by John Mangold
Maluem shook her head once more. She was wasting yet more time on a stream of useless daydreaming. As Master Valde had said, they had an abundance of tasks with a shortage of time. As she glanced up, her eye lit upon a line of words that seemed to leap from the titles around them, "The Sorcerous Electronum." How had she missed that before? There it was, plain as day, but it was six shelves above her head! She could never reach it on her own. Quickly glancing around, she found that the rolling stairwell was all the way on the other side of the catwalk. Moving that thing was like trying to roll a two-ton stone uphill. It would take forever to push it over here, and she had already kept her mentor waiting for far too long.
Pulling back the sleeve of her Acolyte's robe, Maluem raised her hand towards the distant book. Concentrating on the feel of the leather cover, Maluem recited the incantations in her mind that Master Valde had taught her but one week before. The strange coldness began to flow around her as she felt the incredible sensation of her magic stores growing. The joy of that feeling was almost enough to make her lose her concentration all on its own. Then the pain began to seep into her arm, as though she was trying to lift a draft horse with her bare hands. Her pulse raced; her muscles ached as her tendons began to sting from being pushed well beyond their limits. She had read that these were normal reactions to casting, but experiencing them was something altogether different. She squeezed her eyes shut as she strove to maintain her focus.
Her energy slowly began to ebb as her faith in her casting started to wane. When she felt a pleasing weight materialize in the palm of her hand, her eyes sprang open to find the desired book held fast in her grip. Her heart nearly exploded with joy. She spun to show her Master what she had just accomplished, but she saw he was already deep in meditations, standing rigidly before his podium. Remembering all that had to be done, Maluem darted towards the stairs, the sought-after tome tucked securely under her arm. Bounding down the stairs, she nearly tripped on the last few steps as she reached the lower level.
As she came running up to her Master, he seemed not to notice her arrival. She looked to him, then to the parchments laid out before him. Her wandering gaze was unavoidably drawn to a small, arcane device setting before him on the elevated platform of his conductor's podium. It appeared to be a small pyramid, with one side shaved off halfway down to the base. Within this alcove rested a tiny arm, pointed up towards the ceiling, mounted on a pivot at its lower end. Halfway down, the appendage had a small weight crafted to mechanically slide up and down the arm's length. She had read about such devices before, but she could not recall the proper name or its purpose.
"A curious device, is it not?"
Her Master's sudden words made her jump reflexively. Turning, she saw he had come out of his meditation and now gazed down upon her, obviously amused by her inquisitive intensity.
"Yes, Master, I have read about such things but-"
"You don't know what it does?" Sator finished for her. At Maluem's silent nod, he continued. "I suppose you wouldn't. It is not a tool used by many people outside those who study the theory of music. It is often called a Metronome, employed by musicians to measure the pulses between the notes in their music or verse. Would you care to see how it works?"
As he said this, he adjusted the small weight higher towards the arm's tip, which Maluem now noticed had graduated markings along its edge. Once he had it in place, he pushed the arm to pivot far to the left. As he removed his finger, the arm swung back to its starting position, continuing to the extreme right, emitting a pleasant tone as it passed the apex of its swing. As Maluem watched, the arm repeated this motion, over and over, thumping out a steady rhythm, showing no signs of slowing. As she listened, she could not help tapping her foot in time with its simple tune.
"It is rather amusing, Master. But what purpose does it serve?" Maluem inquired.
"Well, it has many purposes, both musically and scientifically. However, today we shall be employing it to keep us from straying from our proper sequence. The spells I will be casting today will be highly complex and, to have the appropriate effect, they will need to be precisely synchronized with one another. If one is missed or cast at the wrong moment, the reactions could be quite different from what we desired. Once we get far enough along, it could even prove catastrophic for all involved. Therefore, I must find just the right rhythm to follow so that each spell counteracts with its fellows precisely as prescribed.
"So, to that end, do you have the scroll I required you to study?"
"Yes, Master Valde," Maluem replied eagerly, producing it from the sleeve of her robe. Following the direction of her Master, Maluem unrolled the parchment on the smaller podium that was erected facing Master Sator Valde's. The scroll had each spell listed down the left side margin along with the tome in which the casting text could be found. As she looked over the notes, she detected the small dots which flowed in-between each listing.
"These dots, do they represent the beats of the Metronome?"
Sator beamed at his young Acolyte.
"Very intuitive, they do indeed. So, knowing that, what would you conclude are the dot's importance?"
"That I should count the beats, then I should cast these spells?"
Sator struggled to stifle a soft chuckle.
"No, Maluem, I don't think you are quite prepared for that just yet. One day I am certain you will be capable of this and much more. However, for today I simply need you to present the spell texts to me as the scroll instructs. My memory has faded with age, and I will need your assistance to recall each in turn."
Maluem could not help but doubt the sincerity of his words. Master Valde looked quite distinguished in his age, but he could never be described as old. He stood a commanding six feet tall, with eyes of an almost electric blue. His eyes held within them the sparkle of one who knew an amusing anecdote and was simply waiting for the proper time to tell it. His hair was raven black, a shock of white running from the crown of his brow to the back of his head. It seemed odd the first time she saw it, but now she could not imagine him without it. Not a single aspect of him spoke of anything but certainty and strength. No, she was confident he could accomplish this task without her, but it made her feel quite happy that he wished her assistance to complete it.
As she watched, Sator closed his eyes, his hands flowing before him, forming one arcane symbol and then another with the fluid motions of a bird in flight. To her amazement, small icons began to appear in the air before her Master, floating in stasis like burning orange symbols on an invisible parchment. As each new rune appeared, the previous one pivoted out of the way as though they rotated on a transparent wheel. Once the circle was completed, a second wheel took form to the side of the first. Maluem knew this to be called "Scorching a Pallet." It was a sorcerous technique for holding foundation spells in stasis to be activated when the caster needed them. Each spell simply required the final incantation to be enacted. It was an ability that was as beautiful as it was useful, and it was one she could not wait to learn.
Without a word, Sator's hand thrust out to push the Metronome's arm to the left, allowing it to start its measured beats with the returning swing. With each pulse, subdued runes illuminated the device's sides briefly, as though the tone it emitted was building power within the device. Maluem jumped as she realized the significance of this, silently counting the pulses as she referred quickly to the scroll before her. She had stacked the books as her Master had instructed, in just the order he wished, but she now could not seem to remember where to start. Looking around frantically, she recognized the first book she had collected. Grabbing it, she deftly opened to the required page just as the pendulum made the final swing.
The pace was much more intense than she could have imagined. She barely had time to flip to the next page before Sator's slight nod signaled her that it was time to move on. At first, the beat set out by the small device sounded leisurely, as the arm swung easily to and fro. But as Maluem quickly dropped one book to grab another,
she imagined the rhythm was sadistically quickening with each swing.
From the first incantation, she could hear an unbelievable commotion from behind her. Earlier, she had noticed the stacks of materials in the center of the room, but she had not asked what they were for. Her attention had been solely on the tasks her Master had assigned her since the day before. From what she recalled, there were planks of steel, stacks of different cut wood, coils of odd-looking wire, large piles of bolts, containers of various glowing chemicals, and more buckets of sand than she could count. She could not imagine what they would all go together to build, but right now, it sounded like the whole lot had been tossed over the edge of a cliff.
The heat on the back of her neck was unbelievable! Maluem felt as though she was standing in front of a blast furnace running at full tilt. She desperately wanted to turn to witness what she was sure was a vision of magical prowess, but she could not spare a pulse to take a glance. By the sweat beads she could see forming on her Master's brow, she knew the strain on him had to be intense. For her to fail him now could very possibly cost them both their lives. With that thought fresh in her mind, she realized that the next tome on the list was missing. She knew she had found the book; she had checked it off on her list, but nonetheless, it was nowhere in the stacks of knowledge before her.
Looking to the scroll, she realized that luck was with her to a degree. There were ninety beats between the last volume and the next. That would give her a little over a minute and a half to act. Looking to Sator, she watched as his hands motioned to two spells on the pallet floating before him, activating them immediately. The icons flowed from form to function as their release incantations were given. Maluem opened her mouth to tell her Master of the missing book, but he answered before she could speak.
"East corner, second level, third shelf. Move like the wind girl. Time is fleeting."
Maluem was off at a sprint. Taking two steps at a time, she bounded up the stairs charging headlong towards the area of bookshelves that Master Valde had indicated. Her heart pounded in time with the resounding thump of the Metronome. No matter how fast she willed her feet to move, she felt like she was running with all the speed of a lethargic slug. Grabbing hold of the edge of the ornate woodwork, Maluem stopped her body a few pulses ahead of her feet. The violent halt nearly sent her to the floor, but it achieved its purpose. Before she fully regained her balance, her eyes were already flowing over the spines of the many books. It wasn't there. It wasn't there! An empty hole greeted her gaze, where the book should have rested.
Spinning around, her mind reeled. How many beats had passed, twenty, or thirty? That left her maybe sixty pulses to find it. As her eyes flowed to the floor below her, time slowed to a stop. She could see Master Valde, his arms flowing like a mad conductor before a grand orchestra as spell after spell flowed forth. Before him, spinning in the middle of the room like a ponderous feather on a breeze convulsed an object of pure beauty and destruction. The iron had been bent and twisted to create a massive sphere, arcing around what looked to be a scale model of the sun. An intense fury burned inside the half-constructed container with a mesmerizing blue flame, threatening to melt through its patchwork prison to devour all around it.
Here and there, the metal began to buckle outwards, allowing spouts of fire to issue forth. However, no sooner had such a breach occurred than an Electro-Golem scuttled across the metal surface, throwing sparks as it moved, forcing the barrier back in place with reinforcing welds. All the while, sand fused into purest glass by the inferno's heat was poured into place by Thermo-Sprites, covering yawning partitions in the containing wall to form magically enhanced portals that would both contain and allow monitoring of the blaze within. Its terrible wonder was almost more than her mind could accept.
"Fifty beats, Maluem!"
Maluem jumped, startled from her awe-struck gawking.
"Master Valde, it is not here! I looked in the shelves but-"
"My desk Maluem! Quickly!"
Maluem was off once more, sprinting back towards the stairs, each swing of the arm on the Metronome resounding in her mind with an ominous echo. Reaching the steps, Maluem swung her feet up on the rails, flowing down the stairs like a slide. She had barely hit the floor at the bottom before she was scrambling towards the cluttered workstation built into the west wall. She slammed into the desk with a thud and a groan born of an impact that would undoubtedly leave a bruise to tell the tale. With reckless abandon, she dove into the pile of scrolls filling the table's surface. Her hands roamed greedily through the mess feeling for any solid object. How many beats now? Fifteen? Ten? It had to be here! She had to find it!
"Ten beats, Maluem!"
"I’m searching Master, I’m searching…I-”
“Five beats, Maluem-”
“I cannot find it, Master! I do not think it is-”
“Maluem!”
“It is not here, Master, perhaps I left it-”
“Wurncaster!”
2:
A Rude Awakening
Maluem’s eyes shot wide open as she awoke with a ragged gasp. Sitting bolt upright, it took a few minutes for her to realize where she was. The ancient woods were illuminated all around her with the pale glow of the three moons above. As she looked around, she began to recognize the encampment she had made just a couple hours earlier. She had managed to travel a reasonable distance once she had reached the other side of the border river. She did not want to think of all she had abandoned just one day earlier, of all she had lost.
Her eyes flowed uneasily back to her bedding. Partially covered by her blankets lay the only prize she could claim from her most recent exploits, the first fragment of the much-feared Scythe of Dorjakt. Even in the faint light, wrapped in the cloth she had taken from the Inn, she could almost feel an aura of malevolence seeping from it. She could not understand why the artifact would make her feel this way. The Sorcerer who created it had been dead for nearly two thousand years by this time. Like all Focus Points, his device would serve no other master but him.
As Maluem gazed upon her treasure, she felt a wave of nausea sweep over her. For a moment, she wondered if the staff was inflicting this upon her. Perhaps it was punishing her for tearing it from its watery sanctuary. Shaking her head, she pushed such thoughts out of her mind, the staff had no will of its own, and she knew it. Looking down, she considered the ragged tear in her palm. Balling her hand into a fist, she winced from the pain her action caused, stifling the thought of a third possible source for her unease.
The self-inflicted wound had been a necessary evil at the time, a drawing of blood to discern the actual staff of Dorjakt from a pile of cursed forgeries. However, the effects of her action were proving to be more troublesome than she had anticipated. The cut in her hand showed no signs of healing, emitting a foul odor instead. She could not help but wish she had studied a few healing spells during her youth in the National Archives of Camilos. To make matters worse, the accursed blade was now missing. She could only assume she had left it at the bottom of the Aragina River.
“Good riddance to bad baggage, I suppose,” Maluem muttered to herself.
But this remark only brought to the forefront of her mind the most probable origins for her discomfort. Perhaps it was something else, something that seemed to be speaking to her more loudly these days than it ever had done before, her conscience. As she pondered this, a face came readily to mind, attached to the name of Volo Jinn. He had been her Acolyte, her charge, hers to train to become a Sorcerer. A title she had not yet fully gained. Now he was dead. She told herself, not for the first time, that it was his folly that brought about his demise.
“Had I not warned him about that crystal he had found?” Maluem questioned aloud to no one, save her horse. “I told him that focus point of his was flawed! I told him what would happen if he put too much of a charge into it! Why did he not listen? Why did he have to be so…so…?”
Maluem could not bear to complete the thought. Her eyes c
lenched shut to restrain the tears she knew were coming.
“It was his fault, not mine,” She muttered at the ground. “He did not have to…he should not have …not for me. I never asked him to do that!”
Maluem looked to her horse. From his blank expression, she got the sinking feeling her words were sounding just as convincing to his ears as they were to her own. With a dismissive grunt, the beast turned his backside to her, wandering off to find a more appetizing clump of grass amongst the frost. Or, perhaps, he simply wished more enlightening company to dine with. Maluem’s guilt was quickly replaced with a burning desire to kick the horse hard in the rump. And to think she had blessed him with such an honorable title as ‘Sator’! She would have to find a name more worthy of a nag like him. Perhaps the moniker of ‘Aldis’ would suit him better.
Slowly her head turned to face the border where it had all taken place just a short time ago. It was only then that she noticed the heavy stench of smoke in the air. From her perch on the hillside, she should almost be able to see back to where the two border towns sat on opposing sides of the Aragina River. Yet, now all she could perceive was an ominous miasma of smoke obscuring the spot where the villages should be. It appeared all the clouds for miles around had gathered to that one spot, swirling above the twin settlements like birds of prey. She wiped her eyes several times to make sure it was not a trick of the night air, befuddling her watery eyes. But the dense cloud of destruction remained, obscuring all but the occasional flicker of oddly blue flame.
