by Dima Zales
“What is out there?” she asked, turning her head to look at him. “I want to go down there.”
“It’s my gardens,” Blaise explained, coming closer to help her climb down from the windowsill. “We can go there next.”
Reaching up, he took her hand and carefully guided her down. Her hand was small and warm within his grasp, and Blaise again marveled at the striking beauty of his creation . . . and at the strength of his own reaction to her. He hadn’t been this attracted to a woman in a long time, not since Augusta—
No, don’t think about her, he told himself, feeling the familiar ache in his chest. The fact that his former fiancée still occupied his thoughts to such extent made him furious. After the way she had betrayed him, he had done his best to erase her from memory, but it was not that easy.
He had known Augusta for over a decade, having met her in the Academy when they were both lowly acolytes. He’d always thought she was beautiful, with her dark, sultry looks, but it wasn’t until they began working together on the Interpreter Stone that he found himself falling for her. Young and ambitious, they had seemed like the perfect match, even if they didn’t always see eye-to-eye on certain matters. For years, their passion—both for their work and for each other—had been enough to bridge their differences, and it wasn’t until Louie’s trial that Blaise had found out just how deep the divide between them truly was.
“Here, come with me,” he said, forcing himself to release Gala’s hand. “Let’s go downstairs.”
They walked down the stairs and out through the long hallway. Gala kept touching everything along the way, running her fingers over each new surface she encountered.
Finally, they were outside.
“These are my gardens,” Blaise said, pointing at the wide green expanse in front of them. “They are a little overgrown at this point—”
“They are beautiful,” Gala said slowly, turning in a circle. The look on her face was almost rapturous. “Oh, your Physical Realm is so beautiful, Blaise . . .”
“Yes,” Blaise murmured, mesmerized by her. “You’re right, it is.” Blinking, he forced himself to look away, to stare at something other than her gorgeous features.
She laughed joyously, drawing his gaze back to her, and he saw that she was reaching for a bright-colored butterfly sitting on a white flower. She did feel emotions, he realized, seeing her face glowing with happiness and excitement.
He tried to view the familiar surroundings as Gala must be seeing them, and he had to admit that the gardens had a certain wild beauty to them. His mother had been excellent with plants, judiciously using spells to promote the growth of flowers and fruit trees, and Blaise could still see traces of her magic everywhere.
“Would you like to see something interesting?” he asked impulsively, wanting to see more of that radiant joy on Gala’s face.
“Yes,” she said immediately. “Please.”
“Then watch,” Blaise said, and began a simple verbal spell. Holding out his hand, he concentrated on manipulating the particles of light, directing them to gather above his upturned palm. Each word, each sentence that he spoke, was part of the intricate code that enabled him to do sorcery. When he was satisfied that the logic and instructions of the spell were correct, he used the Interpreter Spell—a complex litany that every verbal spell required at the end—to transmit everything to the Spell Realm. And then he waited.
A few seconds later, the air above his outstretched palm began to shimmer, and a bright, shiny shape began to take place. Before long, there was a rose made entirely of light hovering a couple of inches above his hand.
“It’s so beautiful,” Gala breathed, watching his little demonstration with a look of awe on her perfect face. Reaching out, she touched the rose, her fingers passing right through the cluster of light.
Blaise grinned, glad that he had been able to impress her with something so simple. Given her origins, she would likely be able to do the same and more.
Much, much more, he thought, trying to imagine how powerful someone born in the Spell Realm could be. It was a little too soon to start exploring Gala’s abilities, but Blaise had a feeling they would be unlike anything the world had ever seen.
* * *
After Gala got her fill of the gardens, Blaise took her back inside the house.
“I want to learn more,” she said when they entered the hallway. “Blaise, I want to learn everything. Can you help me?”
He considered her request. He could give her more Life Captures and let her experience the world that way, or he could try introducing her to books. There was a possibility she might understand written language, as well as the spoken one, since some of the Life Captures he’d sent to the Spell Realm—the Life Captures that helped build her existing knowledge base—were from reading teachers.
He decided to go with the second option for now, to let her learn the old-fashioned way at first. As interesting as it was to immerse oneself into other people’s lives, there was still no substitute for the structure of a good book. “Why don’t we head to my library?” he suggested. “I want to see if you’re able to read.”
Gala nodded eagerly, and he led her into the musty room that housed his books. Interspersed with the heavy old tomes, he could see some of Augusta’s books, including a couple of romances his former lover had enjoyed in her spare time. “Here,” he said, picking up one of them and handing it to Gala, “try reading this.”
What she did next seemed very odd to him. She slowly looked over the first page. Then she quickly glanced at the next. And then she started flipping pages with increasing speed, until she was turning them so fast it looked like she was just riffling through the book.
When she was done, Blaise stared at her in astonishment. “Did you just read and understand that whole book?”
“Yes.”
Unable to believe his ears, Blaise took the book from her and opened it to a random page, glancing down to quickly skim a couple of paragraphs. “What was the name of the main hero?”
“Ludvig.”
“And what happened when he told his wife about Lura?”
“Jurila screamed, lashing out at her husband with her riding crop. Her dark eyes flashed with fire and fury, and her beautiful features were distorted by anger. Ludvig tried to calm her, fearing what she could do—”
“Wait a minute,” Blaise said incredulously, listening to her recite the paragraph he’d just read. “Did you just memorize the whole book?”
Gala shrugged. “I think so. It was interesting, but I would like more. Much more.”
Shaking his head in amazement, Blaise reached for another book, this one a thick tome covering the history of scientific advancements from the time of the Sorcery Enlightenment to the modern era. Dense and comprehensive, it was required reading for students at the Academy of Sorcery. Handing it to Gala, he said, “Try this one. It might be a bit more challenging.”
She took the book and started flipping through it. Within two minutes, she was done.
When she looked up at him, her face was glowing. “Blaise, this is so interesting,” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe so little was known before Lenard the Great came along. He discovered all these things about nature and how the mind works, not to mention the Spell Realm—”
Blaise nodded, smiling despite his shock. “Yes, he was a genius. And his students continued his work. That’s what the Enlightenment was about. Lenard and the sorcerers who followed in his footsteps shed light on our world, on the nature and mathematics of reality, on human psychology and physics—”
“Oh, I would’ve loved to meet him,” Gala breathed, her eyes huge with excitement. “He reminds me of you . . .”
“Of me?” Blaise couldn’t help laughing at that. “I’m very flattered, but I could never live up to Lenard’s achievements.”
Gala tilted her head to the side, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know about that,” she said. “You did create me, after all.”
“That’s true.�
� Blaise had to concede that point. “I’m sure Lenard would’ve loved to meet you as well. It’s too bad he disappeared over two centuries ago. His achievements live on, however, in all these books.” He gestured around the room.
She turned to look at the bookshelves and walked up to one of them, gently running her fingers over the dusty book spines.
“If you’d like to read more, my entire library is yours,” Blaise offered, seeing how she appeared to be drawn to the books. “It’s not as comprehensive as what you’d find in the Tower, but it should occupy even you for a bit.”
“I’ll start with more romances, I think,” she said, turning her head to flash him a dazzling smile. “That first book was more difficult for me.”
“You found the romance more difficult?”
“Of course,” she said seriously. “The second book made so much sense, and it flowed so easily, but the romance was more challenging. I didn’t fully understand all aspects of those people’s actions.”
Blaise stared at her. “I see. Well, read whatever you want. My library is at your disposal.”
Gala grinned at him, as eager as a child, and dove into another book, flipping through it with the same inhuman speed.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Blaise decided to leave her to it and quietly exited the library.
He needed some time to himself to figure out what happened and to think about what to do next.
* * *
Entering his study, Blaise sat down at his desk and pricked his finger, starting a Life Capture session out of habit. He always recorded himself at work these days, just in case he had some kind of a revelation and needed to relive it later.
Of course, he wasn’t expecting to have any kind of revelation about Gala right now. What happened today was so incredible, he could barely begin to process it.
He had created a magical being. A super-intelligent magical being with potential for unimaginable powers.
A being who was also the most beautiful woman Blaise had ever seen.
In hindsight, the fact that Gala took on a human shape made perfect sense. Blaise had been striving to create a mind that was similar to a human’s—a mind that could understand regular spoken language and convert it into the sorcery code directly, without having to use any kind of magical objects or spells. He should’ve considered the possibility that a mind like that would take on a human appearance.
But he hadn’t, focusing instead only on the idea that an intelligent object created in the Spell Realm could be used by anyone, regardless of their aptitude for sorcery. An object like that—particularly if made in large quantities—would’ve been a game changer, forever altering the class dynamics in their society and completing the process started by the Enlightenment.
Gala was not the object he’d meant to create, but it didn’t matter. She was something else—something even more wonderful.
His brother Louie would’ve been proud, Blaise thought, reaching for his journal.
Chapter 5: Augusta
The sun was beginning to set, and Barson issued the order to stop for the night. Augusta gladly dismounted and stretched, her body aching from unaccustomed exercise. She would have to do a healing spell on herself later; otherwise, she might be sore tomorrow.
“Dinnertime for your men?” she asked, following Barson toward a tent that the soldiers were already setting up for him.
“First practice, then dinner,” he said, courteously lifting the tent flap for her. “You can rest if you’d like. I should be with you in an hour or so.”
“Rest in a tent while your boys play with swords?” Augusta lifted her eyebrows at him. “You’re joking, right? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
He grinned at her. “Then come and watch.”
They walked together to a small clearing where most of the other guards were gathered. As they approached, Barson’s men respectfully stepped aside, clearing the way for them.
“Why don’t you get on your chaise?” Barson suggested, turning toward her. “It will provide you with a good view and keep you safely out of the way.”
Augusta smiled, charmed by his concern for her. “Sure, let me get it.” Although she’d ridden here on the horse, she’d had the chaise follow them at some distance, just in case it was needed.
Pulling out her Interpreter Stone—a shimmering black rock that resembled a large piece of polished coal with a slot in the middle—Augusta loaded it with a pre-written spell for summoning her chaise and waited. Two minutes later, the chaise arrived, landing softly on the grass. Deep red in color, it was shaped like the piece of furniture it had been named after. However, it was made of a special crystalline material that looked like glass but was warm and soft to the touch, like a plush, padded armchair. Augusta had invented this particular magical object fairly recently, and it had caught on among the sorcerer community immediately. It looked quite incongruous here, among all the trees, and Augusta almost laughed at the looks on the men’s faces as they stared at it.
Climbing onto the chaise, Augusta did a quick verbal spell to get it hovering in the air a little to the right above the clearing. Then, comfortably tucking her feet underneath herself, she leaned on one of the sides and prepared to watch the spectacle that was about to unfold.
* * *
Archery practice was first.
Augusta watched in fascination as one man let loose a strange-looking arrow. Large and covered with extra feathers, it appeared to be flying a little slower than usual, making it easier to see mid-flight.
Before she could wonder about its purpose, she saw the feathery arrow get hit by another arrow—an ordinary one this time. Apparently, the large arrow was the target—a target that some soldier had managed to hit with unbelievable accuracy.
Looking down on the ground, she saw that the men were divided into pairs, with one guard sending up those arrows and his partner shooting them down. Every time the target was reached, there would be cheers from the other soldiers. If Augusta hadn’t seen this herself, she wouldn’t have believed it was possible to perform this feat even once—yet every single one of Barson’s men managed to do this. The mathematics involved were staggering, and Augusta marveled at the ability of the human mind to do something so complicated without any conscious calculations.
Finally, it was Barson’s turn. Looking up, he gave her a wink, then motioned to his soldiers. To Augusta’s shock, not one, but two men sent up the special feathery arrows—and her lover’s arrow pierced them both in one shot. The other soldiers cheered, but not any louder than for any of the others. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time their Captain had done something so impossible.
After archery, the guards sparred with swords. Augusta watched with bated breath as steel clashed against steel, making her flinch every time someone narrowly avoided an injury. Even though this was only practice, the swords used by the men were quite real—and potentially quite deadly.
All of the soldiers appeared to be highly skilled, however, and nobody was getting hurt, causing Augusta to relax a little. Observing the fighters, she couldn’t help but take pleasure in the sight of their strong, fit bodies twisting and turning as they engaged in a kind of macabre dance. There was beauty to war, she thought, watching as they thrust and parried with incredible grace.
Barson was walking around the clearing, giving pointers and instructions to his soldiers. She wondered if he would fight as well—and if so, whether he would be as skilled with the sword as he was with the arrow.
As though in answer to her unspoken question, Barson walked to the middle of the clearing, stopping the fight between the men who were there. “You four,” he said, pointing at them, “I need some warm-up.”
Warm-up? Augusta grinned, realizing that her lover was probably trying to impress her.
The four big men approached Barson gingerly. Were they actually scared to go four against one? Augusta knew the Captain of the Sorcerer Guard was good at what he did, but she had never actually seen him in action.
The four soldiers took their positions, surrounding their leader. What happened next was so amazing, Augusta couldn’t help but gasp.
Barson started moving slowly, in a strange pattern, somehow keeping all four men in his sight at all times. Then he lashed out with lightning speed, apparently spotting an opening, and Augusta saw a droplet of red welling up from a scratch on one of the soldiers’ wrists.
First blood, she thought, mesmerized by what was happening.
The blood seemed to serve as some kind of a signal, and all four guards attacked at once. To Augusta’s untrained eye, there was only a flurry of movement. Barson’s blade seemed to be everywhere, blocking every move his opponents made with a skill and speed that seemed superhuman. There was something hypnotic in the way Barson moved. Every gesture, every move, was perfectly calibrated. He dodged thrusts, while using the same turn to deliver an attack. His deadly proficiency was breathtaking.
“More,” he shouted after a few minutes. “I need more.”
Four more fighters joined in. Augusta directed her chaise to fly closer, because all she could see now was a row of bodies surrounding Barson’s powerful figure.
Suddenly, there was a scream.
Augusta’s heart skipped a beat, but then she saw that one of the other soldiers—not Barson—was on the ground, clutching his thigh. The others stopped fighting, forming a circle around the wounded man.
Landing her chaise, Augusta quickly jumped off and ran toward them. Barson was kneeling beside the man, a look of dismay on his face. The soldiers stepped aside, letting her through, and her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the gushing wound in the man’s leg. To her astonishment, Augusta saw that the man was very young—barely more than a boy.
Barson ripped a strip of cloth from his shirt and tied it around the soldier’s thigh. “This should help the bleeding. I am sorry, Kiam,” he said somberly.
“These things happen in practice,” said Kiam, clearly trying to keep the pain out of his voice.
