Chapter Five: Inscription
As the daylight hours waned, the sun said its evening farewells, slipping beneath the horizon. Candles had been lit within Gaston’s room, and the shutters upon the windows had been drawn shut. The moths and beetles outside would have to find a different flame to approach.
Adelia had sat at one of those windows for some time. At her tutor’s behest, she stayed in the room while Gaston and Edric rushed to the outside wall of the keep. Though the assassin was grievously injured, he had survived the shock and the fall. More astonishingly, he had retained his consciousness. The student, high above, could just barely see him retrieve another knife from his hip.
The older men had arrived shortly after, and she warned them of the new weapon. He didn’t seem keen on using it, however. Edric passed Gaston a concerned glance when the assassin was turned over. Both men shook their heads as they dragged the intruder back into Hawthorne Keep.
The pupil had lit the candles just before she had drawn the shutters to a close. After a long time alone, the wax on those candles melted down much further than she expected. Adelia breathed out a quiet sigh and apprehended one of Gaston’s tomes, opening it up to a random page.
Various topics of research were scribbled within the book, ranging from the effects of certain alchemical concoctions on nearby plant life to the results of a particular mix of pipe weeds intended to attract dragons. The young lady spent some time investigating each of the topics while she waited for her tutor to return.
When Gaston did enter the room, he was not alone.
“I always knew Trevor didn’t like me much,” Edric said. “But I never thought he’d just let some strange man in here to kill me.”
Adelia began to stand, but her tutor raised his hand to stay her. She sank back into the chair at the sage’s desk but kept her attention on the two men. Gaston placed two items on her dilapidate desk instead. One was a shining knife, while the other was a vial that contained some dark red semitransparent liquid.
“You know Lydick’s boy wouldn’t have intentionally meant to do you harm,” the sage offered. “He’s just never been much of a people person.”
“Hence why he’s training with the bow,” Edric countered. “So he can kill someone from afar without having to see it and without feeling a lick of remorse.”
They went on for some time like that, merely gossiping, it seemed. Adelia turned back to Gaston’s desk and took note of the tome the sage had most recently scribbled within. It was left open to his freshest remarks, the ink still dark and bold. The young lady took care to gently turn the pages until she reached the title of the subject.
“The Strain: The Origins of Strange, Raw Magic in Beings on Tellest,” she whispered. The tome went on in greater details, describing the incredible powers Gaston had seen in some of Tellest’s greatest heroes. Somehow, he supposed, the pockets of magic that moved with the weather bestowed their gift permanently to those born under their aura.
Adelia perused the pages for so long that she didn’t hear as Gaston and Edric’s conversation grew dull. Instead, she paid greater attention to the book. The sage’s words explained how the Strain affected different cultures and races. The dwarves elected their kings based on the manifestation of uncanny powers, while the elves shared their power fully amongst each sect.
The scrape of a wooden chair against the floor was not completely lost to Adelia. She turned in time to see Edric approach her. He stopped just several feet away and lightly bowed. “My thanks, young lady,” he said. “Without your aid, I might not be here now.” He turned to his friend then, nodding weakly. “Let me know if you hear anything from our intruder.”
“A fine surprise that would be,” Gaston chortled. “I’m no cleric.”
Edric hummed to himself as he understood that notion. He lazily brought up his hand, bidding the two magi goodnight.
Birds still chirped outside, despite the darkness. The young woman supposed she might have been reading through her master’s tomes all night and that morning was already upon them.
“Best get ready for bed,” Gaston said. He clapped his hands together as he stood and slowly made his way toward his pupil. His eyes landed upon the open book in front of her and the other tomes on the desk that remained out of place. “My dear, just how much have you read tonight?”
“Quite enough,” she said, rubbing her eyes.
“And it didn’t give you much trouble?” He pressed on before she could answer. “The alchemy and herbalist tomes were written with a possible apprentice in mind, but most of my other works are more scholarly in nature.”
“One thing I was taught well was literacy,” the young lady replied. “It simply wouldn’t do to travel to a nearby town and look for a tanner’s shop and then accidentally take our wares to a bakery. My words are strong – though not as much as yours, of course. You seem very passionate about your topics. Not least of all this… Strain.”
His eyebrow arched as he heard the single word. “I left that tome out, did I?”
“It seems you intended on writing plenty more on the subject,” Adelia confirmed.
“That I do. It’s become somewhat of a hobby of mine. I was planning for quite some time to visit Genger’mar or Caledos, but neither the orcs nor the minotaurs are known for their demonstration of the Strain. There is a good chance my journey would become a mere vacation among cities where humans are welcomed, though not openly embraced.”
“What about Atalatha?” Adelia wondered. She immediately shrunk back, fiercely tightening her lips.
Gaston noticed the reaction but waved it away. “While Atalatha has long embraced the other races, I’m sure even you’ve noticed or heard about the less diverse it is becoming. Most of the city was built on the backs of the dwarves, but even they have mostly cleared out.
“Bah, back to the entertaining bits,” the sage offered. “The werewolves and werebears of Gandarst probably have the Strain to thank for their lycanthropy, and any of the anthropomorphic races’ origins are questionable enough to venture that the Strain had some part in their creation as well – the kobolds, the kaja, and the minotaurs included.”
“You seem fascinated by all of it,” Adelia said.
The sage looked to the tome and nodded. “That I am, my dear. Perhaps too much.” He turned toward the door to the hall and took a single step in that direction. “How much of our conversation did you hear while you were reading?”
“Nothing important,” she insisted. “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”
“You simply must,” Gaston cheerfully replied. “It’s one of the simpler joys in life. Besides, now I’ve got to tell you what’s happened anyway.
“The man who tried to kill Edric – who you so succinctly thwarted – didn’t die from his injuries. But you knew that when you warned us of his knife. I assure you, we were never in any danger then. He had produced the weapon for another reason entirely.
“You see,” the sage went on, “he no longer possesses the means to speak with us.” He paused for a moment as the full weight of that comment reached Adelia. “Tomorrow, some interrogators will arrive to ask him some very specific questions that can be answered by a nod or a shake of his head. Whatever the case, he zealously wanted to keep the details of his task quiet.
“That isn’t to say we can’t discern what he was doing here. We saw the knife to Edric’s throat. And once we apprehended him, we found several of his belongings.” Gaston made his way to his pupil’s desk, picking up the glassware with the crimson liquid. “This vial of poison I’m sure you saw when Edric and I returned. But this,” he said, reaching into his robe, “this is the fun part.”
He produced a small, rolled up parchment and handed it to Adelia. She gently grasped the paper, letting it unroll naturally before stretching it further. The young lady turned until the candlelight shone over her shoulder. As her brow furled, Gaston couldn’t hope to hide a wry grin
.
“Not exactly written in the most common of languages, is it?” the sage asked. He retrieved the parchment from the girl and sprawled it upon his desk. He proceeded to place empty vials upon opposite corners, preventing the paper from rolling back into its cylindrical shape.
As the light landed fully upon the paper, Adelia could see the dark scratches upon the vellum. Symbols had been scrawled with what seemed like charcoal. They were almost formless, though, offering no real details of their meaning.
“This is unlike any language I’ve ever seen,” Adelia offered. “Even in the library at Viscosa, I’d never seen anything like this.”
“That’s because it isn’t a traditional language, my dear,” Gaston offered. “These are glyphs.”
His student tilted her head at that vague description.
An exuberant expression appeared on the old man’s face, and he stepped back toward her desk, dragging another chair closer. He fell into it as if he had his entire youth left to spend.
“Think of glyphs as a wizard’s written words,” he described. “They help to transcribe the arcane realm into a more manageable means. When I told you that nearly anybody could cast a magic spell, this is how. Typically, a mage will invoke the glyphs upon a page and then translate it into a readable, phonetic language for a layman. With patience and precision, that person can read the incantation and summon magic on their own.
“Now of course, that can lead to some very terrible repercussions. Magic has brought great destruction before. Unchecked, it will surely happen again. Many times, great wizards simply leave their scrolls without translating them.”
“Do you think the man that attacked Edric was a magician?” Adelia asked.
Gaston sucked in his lips a bit before shaking his head. “No. No, I don’t think so. I haven’t had much time to look at the scroll, but it seems to be something besides a spell. His actions thus far imply he has no formal magic training either.”
“But why would he have… glyphs like these if he couldn’t read them?”
“If you’re not too tired, that’s what I’d like to find out.” The sage beamed at the prospect of the investigation.
Adelia swung her seat around until she, too, faced the paper sprawled out on the table.
“For many people, it could be very hard to read this parchment, even if they remember any specific details,” the sage said. He pulled open a drawer on the right side of his desk and reached inside. A moment later, he retrieved a small vial and placed it on the desk. Its contents swirled with a dark grey, shimmering color. “But if he was able to learn to memorize a specific chant of some sort, there is a chance he would be able to translate this back and forth as needed.”
“Is there any way for us to decipher it?”
“It is possible,” Gaston offered. “This is a very special ink,” he said, shaking the vial. “It comes from something called silverthorn. When you squeeze it, it secretes this grey pulp. Prepared correctly, it becomes the ink in this container.”
“Isn’t that painful?” Adelia asked.
“My dear, you’ll find that anything worth doing usually is. In any case, we can use this ink to recreate the words upon his page. If we perform the task correctly, we’ll find out what secrets he’s been hiding. If we fail, the truth might be lost forever.”
Adelia nodded, but that gesture quickly changed when he pushed the silver vial in front of her. As she shook her head, he smiled brightly.
“You can do this, I’m sure of it,” he said. “Take hold of it. Summon the ink from the container. See the waves of magic behind our reality. Make it bend the lies into the truth.”
The pupil swallowed hard, blowing out a deep sigh at its end. She plucked the cork from the vial and placed both beside the assassin’s note. Gaston rose to his feet then, stepping farther away. Adelia passed him a concerned glance, but the sage simply bowed his head, urging her on.
“Picture it,” he said. “See into that other realm, as you have before.” As she listened to his suggestion, he stepped farther back, just out of her peripheral vision. “Draw the silver into the void between worlds. Let the magic take hold of it.”
Adelia spun her hand in narrow circles above the container. She was momentarily surprised to see the ink slowly emerge from the top, as if it were bubbling over. Her eyes narrowed as she let determination take hold of her. As the contents separated from the glass, they began to fade. Individual droplets seemed to disappear into thin air. Through those narrowed eyes, though, the student was sure she could see them still.
“Now cast it over the parchment. Will the words to change.”
She did as instructed, moving her arm over the assassin’s document. Similar to how the silverthorn ink had faded, the inscriptions upon the page, too, began to disappear. It reshaped itself then, becoming a language Adelia was much more accustomed to.
“We did it,” she said, turning around to face her tutor. An exuberant smile spread her lips.
Gaston slowly lowered his hand and stepped forward. Adelia could see the perspiration on his face. She was unable to focus on his sudden fatigue for long, however. The sage gently lifted the parchment, as if he was worried the new ink might drip from its surface.
The sage hummed as he perused the contents of the newly translated text. Only a moment later, his jaw dropped. “Interesting,” he said. Though his eyes remained fixed on the parchment, he turned his body toward his student. “Yes, this is quite interesting indeed. According to this, it was never Edric that was Thoro’s target. Er, that would be our would-be assassin.”
“How is that possible?”
“He was after a man who spends a great deal of his time in this keep. Our armorer, who supplies the knights of Gardone… that was the target. He was after Lydick.”
“The archer’s father?”
“The same,” Gaston insisted. “Thoro was apparently staying at a place called Gypsy Hollow.” He looked toward the ceiling then, his brow furling. “Now why does that sound so familiar? No matter. The note goes on to imply the weapons and armor Lydick fashions need to be destroyed. It seems someone wants to make sure the white knights are ill-equipped for battle.”
“But who would want to do that?”
Again, the sage hummed. He placed the parchment back upon his desk and crossed the room to the opposite piece of furniture. Retrieving the vial with the red liquid within, he turned back to his pupil. “I’m willing to guess that this isn’t poison but a very specific type of acid.” He uncorked the glass and let the faintest bit drop onto the top of his hand.
His student sprang to her feet. “What are you doing?”
Gaston smiled, holding out his hand. The red liquid remained on his hand but ceased to impress. It didn’t bubble, fizzle, or burn.
“Now that you’re up,” the sage began, “perhaps you wouldn’t mind passing me Thoro’s knife?”
Adelia did as requested, taking the vial from her teacher’s hand and giving him the assassin’s weapon instead.
Gently, the sage dragged the broad side of the knife across his hand. As he went, the drop of crimson disappeared, absorbed by the blade. He lifted it up then, narrowing his eyes at the sight. As Adelia inched around, he turned the knife so she could see it better. A deep, dark blemish was upon the metal. He brought up his free hand and pressed on the blade. Neither of the magi was surprised to see the tip of the knife crumble and fall to the floor.
“That was just one drop,” Gaston said. “Imagine what you could do with the entire vial?”
“Who would want to do that?” she asked again.
Gaston set the knife down on his pupil’s desk and absentmindedly brushed one hand over the other. A slight grin curled his lips upward. “I know I offered you that tea quite a while ago,” he said. “How would you feel about postponing it just a bit longer?”
Mageborn Page 6
