Biomancy

by Desdemona Gunn

  Ani stared blankly at her, pondering her question and failing to come up with an answer.

  Exactly. If two people reproducing can create a new soul from nothing, why can’t I alone? You could argue the gods give a soul to a newborn, but then I’d argue the gods could just be giving me a newly forged soul as well. If it comes from the ether, then that’s where I get mine too. If it is reincarnation, then that’s the case here. My argument is the ether, as the gods appear to have stopped helping me out a long time ago.

  Lea led the rabbit over to a water canteen hooked to the wall with a pipe with a small ball inside, cutting off water flow when it wasn’t being pushed back. It only had a small amount of water in it, which Lea poured two potions into, turning the water a light orange. She slowly drank it all and fell asleep shortly after.

  Ani walked around and placed her on the desk, saving Lea the trouble of bending over. Lea took a rather long syringe full of a mostly clear liquid, stuck it into her side, and cast something grey onto it. The chamber stayed injected and stuck mostly upright as she noticed the liquid being injected slowly and at an even rate.

  She raised an eyebrow at her sister, to which she offhandedly thought, intravenously injected therapy drip. Before she could ask what that meant, she was already onto the next thing.

  Lea took an orange potion and injected it slowly and cautiously into Amber’s ear, stared at the clock for precisely eighty seconds, then a deep green potion into her other ear. A minute passed by and she took another potion, this one rapidly changing color, and injected it into her own arm. Quickly her veins began to bug out and fluctuate between colors as her pupils shrank to a pinpoint. A rune began to inscribe itself onto both of her palms and, as it finished, it began to shift into a new rune, then another. She held her hands over the rabbit and began to move her fingers and hands as though manipulating something unseen.

  Every vein in her body glowed a swiftly adapting color as she stared at her subject with seemingly empty eyes. Her fingers moved quickly, shaping and stretching nothing visible.

  Ani. Her voice rang in her head as it did before, but it sounded more distant. It was shaking and warbling fiercely, almost in pain. The green potion. Inject it. Her ear. Like I did.

  “Which one?”

  It doesn’t matter. Just do it. Now.

  She took the potion, carefully injected it into her right ear, and safely pulled it out. Lea’s veins began to pump more violently, colors shifting more and more rapidly, fluctuating in specific areas now, making her body glow a rainbow of ethereal colors. The runes on her palms were shifting so quickly Ani couldn’t even make them out at any given time, even without her hands and fingers flitting about with more energy than she’d seen in her sister in hundreds of turns.

  The intensity rose, her veins actively pulsing, colors flying throughout the spectrum, hands dancing over the rabbit until finally, she saw a light from Lea’s palms which seemed to flash out, then drain into the rabbit. Lea caught herself on the desk, panting and wheezing, a thick sweat coating her entire head and all down her arms. The rabbit lay still, its tiny stomach rising and falling quickly, then more slowly.

  Her sister removed the now-empty slow-drain needle and watched her rabbit friend.

  “Is she... enlightened?”

  Lea leaned over Amber and gently stroked her back, felt her heart rate, and gently cast a green spell on her. Slowly, the rabbit woke up and stumbled to her feet. Lea and Amber stared into each other’s eyes for a whole minute before she turned around and looked at Ani. She hopped over to her, laid down flat on the desk, and stared at her passively. There was something different in her eyes she could see. She felt emotion from her, a sense of knowing.

  “Ani.” She looked up at her sister who had a small tear falling down her cheek, gliding along the contours of her pale, skull-like face, dancing around the lesions. “I did it.”

  “You made...”

  “Something... from nothing.” She smiled, showing her rotting teeth as Amber hopped back to her. Lea hugged the rabbit as she sat in her arms and accepted it.

  “She’s intelligent?” Amber looked over at her, a recognizably sarcastic face. She could practically see her asking, ‘Really? You seriously asking that?’

  “She’s ascended... Can’t talk... But she’s all there.” She smiled and hugged her tight again. “I did it, sis. I did what ten mages can’t.” Anixemeter smiled at her sister’s joy, remembering her intent for entering the room in the first place.

  “Hey, let’s go celebrate over some chicken, girlie.”

  “Let’s.” Ani opened the door as Amber hopped energetically out into the hallway. She walked back, grabbed the back of Lea’s chair, and wheeled her out.

  Chapter 11: Absolute Control

  The City of Bargatha, Ghostfire Prefecture

  Soft light reflected off the brilliant blue sister-planet of Yuma floating in the sky, shining down into a room in shafts through gaps in the blood red curtains, hitting the drapes of the room’s four-poster bed. The large, round table sat freshly illuminated as the beams of light crept their way across the floor and slowly to the chairs around it. They lazily stretched across the room to, on the north side, the closet and dresser, while the south showed two luxurious chairs with a short coffee table stretched between them, two teacups, both half empty sitting with a cold teapot.

  The beams flew right past the desk and filing cabinet, fitting snugly against the wall next to the window on the south. The bed was evenly flanked by the extravagant windows, each stretching nearly floor to ceiling.

  Lying inside the four-poster bed, completely surrounded by crimson drapes emblazoned with the house crest of the academy, laid a young man of a hundred and seventy-two turns and an equally young Northman woman. The lady was blonde, hair flowing freely across the pillow, falling down to the small of her back when she stood. Her gorgeous blue eyes were hidden by eyelids as she slept away. A green dress was strewn carelessly on the floor beside a casual brassier, leaving the woman naked save for the cloth wrapping her waist and betwixt her legs as she slept.

  The boy, just as tall as her, lay curled up with the woman’s arm around his torso. His eyes opened suddenly, taking in the faint blue illumination of his bed. Slowly and cautiously, Elon lifted the woman’s arm and placed it back down onto the mattress. She rolled onto her back, turning her face the opposite direction. Stealthily, he rose from the bed, parting the curtains, and examined his room in naught but loose-fitting sleep pants.

  Lifting himself off the ground with a careful levitation spell, he drifted over the carpet to his dresser. The drawers slid open easily with his hands, glowing runes causing them to emit a fine white gleam, as he grabbed a pair of black silk pants. He quickly swapped his sleeping trousers for them, grabbed a small strap of leather, and bound the blond hair falling to his shoulders into a ponytail.

  Floating over to the closet, he grabbed a white ghillie shirt off the hook. It had long, loose-fitting sleeves with a neckline falling to his mid-chest. A single black lace ran through loops crisscrossing their way to the collared neck, then falling loose out the sides.

  He landed in front of his trunk and, with one hand a deep blue, the other white, he opened the trunk perfectly noiselessly. Two leather-bound tomes rose effortlessly out of it as the trunk shut just as quietly. Floating once more, he parted the curtains of the bed and pushed the sleeping beauty ever so slightly, ‘causing her eyes to flutter open daintily.

  “Monica.”

  A smile crept across her bleary face. “Hey you.”

  “I got a thing. Your dress is over there on the floor with your bra. Sleep however long you need, I’ll be back after half a dess; five, six cents probably. So probably just as the tower rings for fourdess. Meet me then if you like.”

  “If I like,” she chuckled sardonically. Elon turned to leave and
she called out pathetically to him. “Can I at least get a kiss before you abandon me?” Floating back, he parted the curtains once more, bent over and shared a kiss with her. A satisfied smile crept across her face as he left. “Thanks for waking me.”

  “Yup.” He left the room with an apathetic look painting his face.

  Elon floated though the hallways and down the staircases, keeping his dangling feet just a few centimeters above the ground and making his clothes flow in an artificial wind ever so subtly. He wafted to the library doors, letting his winds open them for him, and shut them as he passed. Gliding to his table, the one in the far northeast corner just behind the section on divination, he sat in a plush chair and began to read through the first tome. It was bound in a fine black leather embossed with gold leaf forming a stylized Atrok man with the words “Cancaten: Atrox Licando” at the top, roughly translating to “The Atrok Language.”

  Why Cancaten? Because he respected the Atrok society for their arcane prowess, despite their societal leanings disallowing the pursuit of magics. He wished to the gods he could have four arms, allowing for not only the casting of four spells at once, but the ability to power up even a single spell beyond belief. In this respect, he figured if he were to learn any language, it’d be theirs. At least, to begin with.

  After Cancaten, he’d probably go for Nojernan. The star-folk were another species he found endlessly fascinating. Their knowledge of magic far surpassed most other sentients, the rest of Adra catching up only after they shared their knowledge academically. Not only that, but he found them to be beautiful in the most enigmatic way. They personified the “beauty lies from within” philosophy, since they literally could not be looked upon objectively as any other sentient could. Only an artist could see physical beauty in them.

  For over a cent, he sat in his corner, practicing his Cancaten, muttering guttural soliloquies until a classmate stopped him.

  “Hey, Eels. We setting up?”

  “Everyone else showed up yet?”

  “Nah, I’m ten minutes early. How long you been here?”

  “Long as I needed to be. Take study room seventeen. It has the best soundproofing.”

  “I know,” she chuckled. “It’s the same one we always use.”

  As his compatriot walked to claim the study room, he floated over to the front desk. He spread his arms out, resting both of his palms flat on the counter and looked the librarian dead in the eyes, an act she apparently took umbrage with. “Hey. ‘Scuse me, student numbers oh three seven two one four and/or two seven oh one nine two come in, could you point them to study room seventeen?”

  She looked back at him. A contemptuous look of someone whose shift had run too long was burned into her face like a scar. “What am I, your secretary?”

  “What else are you doing? You see the student number of everyone walks in, is it that hard to say ‘Oh, you should go to study room seventeen so you don’t fail your fuckin’ class?’ Look, Milaric, long black hair, down to his ass, built like a guard, Jeremiah Eriford. Starry, big tits, mohawk, goth as hell, Arianrhod NicCarmaig. You see them, tell them where we are, ‘kay?”

  She grumbled at him, and he flipped a gold coin at her. “For your troubles.” He muttered as he floated off, probably audibly enough for her to hear, “You dumb bitch.”

  The study room was small, but had enough room for a table fit for six people and a chalkboard spanning all four walls. A cobalt rune glowed on the door, showing the room was safe to talk in without fear of eavesdroppers.

  He sat down without a word, ignoring the lady inside greeting him for the second time and pulled out his second tome, one bound in a deep black leather engraved with artistic waves and knots forming a border around the words “Alteration: The Arts of Spellcraft.”

  His recently declared major, alteration, fascinated him. The concept of a school of magic entirely dedicated to the manipulation of other magics got his mind working like never before. It was also fairly unique in that it shared its color with only one other school, and it was highly irregular by definition. Both the alteration and chaos schools (of which chaos had yet to be proven to be a legitimate ‘school’) had a fluctuating color, while every other school was a still single hue.

  The concept of a fluctuating hue in a spell made his mind spin. A fundamental part of arcane energy is the color it emits; it determines which part of the ether you’re drawing from. How is it that one school can emit all colors? Not even just multiple colors, but all colors? Hell, it emits colors that don’t have a school. It makes no sense.

  A few minutes after he fell into his book, a woman walked in, skin emulating a deep spacescape with nary a galaxy to be found and without a star closer than a fine point. She wore pitch black leathers coated in studs and spikes, thick-soled knee-high black boots with belts up her leg, and had a mohawk sporting the same celestial pattern her skin showcased. Her leather jacket and tank top beneath did little to hide her sizable chest.

  The two of them simultaneously greeted her, Elon calling her “Cherry,” his compatriot calling her “Rhod.”

  “Howdy Zippy. ‘Sup, Horsefucker.”

  “Seriously,” the girl across from Elon blurted. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you insist on calling me that?”

  “’Cause you get all pissy every time I say it.” Elon noticed the thick drawl in her voice, something characteristic of eastern Antra, where the academy sat. Elon had a clean Antrian accent, being from Marath. Harena hailed from north Runnir, just outside Gorenya, so her voice had a soft lilt with a hard consonant backing. It was barely detectable, but Elon knew her well enough.

  “And hey, if you didn’t like the horse cock so much...”

  She sighed gutturally. “I don’t!”

  “Tell that to your major in polymorphing.” He couldn’t see it, but Elon heard the smile in her voice. “Remind me why I’m here again?”

  “You’re doing the calligraphy, remember?” Elon queried.

  “Oh... Right... Rena reading again?”

  “Yep. Her voice has yet to fail me.”

  “Aw, thanks Eels.” A smile covered the face of the tan redhead across the table. Elon didn’t respond.

  “Was the desk slave a bitch to you too?”

  “Yeah. Surprised you found us.” Elon had yet to look up from his book, as had his compatriot. Elon was just busy and focused, but he figured Harena was just afraid of her. She had a tendency to be a bit awkward around non-Elon people, and was just now warming up to Rhod. This tendency made him a bit sad, as she had the best casting in the class, which was why she was always his choice for “reader” of the runes. Her hands were steady and executed them perfectly every time.

  “It’s not hard, Zippy. We met in this one the past four projects. You’re a bit predictable, which reminds me, why do you keep asking me to do your projects?”

  “You’ve got the best calligraphy in the school, Cherry. I don’t settle for less than perfect.”

  It was moments like that that Elon wished he could see the look on her face to see if a compliment on the one skill she esteemed could put a smile on her dour figure. Knowing he couldn’t, his face stayed firmly in his tome as he handed a small stack of parchment to his left. “You wanna do some practice before doing the final piece?”

  He could feel her eyes on him, judging, deciding just how to feel about him at this particular moment. Apparently, she went for complacent, as usual. “Yeah, what’re we making?” The papers were yanked from his hand.

  “Your specialty.”

  “Something shadowy?”

  “Your other specialty. Basic sonic wall.”

  “Sounds good.” She pulled out an inkwell and a fine pen and set to work. The pen seemed to float over the paper in her loose yet firm grip, dragging elegantly where needed. As Elon
watched her, he understood how people considered calligraphy an art. Her dexterity and attention to detail never ceased to impress him.

  Cents on end had passed before the last member of the party showed up. A Milaric with long black hair tied into a ponytail and sawn off horns walked in sporting ragged clothes and an even more ragged face. He had the expression of a man who hadn’t slept in desses, and his slouch and voice implied he hadn’t been sober in about as long. All four of his eyes were bloodshot and weary.

  “Heeyyyy, guys. Sorry I’m late. Wha’m I doing?”

  Elon took a quick cursory glance, and looked back to his book. “Nothing.”

  Harena looked up. “You’re enchanting the ink. We got a sonic wall.”

  “Hey. Did I fuckin’ stutter? He’s not doing shit here.” His eyes still dead focused on his book, the other three looked curiously at him.

  “Uh, Zippy. He’s the enchanter. He’s making my fuckin’ ink work.”

  “No, he’s a worthless entitled shitbag with no work ethic. His skills are meaningless.”

  The drunk Milaric looked at Elon, his jaw agape in shock. “Hey, fuck you. I got the besht fuckin’—”

  “You don’t have shit, Eriford. Your skills are worthless to me if you can’t deliver on my terms. You can leave.”

  “Hey, I’m in this classh too, I need the grade.”

  “Better work something out with someone else then.”

  “Are you kickin’ me off the damn project?” His voice slurred the “j” a good second longer than usual.

  “You were kicked off the second you walked in. You’ve been off for over a minute now. You’re taking up space and wasting my time. Get the fuck out.”