The Sorcery Code

by Dima Zales

  “Life Captures tend to be all-consuming,” Blaise said. “That’s what most people like about them. Some are even addicted to the experience. When your own life is lacking, being someone else provides a powerful escape. I, like you, don’t enjoy the feeling of losing myself, but I embrace the chance to learn more about people by seeing life from their perspective.”

  “Yes, I could see that. I must admit, I got a chance to learn that you have a beautiful mind,” she told him honestly. “So different, yet similar to my own.” It had been enlightening to witness his thought processes, and Gala felt like she understood her creator better now.

  He gave her a warm smile, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thank you.”

  She felt a sudden urge to touch his smiling lips, but she fought the impulse, having gleaned from books that uninvited touches were not socially acceptable. “I would like to see another Life Capture,” she said instead. “From someone who is not you.” As strange as the experience had been, Blaise was right: it gave her a chance to learn.

  Blaise gave her an approving look. “I have some left over from the batch that was meant for your learning while you were in the Spell Realm.” Taking out a droplet from a different cabinet, he handed it to Gala.

  She put it under her tongue and tried to get her body to use it, like it did the last time. Only this time she focused on not letting it consume her completely, as it did before.

  * * *

  She was a village girl, working in a garden near a large field of grass. The day was sunny, and the field was beautiful, with wildflowers that were just beginning to bloom. All of this grass would be gone soon, making way for wheat and other grains.

  Looking down, she flexed her arms, noticing the play of muscle underneath her smooth skin. She was strong for a girl, her body toned from laboring on the farm her entire life. She enjoyed that part of her life, the endless cycle of planting and harvesting. Now that the spring was here, her family would soon be hard at work—

  * * *

  Gala stopped the vision. It was difficult to stay detached. For a brief moment, she had been that girl, and the experience was as disorienting as before.

  “This person seems familiar,” she told Blaise. “I think I’ve been inside her mind before, in the Spell Realm.”

  He smiled at her, no longer startled by her quick exit. “Yes, I’m not surprised you recognize her. I’ve gotten most of my droplets from Maya and Esther, my friends in the village. They have many talents, including natural healing and midwifery. And in exchange for their services, they’ve been requesting Life Captures from women that they help. A payment of sorts, which they’ve been passing on to me . . .” His voice trailed off, and there was now a thoughtful look on his face.

  “What is it?” Gala asked, intrigued.

  “It just occurred to me why you might have taken that shape,” he said, studying her as though seeing her for the first time.

  “What shape?” Gala gave him a questioning look.

  “That of a girl.”

  “You don’t like it?” she asked, feeling inexplicably disappointed.

  “Oh, no,” he reassured her. “I do. Believe me, I like it a little too much.” His eyes darkened, color appearing high on his cheekbones, and Gala smiled, delighted that he liked her appearance. Looks were important to people; she knew that also from her readings.

  He cleared his throat, still looking a little uncomfortable. “What I meant to say earlier is I think you look like a girl because so many of the Life Captures I sent to you were from the village women—the majority of them, in fact.”

  Gala nodded. That made sense to her. Her subconscious mind had likely chosen the female form based on the visions she experienced through the Life Captures. And since most of the Life Captures were from women, it was only logical that her mind had decided to take that shape.

  “So would you like to see one more Life Capture?” Blaise asked. “I smuggled this one from the Tower of Sorcery.”

  “Yes, I would love to,” Gala told him.

  * * *

  The young sorceress was sitting in one of the study rooms in the Tower of Sorcery. For the first time ever, she was writing the sorcery code for her own spell. It was a tremendous milestone in her education, and she wanted to make Master Kelvin proud of her achievements.

  This spell was of the more difficult verbal variety, since all students had to learn the old-fashioned way before they could get access to the simpler magical language and the Interpreter Stone. To reduce the possibility of errors, she went over the logic of the spell and verified that everything seemed correct. Of course, she knew that the only way to be certain was to say the spell out loud.

  Gathering her courage, she spoke the sentences that she’d prepared, following them up with the arcane words of the Interpreter Spell. Then she watched as a small floating fire sphere appeared in front of her, just as she had coded. She laughed with excitement and exhilaration, feeling like she had just conquered the world.

  All of a sudden, there was a flash of bright light in the room and the sphere exploded, shards of glass and burning wood raining everywhere.

  The explosion knocked the young woman off her feet, but she managed to remain conscious. The room, however, was nearly destroyed.

  Her spell had failed.

  * * *

  Gala stopped the Life Capture and decided not to do any more for the time being. It was just too unsettling for her. This last girl’s mind had been filled with such deep negative emotions of disappointment and fear that Gala was still feeling some residual effects of that.

  “You’re out of it again?” Blaise asked as soon as Gala’s eyes opened.

  “I don’t think I want to learn about the world this way,” she told him. “I want to experience everything myself, not through someone else’s eyes.”

  “Gala . . .” Blaise sounded unhappy again, his brow furrowing in a frown. “That’s not a good idea. I already explained. If we go out there, everybody is going to be curious about you. The only thing you’ll get to experience is their stares. They’ll want to know where you come from and who you are—”

  “Because of you,” Gala said, recalling what he’d told her earlier. “Because you’re an outcast.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “All right,” Gala said, coming to a decision. “Then I’ll go by myself. I don’t want everybody to watch me just because I’m with you. I want to blend in, to live as your regular people.” That last part was important to her. She was different, but she didn’t want to feel different.

  “You want to pretend to be one of the peasants?” Blaise gave her an incredulous look.

  “Yes,” Gala said firmly. “That’s what I want.”

  “That’s not a good idea—” Blaise started again, but Gala held up her hand, interrupting him mid-sentence.

  “Am I your prisoner?” she asked quietly, feeling herself starting to get upset again.

  “Of course not!”

  “Am I your property, a magical object that is yours?”

  Blaise shook his head, looking frustrated. “No, Gala, of course you’re not. You’re a thinking being—”

  “Yes, I am.” Gala was glad he accepted that fact. “And I know what I want, Blaise. I want to go out there and see the world, to live as a normal person.”

  He sighed and ran his hand through his dark hair. “Gala . . .”

  She just stared at him, not saying anything. She had made her wishes clear. She was not an object or a pet to be kept in his house—not when there was so much to see and experience here in the Physical Realm.

  “All right,” he finally said. “Remember Maya and Esther, the friends I mentioned to you before? They live in the village where I grew up. Esther was my nanny, and I think of her and her friend Maya as my aunts, even though we’re not related by blood. I want them to watch over you, if you don’t mind, to help guide you until you’re more familiar with our world.”

  “That sounds like a great id
ea,” Gala said, all negative emotions vanishing in an instant. “I would love to meet both of them.” In general, she wanted to meet more people, and she liked the idea of getting to know those who were important to Blaise.

  “One thing, though,” Blaise said, staring at her intently, “you can’t tell anybody about your origins. It could get both of us in trouble.”

  Gala nodded. “I understand.” She would do as Blaise asked, especially since she wanted others to see her as a regular human being, not some curiosity of nature.

  Her creator looked somewhat reassured. “Good. Then I will take you to the village.”

  “Is that a village that’s part of your holdings?” Gala asked, remembering from her readings that most of the land surrounding Turingrad was divided into territories—and that each territory belonged to some sorcerer.

  “Yes.” Blaise looked uncomfortable with this topic. “It’s part of my territory.”

  “And the people living there belong to you, right?”

  Blaise frowned. “Only by the strictest letter of the law. It’s an archaic custom that’s an unfortunate leftover from the feudal times. The Sorcery Revolution was supposed to eradicate it, but it failed in that, as it did in so many other things. Despite the Enlightenment, we still live in the Age of Darkness in some ways. This aspect of our society is something that I would very much like to change.”

  Gala nodded again. She’d gathered that much from the fact that he was so focused on helping the common people. “I understand,” she said. “So when can I go there, to your village?”

  “How about tomorrow?” Blaise suggested, still looking less than pleased with the idea.

  “Tomorrow would be great.” Gala gave him a big smile. And then, unable to contain her excitement, she did something she’d only read about.

  She came up to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled his head down to her for a kiss.

  Chapter 11: Augusta

  Flying high above the road on her chaise, Augusta observed the shocked looks on peasants’ faces as fifty soldiers suddenly materialized out of thin air in front of them. Few laypeople even knew that teleporting spells existed, much less had ever seen the effects of one.

  The peasants in the front abruptly stopped, and the people following them stumbled into them, causing a few to tumble to the ground. The fallen immediately got up, holding out their clubs and pitchforks protectively, but it was too late. They’d shown themselves for the clumsy weaklings that they were.

  Knowing what was coming, Augusta smiled. They would get a bigger shock in a moment.

  “Who is in charge here?” Barson’s voice boomed at them, hurting Augusta’s enhanced hearing for a moment. She’d used magic to increase the volume of her lover’s voice, and she could see that the spell had had its intended effect. Some of the rebels now looked simply terrified.

  At that moment, a giant of a man wearing a smith’s apron walked out of the crowd. In his hand, he was holding a large, heavy-looking sword. A blacksmith, Augusta guessed. His presence explained some of the weapons the rebels were carrying.

  “Nobody is in charge,” the giant roared back, trying to match Barson’s deep tones. “We’re all equals here.”

  Barson raised his eyebrows. “Well, then, you can tell all your ‘equals’ that we have an army waiting just up this hill.” His voice was at a normal volume now; Augusta’s spell only worked for a short period of time.

  The peasant openly sneered. “And we have an army about to march up this hill—”

  “More like a bunch of hungry peasants,” Barson interrupted dismissively.

  The man’s lip curled in a snarl. “What do you want?”

  “It’s more about what I don’t want,” the Captain of the Guard said coolly. “I don’t want unnecessary slaughter.”

  The blacksmith laughed, throwing his head back. “We don’t mind killing all of you, and it’s quite necessary.”

  Barson didn’t respond, just lifted his eyebrows and continued looking at the man.

  “You’re afraid of us,” the peasant sneered again. “What, you think a little sorcery and threats are enough to make us turn back?”

  Augusta’s lover gave him an even look. “I would rather not make martyrs out of you. I understand that the drought is making life difficult for everyone, but you are marching on Turingrad. Even if we didn’t kill you—and we will, if you force us—a single sorcerer there could destroy you in a moment.”

  The man scowled. “We’ll see about that.”

  “No,” Barson said, “we won’t. I will give you a chance to see how futile your rebellion is. Your ten best fighters against one of us—any one of us.”

  “Oh, right.” The man snorted. “And if we win?”

  “You won’t,” Barson said, his confidence so absolute that for the first time, Augusta could see a glimmer of doubt on the blacksmith’s face.

  A moment later, however, the peasant recovered his composure. “This is pointless,” he said, making a move to turn back.

  “You’re scared of us!” A taunting voice—surprisingly high-pitched and youthful—seemed to come out of nowhere, causing the peasant to stop in his tracks. Turning, the huge commoner stared at the young soldier who was pushing his way to the front.

  It was Kiam, the boy Augusta had healed during practice.

  Before the peasant could respond, Kiam yelled out, “Ten to one is not enough for you cowards—you’re still scared! Why don’t you do fifteen to one? Or how about twenty? Think you’d be less scared then?”

  The blacksmith visibly swelled with rage, his bearded face turning a dark red color. “Shut your mouth, pup!” he bellowed and, pulling out his sword, charged at Kiam.

  Augusta gripped the side of her chaise, tense with anxiety, as the slim youth unsheathed his own sword, preparing to meet the peasant rushing at him like a maddened bull.

  The blacksmith lunged at Kiam, and Kiam gracefully dodged to the side, his movements smooth and practiced. Howling, the commoner charged again, and Kiam raised his sword. Before Augusta could even understand what happened, the peasant froze, a red line appearing on his neck. Then he collapsed, his huge bulk hitting the ground with tremendous force. His head, separated from the body, rolled on the ground, coming to a stop a few feet away.

  Kiam’s sharp sword had sliced through the man’s thick neck as easily as a knife moving through butter.

  For a moment, there was only stunned silence. Then Barson laughed. “I said ten, the boy said fifteen, but you sent only a single man,” he yelled at the shocked peasants.

  In response, five other men pushed through the peasant crowd. While none of them were as big as the dead peasant, they all appeared larger and stronger than Kiam. They were also much more cautious than the blacksmith had been, approaching the boy silently, a look of grim determination on their hard faces.

  When they reached him, the first man made a lunge for the boy, which Kiam dodged, like before. This time, however, he proceeded to slice at the man’s midsection. Another two peasants attacked at the same time, but Kiam, like a dancer, moved his body away from the blows, and swung his sword. Three more men were on the ground in moments. The last man standing hesitated for a moment, but it was too late for him, too. Without giving the man time to make up his mind, the young soldier jumped and sliced.

  The last attacker was no more.

  Augusta could hear murmuring in the crowd. This was the critical moment, what Barson had been counting on with this demonstration. One fairly small boy against several large men—there could be no clearer statement of the soldiers’ fighting abilities. If the peasants had any common sense, they would turn back now.

  At least, that’s what Barson had been hoping. Augusta had been uncertain about this part of the plan—and she could now see that she’d been right to doubt. The peasants had come too far to be deterred so easily, and instead of retreating, they began to advance, pulling out their weapons. As they got closer to the soldiers, they spread out and started
flanking Barson’s men.

  This was the point at which Augusta needed to teleport the soldiers back. Her hands shaking, she reached for the pre-written spell, and the card slipped from her fingers, falling off the chaise. She gasped, frantically trying to catch it, but it was futile. As the card flew to the ground, Augusta was overcome by a panic unlike anything she had ever experienced.

  If her spell failed, she would be responsible for the deaths of Barson and his men.

  Chapter 12: Blaise

  Shocked, Blaise took a step back, staring at Gala. Did she realize what she was doing, kissing him like that?

  Despite her startling beauty, he had been trying not to think of her this way. She had just come to this world, and in his eyes, she was as innocent as a child. Her actions, however, belied that idea.

  This was getting complicated. Very complicated, very quickly.

  Swallowing, Blaise thought about what to say. He could still feel her soft lips pressed against his own, her slim arms embracing him, holding him close. He hadn’t realized that he would react to her so strongly, that it would take all his strength to step away from that kiss.

  She took a step toward him. “Um, Blaise?”

  “Gala, do you understand what a kiss means?” he asked carefully, trying to control his instinctive reaction to her nearness.

  “Of course.” Her blue eyes were large and guileless, looking up at him.

  “And what does it mean to you?” Was she just experimenting with him, trying to ‘learn’ about this aspect of life as she tried to learn about everything else?

  “The same thing that it means to everyone, I imagine,” she said. “I read about it. There are a lot of stories about men and women kissing if they find each other attractive. And you find me attractive too, right?” There was a questioning look on her delicate face.

  Blaise knew he had to tread carefully. Despite his aptitude for sorcery, he was far from an expert when it came to understanding women. The charming creatures had always mystified him, and here was one who was not even human. He might’ve created her, but her mind was as mysterious to him as the depths of the ocean.