Biomancy

by Desdemona Gunn

  “Sounds good. Soup ‘n the office?”

  “Sure, no problem, sis.” Her granola finished with, she once more hobbled up onto her crutches and pathetically made her way out of the kitchen, through the living room, down the hallway and into her office/study. A big, heavy wooden desk took up most of the room, each of the walls being covered in wooden shelving littered with jars of ingredients, books of notes and study material, mortars and pestles stained with herb juices, and other accouterments.

  Around the desk sat a fine chair specially designed for her. An engineer passed through town many turns back from which her sister commissioned a special chair for Lea built to her anatomy. It was on wheels able to swivel which, combined with the measurements built custom to her, made it the perfect chair for her work. As she seated herself and moved the crutches to the corner, she opened a book and was promptly met with her sister delivering a bowl of foul soup.

  “Drink up, girlie.” She smiled almost apologetically. Lea read it to be patronizing, as she was wont to do.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m going out, message me if you need anything.”

  Lea didn’t respond to this, but waved her hand, causing a white rune to etch onto her palm, energy to course through her veins, her muscles to tense and shake, and white arcane whisps to exit her hand, fly to the door, and push it closed. Whirling around, she grabbed at a stone painted a sheer white with a deep cobalt rune on it. Several of them sat on a shelf just behind her desk.

  Lea created the stones with a custom enchantment quite a while ago. Much to her surprise, no one had invented such a stone before, so she had to do the spell herself without a preexisting blueprint. As much as most mages had issues with making their own spells or enchantments, Lea never had problems. She never attended school in the first place, so most of her magic had to be created with turns of study, practice, trial, and error.

  Shortly after she and her sister had obtained their own house, she made a deal with a travelling bard. Whenever he passed through Voorhaven, he’d stop by Lea’s place and pick up some stones. They were a simple enchanted rock that took in surrounding sounds and replayed them upon activation. With these rocks, an entire symphony orchestra could play at a moment’s notice whenever it pleased her.

  At this point in time, she had fifteen different musical pieces, and a violin/flute duet called to her. Lea set the stone off and the entire room filled with music as though the two were right there playing just for her. The soundtrack fit perfectly to her studies as she drifted into the book, letting the music take her entirely.

  The books she pored over were a mixture of scientific tomes describing anatomy, physiology, chemistry, general biology, and the like and arcane tomes outlining the various schools of magic, the execution, how spells worked, and all with a particular focus on life, enchantment, death, alchemy, transmutation, and raw force.

  Each of these fields provided their own unique problems. Science as a whole was largely undiscovered country as most large breakthroughs were only happening recently. Metropoleis had only begun growing in the last few thousand turns, and much progress had been lost at the end of the second age when the Library of Chung Thuy was firebombed.

  The secondary problem was that magic was in its infancy. The Eophax, the residents of the aforementioned Chung Thuy and surrounding territories, were the only arcane adepts in modern history, and ancient magics were speculative myth. By the time the Second Great War had started, sorcerers had begun appearing in all species across Adra. That was less than two thousand turns ago. Magic was still new, fresh, and dangerous, and no one was left to teach generations-old spells and safety.

  Which was why Lea was breaking new ground.

  Her end goal was to put to use a form of magic not known to the modern world. Science and medicine could heal the sick, repair the wounded, and set a man off to being mended. Magic helped to take the healing process naturally within the body and speed it up tenfold, twenty fold, however much was necessary. Unfortunately, ailments such as hers, including her malformed bones, weakened muscles, diminishing eyesight, or a debilitating disease couldn’t be cured by any conventional means.

  Based on her theories, however, she found that, plausibly, a combination could have delightful outcomes. By mixing conventional medicine, herbal concoctions, and raw spellcasting, the number of ailments she could treat could increase exponentially. With certain combinations, at least theoretically, she could mend broken bones, treat the blind, banish viruses and diseases, and more that she hadn’t yet considered.

  Unfortunately, these were exactly what she started all descriptions with: theoretics. All of this was purely theoretical as she had no way of proving or practicing any of it. There was a reason she was treading unexplored oceans; the magic necessary hadn’t been invented yet. New spells were scary and extremely dangerous. If one didn’t know precisely how to form a spell, it could fail in any number of ways, ranging from harmless to various levels of mass destruction.

  Lea had come up with new magics based on research, but hadn’t cast any yet. She didn’t have the raw ability, the physical strength necessary, or the confidence to not kill herself or others. Hopefully, she pondered, with Ani getting a test subject, she’d finally be able to put some of her theoretical formulas to work. They appeared to function flawlessly, but how could she know until she had test subjects to work on?

  As her many formulas, recipes, and theories were untested and undiscovered by anyone but her, she kept them under tight wraps, not letting the secrets pour out to a single soul. Not even her sister knew them, not that she could understand even a tenth of what she was planning.

  While Anixemeter sauntered into town, Lea sat at her desk, head in a book on rabbit anatomy, hoping her guess on what her sister would find would prove correct. They populated the area with reckless abandon, so the shops were bound to have plenty. The beautiful tones of a violin and flute danced through her office and softly across the house.

  Chapter 3: Street Rat

  The Town of Marath, Fellblade Prefecture

  The attic smelled musty, airborne dust clinging in his nostrils daring him to sneeze. He’d been doing this for decaturns; he knew not to let the environment control him. His face contorted, holding his nose at bay. The shutters behind him slowly came to rest at a wide open stance facing outward to the empty street behind him as he thanked the gods for a moment of windlessness. He quietly prayed for another quarter cent of it; twenty-five minutes would be plenty.

  A storm covered Marath, pouring rain and blotting out the sun completely. Under cover of the rare summer darkness, he took advantage and scoped out the attic. It was laden with crates, chests, footlockers, and the occasional open item just sitting out. The assorted crates had varying levels of dust on them, telling Elon that this room was where extra goodies went to die, stored in the attic never to be seen again. He smiled at this. If they don’t appreciate this crap, the market will.

  He crept noiselessly across the attic floor, listening carefully for any creaks or groans from the old wood, hoping not to rouse any unsuspecting homeowner. So far, in his many turns of life on the streets of Marath, he’d only been caught twice. This one was too easy, he wouldn’t let it be his third. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to scope out the homeowner’s sleep schedule, so he silently prayed they were at work or asleep.

  Systematically, he opened the crates and peered inside. Thankfully, none were stacked on top of each other, only piled with dust or random accouterments. His first crate contained a massive pile of clothes, all men’s and all formal black. The second was the same, while the third was simply full of straw. Elon sighed quietly and looked at the rest of the triangular room. Barring the random crap, looks like we got five more crates, four chests, and a footlocker. I swear to the gods, this better be worth my time.

  He did the crates first, getting the toughes
t part out of the way. Blessedly, however, only one needed to be broken open. The rest were unnailed, holding jumbled household items, kitchen tools, or more clothes while the nailed one contained what appeared to be straw. Elon, more determined than the common thief, dug through it only to find a sheathed dagger. Weaponry was far from his specialty, so he collected it and made a mental note.

  Four matching wooden chests were spread out throughout the attic, all four made of a dark wood with curved lids. The two closest to the window were unlocked and completely empty, though the footlocker bore a treasure trove spectacular enough to distract him from the chests. Unlocked and recently opened, it seemed, it held stacks upon stacks of jewelry. Chains of silver, gold, copper, metals he didn’t recognize offhand, pendants of ruby, sapphire, emerald, jade, opal, obsidian, any number of precious things.

  Excitedly, he whipped his pack around, drew it open, and scooped large handfuls of jewelry into it, bottoming the locker out in under a minute. Silently, he closed the lid, stared out the window, and considered bolting with his loot. Instead, he slunk to the back two chests, one positioned right next to the trapdoor, the other against the opposite wall.

  His toes bent and his heels lifted as he danced to the trapdoor, careful to not touch the door itself. Many turns back, he’d stood on one as he fiddled with a locker and fell straight through. Not repeating that.

  The chest opened easily enough to reveal a stack of books, all appearing fairly old and bound in leather, though one stood out. Gold leaf across the spine and cover, metalwork bound to it, locking it closed complete with key lock. He smiled and added them to his collection. Halfway to the next chest, however, curiosity took him.

  He swung the pack back around and removed the metalbound book. The leather was strange, looking not mammalian but reptilian in nature. Gold leaf accented the edge of each scale. Not a single word was etched into it. He fiddled with the lock, yanked at it, tried to get under it, but the book simply sat closed as it had, silently taunting him.

  Frustratedly, his eyes darted about the room, eventually resting on a small godly bronze bust next to the final chest. He darted to it, set the book on a straw crate, and threw the smallish bust at the lock. It bounced, leaving only a small dent. He slammed it down again, but to no avail. He pounded thrice more before furiously smashing the two together with all the primal might an emaciated barely-pubescent one-forty-turn-old boy could. The lock fell gracefully off the cover.

  Elon breathed deep, his biceps aching slightly, almost not believing it worked. After a short second, he flipped the book open to roughly the middle. The pages staring at him were covered in strange characters, highly angular and drawn with meticulous care. The ink was black as night, standing out against the bleach white pages. I’ve seen something like this before, he thought to himself. Mages, sorcerers use these. Scrolls. Enchantments.

  He ran his fingers over the page and nearly leapt back when the runes began to blur under his finger. Cautiously, he dragged a finger over a rune and watched violet ink follow his finger along the page. As he flipped his hand over, shaking it to dissolve the floating symbol, he saw a faint purple dissipate in his veins.

  A smirk befell his face as he put his flat palm onto the page. Pressed against the parchment, he could feel a great power flow through him. The veins on the back of his hand pulsed a royal violet and he closed his eyes, enjoying the surge of otherworldly energy.

  His peace was broken by the trapdoor behind him flying open with a sudden bang. He whipped around and shielded his face, hands open before him only to find a middle-aged man staring back at him, bald in all but his upper lip, anger painting his face. As he took in the appearance of the man, he watched wild purple tentacles burst through the air towards the man. As the first touched him, the rest wrapped around, pressing into his skin, coating his face in rich, plum-colored… something.

  Elon knelt beside the crate, hands up locked somewhere between fright and confusion as he watched the inky magic coat his skin while the man’s eyes glazed over, staring at nothing in particular. His limbs fell limp as the magic sunk into his eye sockets and he toppled backwards, slamming his head into the wood behind him and toppling down the ladder to the lower floor.

  He stared at the empty trapdoor, listening to ambient wind flowing through downstairs for a good ten seconds before his senses came to him. Adrenaline kicked in as he grabbed his pack, slung it over his shoulder, slammed the book shut, tucked it under his arm and darted out the open shutters. He landed with a thud on the roof, lost his footing, rolled down the slope, and caught himself in midair enough to land on his feet. Consumed with energy, he sprinted away from the house.

  The abandoned building Elon had been staying at was as disheveled as the streets, but the roof and mattress made it that much more palatable. The druggies and murderers weren’t the best of company, but hey, he wasn’t sleeping in a gutter. As he sat on his bed, pack open to inspect the take from his heist, he took note of his present company: three druggies passed out against the walls, a man on another bed, whiskey bottle in hand, long since passed out, and a couple in the other room loudly enjoying each other’s company. He was safe enough.

  First came the books, all out in a neat stack. The jewelry sat nicely in the bag, safe where no one knew they existed. They didn’t need inspected anyway, not by him. He did, however, rustle through the chains and gems to get to the ornate dagger. As interesting as the books looked, he inspected the strange blade.

  Intricate markings looped up and down the blade itself while the handle was surprisingly plain, made of a simple dark wood. The blade was clean and sharp with a series of hooks each with its own claw lining the back. The carvings, however, seemed to be two runic patterns, similar to those in the spellbook, laid atop one another, one a pale white like the shell of an egg, the other a rich cobalt like the deep ocean. He studied the blade, rolling it over in his hands. It felt natural, oddly. The same power he felt in the book, he felt vaguely in the dagger, softly, like just a hint or essence.

  The blade rested in his hands, almost pulsing a light energy, asking, begging for something, he just couldn’t fathom what. He eyed a pillar in the center of the room, and a feeling, a compulsion overwhelmed him. A gem glowed on the hilt of the dagger he hadn’t noticed before, shining a brilliant pink, making him want, yearn, beg to throw the dagger at something, someone, anything. Elon had no experience throwing daggers, and had no idea what the proper form of the throw was. Regardless, he grabbed it by the hilt, balanced it carefully, and flung it at the support beam.

  A soft whistle carried through the air as it soared, the runes emanating a soft light that left a swirling contrail ever so subtly. It pierced the wood, stabbing with the grain point-first to perfectly penetrate the beam, and suddenly screamed an ethereal, otherworldly shriek. The ear-piercing screech was unlike anything that Elon had had the displeasure of letting rend his eardrums. It rang through the house and his ears, tearing at everything it found. As the sound rang out, a two-meter chunk of the support beam exploded into tiny splinters.

  The dagger flashed white inside the explosion of splinters and turned midair, seeking the brain of one of the passed-out druggies. It flew without twirling point-first straight through his skull, cleanly carving his forehead with a perfect vertical incision. Elon stood by the bed, staring at the blonde man with a hilt sticking out of his head, distinctly noticing the lack of blood oozing out, watching the ceiling heave and bow peripherally. His senses came to him just in time to rip the dagger from the man’s head, causing a small spray of blood. He returned it to his sheath, threw it in the bag with the books haphazardly, and darted out as he screamed at the closed door to run due to the collapsing roof.

  After leaping down the stairs and out the door, he spun around to see two half-dressed men running out after him. Just as they left the doorframe, the roof collapsed into the second floor and, shortly, caved into th
e first. The three stared at the ruins and the taller of the men turned to the shorter blond teenager.

  “What the fock did you do?” His Vol’Tyrian brogue rang through clearly, matching his starry skin.

  “Nothing! I was checking inventory of my bag, and the support beam... spontaneously exploded?”

  “Look,” the shorter of the men, black of hair, spoke with a clean voice Elon found no accent in. “I don’t know what happened, and frankly, I don’t care. We’re leaving, you’d best leave, we’re going that way, you’re not.”

  “Where are you two going, though?”

  “Nowhere you need to know. Stay away.”

  “Fuck you, I need shelter too!”

  “Not with us, ye little freak.”

  “I saved your asses, you ungrateful fucks!”

  “Don’t count as saving if you’re the one caused need for it.”

  A rage surged through Elon as he reached for the dagger, but he breathed deep and forced the anger out. There was nothing to be done, and he couldn’t blame them. He had nearly killed them, after all. Instead, he growled, punched the sighing building, shook his hand in pain, and considered contacting Neff.

  She won’t be happy. Third home in three turns?

  “Least I didn’t destroy the others...” he muttered under his breath as he hefted his bag up and walked away.

  Chapter 4: Broken and Crippled

  The Town of Voorhaven, Fellblade Prefecture

  "Well isn’t he just the cutest damn thing that’s graced my eyes all week?” She reached out and stroked the rabbit. Soft. White. Cute. Innocent.

  “She been a popular one, that’s for sure. Least ten girls come in the past few desses squealin’ ‘bout her. Most of ‘em turn away when I tell ‘em what’s wrong with ‘er.” The shopkeeper was fat. Not just large, but fat. He was balding with a scruffy beard wrapped around his neck with clean cheeks and a hairless chin. He was nice enough, Ani supposed, but still an ugly example of society. What’s this world coming to when it’s perfectly accepted to neglect your body like that? Gods above.