Castle Kingside

Despite winter’s arrival, Dimitry’s days aboard the boat grew warmer. The scenery on the shores became green, most vestiges of vast white plains gone except the peaks of snowy mountains that disappeared into a sea of clouds. Two days ago, the ship passed the heathen barrier belonging to Ontaria—a city in the Gestalt Empire.

The captain mentioned they were twenty tours away from Malten. Dimitry, unfamiliar with units of distance in this world, asked for further clarification.

One day.

That was how long he would wait before arriving where he set out to travel over a month ago, but he didn’t grow giddy with anticipation. Magical experimentation kept him entertained.

Although he was far from an accomplished wizard, Dimitry’s scientific knowledge bestowed a much-needed advantage. Effect, the most tedious aspect of mastering magic, the sole factor that differentiated spells, became easier with understanding. Something he had plenty of.

But scientific knowledge alone wasn’t a panacea. There were caveats.

For example, an illumina that targeted electrons in nitrogen and oxygen simultaneously wouldn’t produce light, yet specifying nitrogen or oxygen alone did. Visualizing the bouncing molecules of generalized atmospheric gas worked, too, but with less luminous results. Dimitry concluded that spells should have only one intended target, with increased specificity strengthening the effect.

The concept applied easily to illumina, but what about spells like snoozia and relaxia? Dimitry guessed to target neurons, but which ones? And how? Should he diminish action potentials or intensify them? What if he accidentally shut down the medulla oblongata, causing the patient to suffocate? Magic without extensive research was dangerous. Perhaps one day he could work out the kinks with animal testing.

Then there were the enigmas. Spells Dimitry couldn’t even begin to understand. Among them, dispelia. What were its guiding scientific principles? Did it have any?

His discovery left him with more questions than answers, but rigorous testing wasn’t possible. Not yet. Dimitry still lacked the other four vital factors required of a mage besides effect: flow, efficiency, distance, and precision.

Without them, his spells were unpredictable. He couldn’t control where the effects appeared, how concentrated or long-lasting they were, and his use of vol was wasteful. For that reason, Ignacius limited him to illumina—a spell with easily measurable results and of little relative danger.

Propelia, for example, produced forces that could puncture vital organs or the ship’s hull. Ignia could ignite the mast and deck. Preservia might harm essential microorganisms inside the human colon, and incendia’s concentrated heating could lead to brain hyperthermia, which caused cerebral edema, blood-brain barrier leakages, and even fatal alterations to neural cells in afflicted patients. A novice mage without safety guidance was a disaster waiting to happen.

Preferring to avoid catastrophes, Dimitry wouldn’t cast deadly spells until he could control illumina. The basics had to come first.

He frowned as he plucked another metallic green pellet from a rapidly depleting pouch. His supplies ran low. Fortunately, his control over his circuits improved, allowing his vol to last longer. Used wisely, he could continue to practice until he reached Malten.

He placed the pellet onto his palm and absorbed roughly a fifth through the core. After sloppily guiding the warmth through his body and into his other hand, he thought of double-bonded oxygen atoms buzzing through the air, their electrons accepting the vol’s power and growing in energy.

Dimitry raised his palm to the air. “Illumina.”

Faint blue shards of light barraged the storeroom. Although they continued to lack coalescence, their wondrous display was a marked improvement over his initial attempts. Gradually, very gradually, Dimitry’s wizardry skills improved.

Ignacius watched, forgetting to smoke in his astonishment. “My boy, were those the oxygons again?”

“Oxygen gas,” Saphiria corrected the old man.

Aside from improving his abilities and watching the ocean drift by, Dimitry spent his time teaching Saphiria and Ignacius basic science. His advancements inspired them to improve their own thaumaturgy, too. Unfortunately, their efforts so far had proved fruitless.

Dimitry conjured two potential reasons for the poor results: either the dark hall granted only him the ability to modify spells, or knowing the ‘why’ of science was more important than the ‘how’. For example, electrons absorbing energy and emitting it as photons was ‘how’ it worked, whereas the ‘why’ included knowledge regarding atomic structure, electromagnetic waves, and other related minutiae.

To determine which hypothesis was correct, or if neither were, Dimitry struggled to teach them physics and chemistry. Before his breakthrough, mages produced only white light with illumina. However, by targeting nitrogen or oxygen, he discovered the ability to create violet or faint blue light. He considered his lessons a success if his companions learned to do the same.

“Now try again,” Dimitry said. “Remember, each atom in diatomic oxygen gas has two lone pairs and participates in two double bonds. Try to target the electrons in those.”

Saphiria gave a hesitant nod. “Illumina.”

The storeroom remained as dimly lit as it was before.

She frowned. “Your violet magics elude me still.”

Dimitry wasn’t surprised. Not only was he unsure of the efficacy of his lessons, but there was no way for someone raised on fantastical beliefs to grasp their concepts in half a week. For now, the goal was to familiarize her with the terminology. “Don’t be hard on yourself. Your progress is phenomenal for someone who hasn’t even heard of natural gas before.”

All traces of disappointment vanished from her face. Her eyes opened wide, revealing big and gleaming indigo irises. “Natural gas? Is that like nitrogen gas?”

“There’s usually some nitrogen inside, but it’s mostly a mixture of hydrocarbons. Some people set it on fire instead of wood to heat their ovens.”

“Is your oven like that?”

“No, I had an electric range oven.”

Saphiria and the mass of woolen blankets she huddled inside slid closer, bumping into his shoulder. She studied his face. “Electric?”

Although her curiosity never failed to bring a smile to Dimitry’s face, he preferred not to speak too much about Earth when Ignacius sat nearby. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk about that when we reach Malten. Let’s focus on illumina for now.”

With an exaggerated frown, she turned away. The rest of her vol pellet vanished into her palm. “Illumina.”

Nothing happened.

“Perhaps I’m doing something wrong,” Saphiria said.

“Maybe.” Dimitry shrugged. “I’m still not sure how it works myself.”

Ignacius ran a hand through his thinning white hair. “If she can’t do it, I have no hope at all. I don’t even understand your… lessons most of the time.”

“That’s to be expected. Where I come from, science is taught over decades of study. You’d have to be an unprecedented genius to make sense of it in a few days.”

“Guess nothing’s ever easy.” Replacing the feracide in his pipe, Ignacius sighed. “While I’m no longer sure if it was because of my tutelage, but you seemed to have learned illumina well enough, my boy. I think it’s about time you showed me the truth-revealing magic and this ‘accelall’.”

Saphiria shot Dimitry a glance—one that communicated her concerns without a word. Would it be wise to reveal a faerie on a cramped ship with nowhere to run? What if the powerful wizard sitting across from them flipped out? Ignacius being at odds with the Church didn’t undo his lifetime of cultural indoctrination.

Dimitry scoured the small storeroom for any napping crewmen hiding behind crates. He knew there were none, which was why he practiced his deviant magic here, but he checked to make sure. “If you want to know, promise me. No matter what happens, you won’t freak out. That means no loud sounds, no anger, no violence.”

Ignacius sat up straight. “Is it really such a powerful spell?”

Precious pulled on Dimitry’s collar. She wanted out. Weeks spent stuffed under a bundle of clothes and blankets left her begging for air.

“You’ll find out if you agree to my terms,” Dimitry said. “Yes or no?”

“No need to be so dramatic, my boy. I’ve seen many strange things during my long life. I doubt another one would bother me. Now show me.”

Dimitry took a deep breath. “Come on out.”

Ignacius’ brows furrowed.

Precious’s wings tickled Dimitry’s shoulder as she squeezed past a layer of blankets. Her head poked out, complete with a golden ponytail. “It’s so fresh out here.” She looked at Ignacius. “Hello, geezer.”

The old man, eyes bewildered, could only stare. His mouth opened and closed without a word.

“Her name is Precious,” Dimitry said. “Forgive her if she does something rude. She’s harmless and, if you ignore everything she says, she is actually a decent person... sometimes.”

“No one’s ever called me a person before. Thanks, Dumitry.”

“A faerie?” Ignacius massaged his forehead. “And it talks?”

Saphiria made her way to the door to the cargo hold and pressed an ear against the door. “It’s safe for now.”

Dimitry nodded. “You can come out, but don’t go too far. You know the drill—hide when you sense someone coming.”

“Finally!” The faerie popped out from under his clothes and drifted onto a crate. “Cold! So cold.” She tip-toed closer to an incendia-enchanted rock. “Ah. That’s way better.”

“Have you—” Ignacius gulped. “Have you been hiding it all this time?”

“Even before we’ve met you,” Dimitry said. “In exchange for fruit and other vegetation, she tells us when someone’s lying.”

“I-I see.” The old man glanced at the faerie, who didn’t so much as respond to his presence. “It, I mean, she… she doesn’t eat the placentas of the unborn?”

“Silly geezer. Why would I eat something so nasty when there are delicious fruits out there?”

Dimitry stroked the growing beard on his chin. Was that one of the Church’s teachings? “She hasn’t eaten any placentas lately, but she does like to annoy people.”

“We all have our hobbies.” Precious sniffed the air and dug through the crate beneath her feet. She emerged with a bud of limroot.

Ignacius approached the faerie with an outstretched hand. He touched the edge of her wings.

She slapped his finger away. “Do you know how long it takes to wipe away the grime?”

The old man chuckled. “Quite a mouth on you.” Ignacius observed the faerie munch on crunchy tubers for a short while and shifted his gaze towards Dimitry. “I expected a powerful spell, but you’ve really outdone yourself this time, my boy. To think a corrupted creature could have so much personality.”

“Regarding spells, I never intended to let you go home empty-handed.” Dimitry reached into his leather bag to retrieve a pure vol pellet.

“Do you mean to say this ‘accelall’ really exists?”

“It does indeed.” When Dimitry used the spell in Estoria, the time acceleration effects lasted around five minutes from his perspective—ample opportunity for the ship’s crew to discover him. “Are we still clear?”

Saphiria nodded. “I don’t hear anyone coming.”

“I fon’t shensh anyone coming eifer.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Dimitry said.

Five golden fingernails reflecting an illumina lamp’s light, Precious waved him away.

Ignacius chuckled once more. “You kids really know how to keep things interesting.”

“Ready?”

“Whenever you are, my boy.”

Dimitry glanced at the pellet in his hand. “Accelall.”

The warmth that pure vol emitted during his illumina training didn’t compare to the fire that now raged through Dimitry’s circuits. Although uncomfortable, he felt no pain. The sensation soon vanished, leaving an unfamiliar world in its absence.

Precious’s crunchy munching and the crashing of waves against the hull grew heavy, slow, and deep. A cloud of smoke trudged out of Ignacius’s pipe, coiling out and into itself as it collided with the air. The boat no longer rocked—it glided. The old man spoke, but his utterance resembled an extended grunt that shifted up towards the end.

Was that a question? Dimitry nodded slowly, hoping to appear normal to someone operating on a delayed temporal spectrum. A while passed. He paced through the storeroom. He paced and paced and yet accelall’s effects never seemed to end. At first, watching everyone move at a snail’s crawl amused him, but the experience soon grew bothersome.

Then banging. Something thrust against the ship’s hull. Initially quiet, the banging grew incessant, loud, and tumultuous before long.

Was it heathens?

Many slow footsteps stomped above.

Saphiria held up her hand—the warning signal: someone would burst into the storeroom soon. Both Ignacius and Precious’ heads shifted towards the door that led to the cargo hold.

A loud, panicked knock.

Dimitry’s cue to hide himself and his sacrilegious companion.

He took several sweeping strides towards Precious but hesitated before grabbing her. Accelerated time meant stronger applied forces. To avoid crushing the faerie’s petite figure, he lifted her by pinching her ragged white dress.

Placing one palm under her legs to support her weight, he scampered to a wall, picking up a handkerchief along the way. He gently lowered Precious to the floor and placed the fabric next to her. She crawled under it like a frightened hermit crab might retreat into their shell.

To give the impression of being asleep, Dimitry laid down. Not that it would convince anyone, let alone the crewman that just burst into the room. The banging against the ship grew louder and louder. Although he wasn’t sure, he thought he heard a voice coming from across the ship’s hull.

From the ocean.