by Garon Whited
“This would give me more time to consider, would it not?”
“You’d have to keep the dynamos shut down,” I told him. “They’ll pump you up again much more quickly than switching bodies. They’re a constant thing, not a once-a-decade thing. And if you have to switch bodies, I don’t know how far along it will put you toward…” I gestured at him. “…where you are now.”
“But you can reduce the power, make this body last out the year, perhaps several?”
“I think so. You may need to keep healing spells running on it the whole time to reverse or at least reduce the effects of your occupancy, but I see no reason why you can’t keep the body you’re in for quite a while.”
“And I can restore my spirit’s power to the degree required to make the transformation?”
“Easily. Just doing what you’ve been doing will get you there. It’s just a matter of time. Once you’ve made the… how to put this? Once you perceive and manipulate the forces involved, you can’t help but absorb the energies directed at you.” A thought occurred to me.
“Actually,” I continued, mulling it over, “it might be…”
“What?”
“I just realized. Instead of a sudden ascension, a slower process might be safer. If you keep the dynamos turned off and stick to a chain process, it gives you a chance to adjust incrementally. Eventually you’ll tip over into the celestial realms, but you’ll have been borderline for so long it might not be too bad. And if we bleed off some of the energies you’re trying to contain right now, you’ll have experienced a higher-order level of power, partly acclimated to it, and be more prepared for it next time. A series of rising energies and temporary decreases might also make your eventual transition—assuming you do want to be a god—much smoother.”
Rahýfel nodded.
“I understand. May I impose upon you to cast your spell? Give me time. I want to feel the pleasures of the flesh in a body not collapsing under the weight of my soul. Let me know again what it is to be a man, hale and full of life, before I make such a decision.” He rubbed his face with both gloved hands and sighed. Thin trickles of blood came from two places on his face—pores teased into bloodshed, perhaps, by the touch and by the fragility of his skin. The droplets ran down unnaturally quickly, spreading as thin streaks through his clothes, migrating downward. Crawling, almost, as though trying to reach the floor quickly. Dang.
“I am weary,” he went on, not noticing, “of the constant pains of this flesh. It would be worthwhile simply to be able to sleep without artificial aids.”
“If that’s what you want. I’ll also want to know how you feel about my proposed punch in the snoot to the Temple.”
“What do I care about a bunch of self-righteous, interfering priests?” he scoffed. Then he caught himself. “But they are my priests…”
“If you want to go down that road, yes. I won’t be destroying them all, of course. Maybe just the temple in Sarashda. Maybe not even that. Absolute worst case? All the other Temples will still be around. Plus, you’ll still have my dynamos.”
“Your proposed actions would, in fact, further delay the need to decide on my own ascension?”
“In effect, yes. I believe so.”
“Then, with your… dynamos?”
“Dynamos.”
“…I may still choose to ascend to the plane of the gods?”
“Pretty much, yeah. With or without them, it’s likely you’ll have to face this choice again, unless you find something immortal to occupy.”
“I am pleased. I wish to have that time.”
“Okay. Do you have somewhere you can lie down comfortably?”
“Yes. What do you need to cast your spell? My workroom is at your disposal.”
“My… resources are in good order,” I told him. “The method I will use is not a spell. You’ll understand it better if you ever decide to ascend.”
“Ah! I see! Yes, it would follow, would it not? The use of such powers to affect my own? Very well. This way, if you please.”
The local wizards did, indeed, favor the “messy bits” method of spellcasting. The laboratory into which he ushered me was well-equipped for such things, but I noted a conjuring circle with a number of glyphs and symbols similar to the more universal lexicon, derived from Rethven’s magical history and Diogenes’ relentless refinement. While they might not use the same techniques, I had no doubt as to the efficacy of their spells.
Rahýfel activated a number of spells designed to make the room private, cleared some implements from a table, and seated himself on it. I helped him swing his feet up.
“Will there be pain?” he asked.
“I don’t think so, but I don’t know for certain. This is a fairly rare occurrence, you understand.”
“Surely.”
“Do you want anyone in here while I do this?”
“No.” He looked pained for a moment. “I had my servants and colleagues observing us during the interview, for I did not know you or your intent until I… until we gazed into one another.”
“Sensible,” I agreed.
“As for this, I would not have them observe such a procedure. I find it difficult enough to display the weakness of this dying body.”
“Fair enough. Take a deep breath and clench your teeth, just in case,” I told him, taking out the quantum crystal from its pouch.
He did so and I touched him, lightly, with a tendril. Power surged along it immediately. It was not his soul, since I wasn’t driving deep into him with the intent to kill him. No, I was reaching into the outer boundaries, past the layer of the physical vitality and into his spirit. The hard, bright light that made him who he was remained untouched, but the… the light, the energy, the radiation it gave off—that I could gather and draw away, grounding it out.
I focused on the crystal, trying to transform the energies stolen from the not-quite-energy-being into something my altar ego could use. The crystal resonated with me, both of us thrumming like a high-voltage line. Power flowed out of me in a nonspecific but definite direction—one not found in the normal three. We had contact, albeit only faintly, but while it was insufficient for communication it served well enough for a channel of energies.
I kept a close eye on Rahýfel, gauging his spiritual force. I figured losing anywhere from a third to a half would be sufficient to let a physical body survive, with help, for at least a normal span of years. If I was wrong, then at least it would live longer…
Rahýfel made no complaint as the forces within him—or, more properly, of him—diminished. He grunted and breathed rapidly as the process began, but beyond a clenching of his fists, he made no other sign. When I felt we hit our target level, I withdrew my tendril and he relaxed. I spent a moment finishing my power transfer and closing the connection.
He took a couple of deep breaths as the tension slowly left him. He blinked a few times and sat up, carefully. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his hands.
“I feel…” he trailed off. “Better,” he decided. “Smaller, somehow. Weaker, but… less restricted?”
“Remember the man in the child’s clothes? Your body isn’t as tight, now. You fit into it better. Plus, the healing spells are gaining ground. You should improve for a while, possibly to full health.”
“Yes. I can feel them working even as we speak.” He swung his legs from the table and stood. “Physically, I feel much stronger. But within…”
“You’re still far more potent an entity than a normal human,” I cautioned. “You aren’t as powerful as you were, so be cautious about your spells until you calibrate yourself again.”
“I shall. Now, what may I do for you, Al of the House of Shadow and Flame? You have come down from a high place, or so I perceive, and have offered advice and aid. You have asked nothing of me in return.”
“Not a thing,” I agreed, wondering at the name of my House. How much did he see when he locked eyes with my altar ego? No, what did he see? “I only wanted to know how you felt ab
out the Temple and about your personal ascension. Since we’re not going to be at odds when I kick some clerical backside, I have everything I wanted from you.”
“Really.”
“Really. I try not to antagonize religions or wizards unless absolutely necessary.”
“A wise policy,” he agreed. “If I do decide, eventually, to undertake the transformation, will you be willing to assist me?”
“Of course. Bear in mind, though, it isn’t easy, and it’s not guaranteed.”
“I will evaluate the risks as my power grows again to such a point.” As he spoke, he put his hands inside his sleeves. My vision reflexively took note of the energies involved. He’d been holding something in each hand during the procedure. Now he replaced them in his sleeves. I wondered what they were. Defensive devices? Magical weapons? I saw they were powerful, but I didn’t have the opportunity to examine them. Even in my brief glimpse, the enchantments on his robes fuzzed them out.
“Wonderful,” I said, ignoring the devices. If he wasn’t going to use them, did it really matter what they were? “Well, I’ve done all I came for. I’ll bid you good evening and be on my way.”
“So quickly? I had thought to take instruction from you on the details of my possible decision.”
“And I’ll be happy to discuss all the options with you—later. I came here as part of something else. Now that we’re sorted out, I have to finish it. Then we can have another sit-down and talk.”
“You do intend to tell me what you know of these matters?” he pressed.
“Of course! How else are you going to make an informed decision?”
“Very well. I have seen your heart, as you have seen mine, so I believe you.”
“Good!” I lied, realizing he had a look at my altar ego, not at me. “You enjoy your time. I’ll be back.” I headed for the door.
“Wait. Please.”
“What?”
“What if you are killed in the… what did you call it? The kicking of clerical backsides?”
“You mean, what happens if my physical form is rendered uninhabitable and I’m forced to exist on a higher plane?”
“Yes.” He blinked and I saw the realization hit him. “Oh.”
“Yes. ‘Oh’.”
“I hadn’t thought of it in such a light.”
“There you go. You’ll get your answers, regardless.”
“Then I shall show you out.”
I didn’t like the way he said it. It gave the impression I might not be able to leave if he didn’t allow it. Maybe I’m just oversensitive. On the other hand, I cycled something like a third of his soul through my vampiric digestion. I might have better insight into his character than I did before.
We ascended—one floor—and his… flunkies? Co-wizards? Apprentices? More people met us as we came upstairs. He hushed them, smiling, and showed me to the door. The youngest of them, a late-teens young man, hurried ahead to unbolt, unbar, and unspell the door.
“I look forward to your return,” Rahýfel told me.
“I look forward to our future discussions,” I lied. We parted on what might be called good terms and they shut the door behind me.
Bronze, still standing where I left her, turned her head and breathed a wispy cloud of pale yellow fire. It outlined, rather than illuminated, a figure standing at her side. He yelped and brushed rapidly at himself to ensure he wasn’t ignited.
“Well, now that I know you’re there,” I said, “perhaps you’d be so good as to drop the invisibility spell.”
I didn’t mention I was impressed. Invisibility spells—good ones—are tricky, finicky, difficult pieces of work. I wondered if they perfected a “messy bits” version and how difficult it was to get the proper bits. This was a very good one. I couldn’t tell if it hid him from my nonstandard visual ranges or if he wore other spells.
The wizard who appeared was the original doorman.
“We do not have much time,” he whispered. “My absence will be noted before long.”
“Talk quickly, then.”
“Am I to understand the master will ascend to the realm of the gods and so become one?”
“Yes.”
“He will be the god of wizards?”
“Yes.”
“Yet, for now, he is still mortal.”
“Yes.”
“If he were to meet his mortal end now, would he instantly ascend? Or might such a position of power be open for one who seeks it?”
“His spirit is still mighty,” I warned him. “He could assume the mantle of godhood, I think, but no one can say for certain. It would depend largely on the circumstances of his mortal death. If he did not, it would be possible for someone else to take up the mantle, although it would be a long, difficult road to even reach were your master is now.”
“If such a one were to ask your aid in the endeavor—the ascension, I mean—would you still give it?”
“Of course. But I must also advise caution,” I added, seizing Bronze’s saddlehorn and swinging up.
“Caution? In what matter?”
“What do you call the magical distortion at the target end of your scrying spells?” I asked. “The part appearing near the thing you wish to see?”
“It is the saskati. Why?”
“Because one just disappeared from above us.”
His head snapped up, eyes wide, but there was nothing to see.
“Caution,” I added, “is a valuable quality. Good luck to you.”
Bronze turned in place and we departed on blue-green lightning.
The trip back was something more than a thousand miles. While Bronze could get me home before lunchtime—and, indeed, was perfectly willing to do so—I elected to take a gate shortcut for most of the way. Since the front door of the city hall was abuzz with activity, I felt we should find another gate locus. There wasn’t one immediately available, but there was considerable forest not too distant. We shot down the road until we were well within the woods.
A gate locus doesn’t require much in the way of definition. I generally prefer to use more permanent and elaborate gates with iridium and orichalcum, as well as built-in power crystals, mostly because those are less costly in personal energies. On the other hand, two close trees and a third one, suitably stripped, to act as a crossbeam will work in a pinch. I was twenty minutes building the thing, another ten casting the spell, and maybe five seconds in getting us through it.
If the things weren’t so magically expensive, I could revolutionize the transportation industry. Heck, there was one time I nearly went to the Moon—involuntarily—and later, deliberately, to Mars! When it comes down to it, there’s no reason I can’t go to another solar system or even another galaxy. But it all comes back to how much do you want to move at a time, how often, and how much magic you want to spend.
I once wondered if it would be possible and worthwhile to explore one Earth universe. Instead of various worlds of the multiverse, how about some straightforward space exploration? Distant stars, strange planets, alien races, and galaxies far, far away. I could look at blue giants, red giants, and white dwarfs. I could stand on a comet. I could get a look at Saturn’s rings, up close and personal. I could find out how alien blood tastes.
I don’t even know if aliens are edible. I don’t even know if there are aliens.
In the meantime, Bronze and I stepped out into Sarashda. She carried me around for a bit while I gathered up power the hard way and prepared two spells.
As we passed, I considered the Temple. I didn’t see anything to stop me from walking in, killing anything in a robe, and searching the place. I knew better than to try. I didn’t see the low-power glow of the Temple’s celestial charge, but I didn’t see the Vatican’s holy ground, either. It’s been a while, though, and I’m growing more familiar with the energies involved. Would I see something if I looked for it? Maybe. But it might involve sticking my head inside the holy reactor to see if it’s running. I don’t like that sort of experiment.
While the Temple grounds have shielding from scrying—to preserve the privacy of the priests, I presume—they do not have the more general shielding to prevent the casting of spells within the environs. I think this is to facilitate their hired wizards’ abilities, rather than any lack of concern. I appreciated this, of course, when we walked by on the street and I cast my spells at the Temple.
The first was an architectural spell and quite helpful to their dome. The crown of the dome would thin even more as stone slowly flowed downward, reducing the top weight as it redistributed lower down. It wouldn’t bring down the dome. There simply wasn’t enough power. But it would make the roof eggshell thin. It wouldn’t be noticeable from the inside, of course, and it would actually help the structural integrity of the dome, overall.
The second spell went down into the foundation. Whatever sort of foundation it might have, the masonry extended down into the ground. An inch or so below ground level, however, stones would find themselves dividing gradually in two. It wouldn’t affect the building. It would stand as it was, unchanged. But it would be like a man standing on ice, held in place by balance rather than mechanical force. Friction and the surrounding earth would be the only thing preventing someone of sufficient strength from pushing on the structure and sliding it in any direction.
I doubted I could do it. Bronze could, but I didn’t plan for her to even try.
Bronze paused in our promenade along the street. She deliberately put one hoof on the Temple grounds. Nothing untoward happened. Clearly, she was willing to carry me if I couldn’t walk.
“No,” I told her, wistfully. “Too much can go wrong. I can’t play ‘The Floor Is Lava’ while no one else does.”
