked by a beast-man, whose magic was similar to witchcraft and magecraft—he was a terrifying foe who offered no answers to his origin or motive. I had thought beast-men to be a myth, though I also thought that same of… well, witches.”
Yenna felt somehow sheepish admitting that. She expected a laugh, or a sharp-tongued retort—instead, Lumale gave a thoughtful chime.
“A beast-man witch… Fascinating. I had heard that the old cult had faded into obscurity—very interesting that you of all people should have an encounter with one now. There is not much I can tell you about them—us witches called them sorcerers, and long ago they consumed the blood of beasts to empower them. Those who did not die or go mad from the process gained immeasurable magical power—and passed it on to their progeny, a little weaker with every generation. They were the dragon in the keep¹, and I had thought the witch-hunter mages had killed them to the man.”
“Evidently not.” Yenna frowned—she knew the witch’s information on current events was thoroughly out of date, but she had still hoped for something more. “Sorcerers empowered by beast blood… their magic felt like so many disciplines brought together. Is it not possible that instead of dying out, they hid and gathered magical secrets?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Should you meet another, do not hesitate to strike them down where they stand. They are no better than glorified beasts, and will listen to about as much reason. Farewell, mage.”
With that, Lumale deactivated the imager from her end. Yenna sat in silence for a moment, her thoughts buzzing away. At the very least, Lumale’s insistence on further learning of witchcraft fell into the bracket of magical puzzles that appealed to Yenna’s instincts—a goal that could be pursued directly, with a definitive answer waiting at the end. Cults of beast-blooded sorcerers, a weapon influenced by fate-though-possibly-not, it all weighed on Yenna.
The door to the room clicked open, startling Yenna out of her reverie. Narasanha stood in the door and gave a small nod to the mage.
“You heard me coming this time.”
“Well, it was quite silent in here—the door was fairly loud.” Yenna tried to meet Narasanha’s gaze, but the woman was staring at her quite intensely—her eyes drifted to her lap. “Was there… something you needed?”
“Yes. You.” Narasanha was silent for a moment, then realised that needed clarification. “We are leaving soon. Head Deepstar wishes to address us all, and the captain asked me to retrieve you.”
Yenna nodded, and began to pick up her things.
“It is not that I personally needed you, you see.” Narasanha continued, suddenly looking awkward. The statuesque woman gazed around the room, as though hunting for prey—or a distraction. “I hope your hand is recovered.”
“Ah, it’s… well, it still hurts. I am sure it will be fine in no time, though.” Yenna stood, nursing her wrist. Narasanha carefully stepped out of the door to let Yenna through, and the mage felt the bodyguard’s piercing gaze on her bandages.
“Yes. I am glad that it was not worse. I must get stronger, to prevent such things in future.” Narasanha gave a nod as if to insist that this was the end of the conversation, and began to walk off—a little bit faster than normal, though Yenna had no trouble keeping up. Her hooves clicked along the floor at a steady pace, and in a matter of moments the bodyguard led Yenna out the front of the manor.
Waiting outside was, in a word, everyone. Chime was being loaded up with supplies once again, as was a fine horse-drawn carriage. Half the town looked to be outside helping the process of loading, including many of the servants from the manor. Muut, Eone and Aroearoe were deep in conversation amidst the hustle and bustle—when Yenna’s eyes adjusted to the light outside of the house, she managed to spot Suee standing there too. Standing alongside them was also the yolm sergeant that had greeted the group when they arrived in town—Sergeant Myuu. Her chainmail outfit and halo-like horn that curled around her temples had her standing out from the rest of the group, her gaze vigilant.
“Mage Yenna! Wondered where you got off to.” Captain Eone waved, and Narasanha hurried to her side. “We’re getting ready to depart, just a few things to go over before we leave. First, we’d really like to make sure Big and Spooky over there stays where he is.”
Eone gestured with a thumb, and Yenna followed it to where the beast-man was frozen. His fearsome expression and pose hadn’t changed at all, though it still looked like he might leap to life at any second—the townsfolk were giving him a wide berth.
“And–” Eone began to speak again, only for Aroearoe to cut her off.
“And, I shall be accompanying you all back towards the capital. We’ve work to do, and I don’t mean to see it half-done.”
¹ - ‘The dragon in the keep’ is a phrase similar in meaning to ‘the elephant in the room’—a problem that’s obvious to everyone. However, the connotation is more pressing than the elephant. While the massive pachyderm might be rather disgruntled about being trapped in a room with you, a dragon is considerably more eager to turn you to ash and possibly take the keep for itself. See also, ‘the squeaky wheel gets the oil’, a problem that makes itself obvious to those who would see it fixed.