The Severed Realm

by Michael G. Manning

  Chapter 4

  I returned home alone. Irene was still in the capital, though I presumed she’d be along after a while, unless she chose to spend some time with Carissa Thornbear.

  The house was empty. Completely empty. Alyssa was still away, and Matthew and Karen were both absent. If she had taken him somewhere, he could be literally anywhere in the world.

  It was probably the first time I had been in the house without anyone else present since Penny’s death. I had thought I was used to the empty feeling that now predominated there, but the feeling was so intense now it made me want to run, to get out.

  This isn’t healthy, I thought. I needed to stay busy.

  There was plenty to do. I had a newly created castle to work on. It was still far too hot for anyone to enter without protection, but I could try to accelerate the cooling process. Otherwise it might take a year for the heat stored in all that stone to dissipate. Unfortunately, moving that much water would require me to use my abilities as an archmage again, and without Irene there I didn’t dare.

  I still had enchanting projects in my workshop to finish, so I decided to see if I could find something there to keep my mind off of things. I set off, but on my way, I passed through the living room. There on the table was a large bottle of amber liquid, a gift from Chad Grayson.

  It was tempting to sit down and have a drink—or ten. I had done a lot of drinking over the past week, primarily at the Muddy Pig, with Cyhan and Chad. Drinking alone had never been very appealing to me.

  But now it was.

  I stood still for a long moment, staring at the bottle, before continuing on my way. Now was not the time to get drunk. Passing through the kitchen, I went out the back door and walked through the garden. Even the damned vegetables made me think of her.

  Finally, I reached my workshop, my quiet sanctuary. I hadn’t been inside in weeks, but I had no worry about it. It was the one place that was all me, and only me. There, I pursued personal projects. Penny had almost never been inside, and she certainly hadn’t decorated it. If there was one place that would have few reminders of what I had lost, that would be it.

  The enchanted globes set into the ceiling lit themselves as I entered, casting a cheerful, warm glow over the room. One wall was dominated by books, mainly my notebooks, sketches, and personal logs. I kept them not as much for myself as for my descendants. My memory was such that I never needed to refer back to them.

  Another wall held a long table, covered with a miscellany of old projects and special tools, as well as raw materials. It was a sort of storage area, a random jumble of things set aside to avoid cluttering my main workspace, which was the main table in the center of the room.

  On that table was a set of nearly completed plate armor. Lying beside the armor was the prosthetic arm that was also very close to finished. Both had been meant for Penny.

  Damn it!

  My emotions rose and slammed into me like a giant wave, destroying my equilibrium. Without thinking, I turned and left the workshop, quickly shutting the door behind me. Trying not to remember what I had seen, I went back into my house, walked to the living room, and grabbed the bottle. Then I sat down and began to drink.

  Through it all, I diligently tried to keep my mind blank—and failed utterly. Using my legendary focus, I tried to keep my attention on one thing. Pour, drink, swallow…

  After the burn subsided from each drink, I poured another, ignoring the feelings of rebellion that arose from my abused gut. Penny would not approve of this, I thought idly.

  My anger built at that thought, and the empty glass in my hand began to vibrate. I threw it across the room to shatter against the stone mantle of the fireplace. “That was self-defense,” I muttered roughly. “If I hadn’t thrown it, it would have shattered in my hands.”

  I don’t need a glass anyway, I realized. Lifting the bottle in one hand, I gave a sad chuckle. “I have the bottle.” It was still half full, so I raised it to my lips, hoping to remedy that problem. I choked.

  Good thing Chad wasn’t here to see that, I thought, setting the bottle down again as I struggled to maintain control over my rebelling stomach. The only good thing about the burning and nausea was that it made it easier not to think about my inner suffering. The alcohol was beginning to make itself more evident as my world devolved into a comfortable blur.

  Fifteen minutes and I’m already this drunk. When the rest of it hits, I’m going to be smashed. I felt a momentary sense of worry. I hadn’t been this intoxicated in—well, a very long time. Probably sometime before I had discovered my abilities as an archmage.

  “At least no one is home, in case I start melting things,” I slurred. My eyes lit upon the broken glass, and it occurred to me that someone might step on it and cut themselves. Reaching out with my power, I tried to gather the fragments but only succeeded in scattering them further. Shit.

  The low table in the center of the room seemed to sway on legs that were now rubbery. I tried to stand and quickly gave up on the idea, since it felt as though the house was beginning to get into rough waves. Everything was swaying from side to side.

  The glass still bothered me, though. I needed to do something about that. Since my control had degenerated, it made more sense that I do something simpler. Opening my mind, I tried to slip into the mind of the stone. That would probably clear my senses.

  I thought.

  It did something. Though, whether it was what I intended, I was no longer sure. The broken fragments melted into the floor, which was a plus, but everything else began to melt as well. The walls of the house sagged, and the furniture around me was drooping. Lifting my hand, I watched my fingers as they dripped toward the ground, and I began to laugh. Had anyone else ever seen something so hysterical? I doubted it.

  An indefinable period of madness ensued, in which the room whirled and shifted. The shadows came to life, and Dorian and Marcus appeared, dancing a slow waltz together across the room. The table that should have been in their way had long since vanished.

  At some point, Irene showed up, looking concerned as she stared down at me. “Dad! What are you doing?”

  I tried to answer, but my tongue rolled out of my mouth and somehow was long enough to reach my lap. Needless to say, it made speaking intelligibly impossible.

  Irene looked around in alarm, no doubt surprised to see the chairs wrestling in the corner. I wanted to tell her not to worry, since it was a friendly squabble between our furniture family members, but again, my words failed me. I stared up at her, my vision blurry, hoping she would relax.

  And then her face began to slide downward on one side, as though her bones were turning to jelly. Her mouth opened, and a scream of horror filled my ears.

  Oh no! What have I done? Helpless to control myself, I realized too late that my daughter had fallen victim to my reckless whims. Trapped within myself, I could only cry out silently, Penny!

  And then the world melted away.

  ***

  Some time later, I woke. I was in bed, and despite my recent indulgence I had not the faintest sign of a headache. Cautiously, I lifted my head and moved it back and forth, just to make sure my hangover wasn’t waiting to ambush me. Nothing.

  No pain, no nausea, and the world stayed comfortably solid, without the slightest sign of swaying or spinning. What happened?

  And then I remembered. Bolting out of the bed, I threw open the bedroom door and ran down the hall to Irene’s room. I found her sleeping inside, quiet and angelic in her slumber. There was no sign of the horrific melting I had seen before.

  Did I imagine it? That didn’t seem likely. Alcohol had never made me hallucinate, not that I had ever had so much to drink before. Closing her door quietly, I went to the living room, wondering what I would find.

  Everything looked normal, if scrupulously clean. The table was back in its place, and the chairs had untangl
ed themselves. Nothing had changed, other than it looked as though someone had given the room a thorough cleaning. The dust was gone, and the floor had been swept, or possibly even mopped. Had Alyssa returned early?

  My magesight found no evidence of anyone else in the house. Puzzled, I reached up and rubbed my beard, only to find it gone. Huh?

  Back to the bedroom, I sought out the mirror above Penny’s dressing table. As my hand and magesight had already confirmed, I was freshly shaven. I generally preferred to keep a well-groomed goatee on my chin, as well as a moustache, but both were gone. Over the past few weeks I hadn’t kept up with my grooming, which had resulted in a thick, itchy scruff over the rest of my cheeks, but all of that was gone now. Even my hair had been neatly trimmed.

  “This really is weird,” I said to myself. “Who gets drunk, cleans the house, and shaves?” In fact, I had been bathed as well. My nose was picking up the faint notes of the rose-scented bath oils that Penny kept in our bathroom. The thought of someone grooming, undressing, and bathing me, all while I was unconscious—well, it was unsettling to say the least. The only person I could think of who might be capable of it was Alyssa, and she was nowhere to be found. Surely my daughter hadn’t done all this before going to bed. If so, I would be even more embarrassed.

  An empty bottle of McDaniel’s finest sat on the dressing table, and beneath it I saw a sheet of paper. Putting the bottle to one side, I lifted the sheet and examined it. It bore a short line of words so badly written as to be almost illegible. I recognized the handwriting immediately, for there was only one person I knew with such bad penmanship. Penny.

  You’re an idiot. Endanger our children again, and I’ll make sure you don’t wake up next time.

  My vision blurred. Forgive me, Penny. Standing up, I squared my shoulders and sought out my clothes. Naturally, I found them laid out for me, neatly ordered and looking suspiciously smooth, as though they had been pressed.

  Trying not to think about what it all meant, I went to the kitchen. It was late morning already, and Irene would likely be hungry when she woke. There wasn’t much to work with, but there were fresh eggs in the yard and some hard bread in the pantry, so I did my best. Eggs and toast with butter were never a bad thing.

  Irene wandered in, having smelled the results. “Dad?”

  I gave her a brave smile. “Good morning.”

  Her face held an odd expression. “How did I wind up in bed?” she asked after a minute.

  I shrugged. “I had too much to drink last night, so my memory is foggy. I might have tucked you in.”

  “The living room,” she mumbled. “I thought you lost control.” An unpleasant memory passed through her mind, and she shuddered. “I don’t know what happened after that.”

  Facing her squarely, I apologized, “I’m sorry about last night. I never should have let myself drink so much. I certainly never wanted you to see me like that. I won’t let it happen again.”

  Irene looked uncertain, but then she noticed my bare chin. “You look better today, but I’m not used to seeing you without your beard. You look funny.”

  Somebody’s idea of a joke, I thought ruefully. “I had an accident with the razor and decided to start fresh. Give it a week, and it will look better.”

  We ate in silence after that, both of us lost in our private thoughts. I still couldn’t believe the note I had found, or the other evidence I had seen, but for some reason it shocked me less than I would have thought it would. I had been a wreck for over two weeks now, and this latest revelation, rather than reinforcing my grief, somehow gave me a feeling of peace.

  Glancing up, I found myself staring into Irene’s blue eyes. She was studying me with quiet intensity. “What?” I asked.

  “What are you planning to do today?” she asked.

  My first impulse was to tell her I would finish one of my projects—alone—but I stopped myself. That wouldn’t do. I needed to turn over a new leaf. My daughter was still new to her power, and she had much to learn. It wasn’t the time for me to retreat into my private world.

  “We,” I said with special emphasis, “will be doing some enchanting today.”

  “I know next to nothing about enchanting,” said Irene frankly. “Should I change my clothes?” As per her usual, she was wearing a dress that was more a thing of fashion than practicality.

  “Probably,” I answered with a nod.

  Fifteen minutes later, she met me in my workshop wearing a pair of linen breeches and an old shirt. “Where did you get those?” I asked, indicating her clothes.

  “They’re Conall’s,” she replied matter-of-factly, as though borrowing her brother’s clothes was something she did every day.

  I shrugged and got down to business, handing her a thin metal rod. “This is what you’ll be working on,” I told her.

  “Great. What’s it for?”

  “You’re going to make a rune channel, one of the all-around most versatile tools a wizard can have,” I explained. “With it, you can channel power with greater intensity and defeat protections that raw magic simply can’t overcome, such as enchanted defenses or spellwoven shields. It will also increase your range.”

  “You said it was versatile,” complained Irene. “It sounds like it’s only versatile as a weapon.”

  “Well, yes, but it’s also invaluable for creating other enchantments.”

  “How?”

  Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a delicate silver stylus. “This is a rune channel,” I told her. “If you look closely, you can see the tiny runes etched along the length.”

  Irene gaped. “They’re so small! How did you make them so fine?”

  I smiled. “With a rune channel.”

  “I don’t think you could make them that small with something this size,” she said, waving the wand I had given her.

  “You’re right,” I admitted. “To get down to something this size, you have to make a succession of smaller rune channels, but for most purposes, that wand will be the perfect size. You’ve seen the two that Elaine keeps with her.”

  “How come you never use a wand?” asked Irene. “I only see you with your staff most of the time.”

  “The staff suits me most of the time,” I explained. “When I need to do small work, I use the stylus. I rarely need anything in between.”

  My daughter looked thoughtful. “That makes sense. I think I’d rather have a stylus too, and a staff.”

  “A staff is rather cumbersome to carry around,” I declared. “That’s one reason Elaine prefers the wands.”

  “Not if I use a magic bag, like you do,” countered Irene.

  “Do you have one?” I asked, my eyes glinting with mischief.

  She stared at my belt, which held several such pouches, then started to say something but stopped. After a minute, she answered, “I’m guessing you won’t just give me one.”

  I smiled.

  We spent the next several hours working on her wand. I wish I could say it was a magical time of father-daughter bonding, but the reality was far more boring. This was the simplest type of enchanting, and I had chosen it because it made learning the fundamentals easier. Years before, I had done rather badly trying to teach Moira, first attempting to teach her the theory, then the practice. The result had been intense boredom for her, and consequently, a lack of interest.

  This time I was determined to teach by doing, explaining her failures when asked, and offering helpful advice when it was wanted. It was vastly more interesting for Irene, but for me it meant a lot more time watching and wishing I could speed things up.

  During some of the longer periods of empty time, I worked on the armor for Alyssa. Penny’s was nearly complete, but since the enchantment hadn’t been added to it yet, it was still possible for me to rework the metal, shaping some of the pieces to fit the younger woman’s measurements.

  I ha
d considered starting completely fresh, rather than using the armor I had made for my wife, but when I really thought it over that seemed foolish. What would I do with Penny’s armor? She had never worn it. Would I turn it into a memento, put it up in some sort of shrine? I had enough reminders already. Every square inch of our home was a reminder, full to the brim with the possessions we had collected together over the years. Even the nicks and dents in the furniture reminded me of her.

  “Dad?”

  Looking up, I saw Irene had a question written on her features. “Mm hmm?”

  “Why can’t I just resize this?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The enchantment is the same, whether it’s on a staff or that little stylus. Why can’t I just resize it?” she said, rewording her question.

  It was an interesting thought, but the answer was simple. “Because the substrate has to change too,” I answered. “It supports the runes and provides the proper geometry for them. You might be able to change the size of the runes themselves, but they’re etched into a solid material.”

  “What if you got rid of the solid part, the metal?” she suggested.

  I stared at her for a moment, puzzled. That wouldn’t work, I thought immediately, but then I felt a nagging doubt. Or would it?

  “You said enchanting was the same as She’Har spellweaving, right?” said Irene. “They don’t use materials for their spellweaves.”

  Spellweaving used different symbols and geometry, but the essence was the same. “But we need them to support the runes until everything is in place,” I said automatically, “since our minds can’t hold so many separate elements at one time.”

  Irene held up her nearly finished wand. “The metal is needed to create it, but what if you melted it afterward, let the metal dribble away until only the runes were left?”

  Intrigued, I gave it some serious thought. Eventually, I replied, “The runes are intangible. You couldn’t hold it with your hand.”