Revelation (Seeds of Humanity: The Cobalt Heresy)

by Caleb Wachter

  I really hadn’t thought about it that way. Honestly, he had a point, painful as it was for me to admit. “Then we should all be thankful that you’re such a slave to duty,” I retorted icily as I placed the last seed in Aemir’s mouth.

  “Yes,” Pi’Vari agreed in what I took for mock obliviousness, “we should be.”

  The seed glowed when it hit Aemir’s moist tongue, as its magics activated when they came in contact with human saliva. The effect was immediate, with a small, golden flash illuminating his mouth which spread across his body quickly before migrating to the left side of his face and his left arm.

  I was somewhat confused that the magic of the healing seed completely ignored the rest of his body, as the atrophy of his muscles and skin would have seemed to warrant some sort of attention, but none was given.

  Instead, the healing spell previously contained within the seed had a visible effect on his face, filling in roughly a third of the missing tissues over the next several minutes. The arm was more difficult to appraise but since the spell had apparently spent a significant portion of its energies there, I had to assume that it was better for it.

  “How many did you give to him?” I asked, amazed that one of the potent seeds had healed such a small amount.

  Pi’Vari knelt down beside me to appraise Aemir’s still-ruined face. “Three,” he replied as he poked a finger into the newly knit patch of skin, “and two for Dancer. That was our entire supply.”

  I nodded and stood slowly, with Pi’Vari’s help. “This is what they’re for,” I said, trying to rally enough energy to scold him but finding myself even weaker than I expected. My heart had slowed its beating a little, and the pressure in my chest was somewhat lessened as well. I turned to him after I had drawn a few deep, calming breaths. “I think it’s time to test just how much you’ve learned from me.”

  Pi’Vari looked genuinely shocked. “Here?” he blurted.

  I nodded seriously. “Yes, here,” I replied. “There will never be a better time than now, with both of our defenders unconscious. Aemir will die without more help, and I haven’t even looked at Dancer yet. I’m completely drained, if you hadn’t noticed, so their survival depends entirely on you.”

  I actually enjoyed seeing Pi’Vari squirm as his briefly widened eyes narrowed slowly. “And what if I am discovered to be lacking in my studies or aptitude?”

  I flashed a wolfish grin. “In that case, you’ll pay the price of failure—along with our fallen companions,” I replied acidly. “You still have the spellbook, correct?”

  “Yes, of course I still have it,” he replied with a nod, patting a section of his billowing tunic which gave a ‘thunk’ consistent with a book.

  “Good,” I replied. “I believe the spell you need is on page twenty three.”

  “I know where to find the spell,” Pi’Vari quipped.

  “Then you have ten minutes to review it and attempt your first casting, “I ordered with a curt nod, “I’m going to go check on Dancer.”

  I turned and slowly walked back around the massive column, using it for support since I had left Pi’Vari to prepare the spell. I had been teaching him magic secretly for a few months, in preparation for a situation exactly like this. I wasn’t much of an instructor but he was a hell of a student, so together we had managed to successfully teach him a few spells. Most of them were minor, like providing temporary light or purifying water, but I had insisted that he learn a basic healing spell.

  He had absolutely no aptitude for restorative magic, but his learning it was non-negotiable in my view: either he learned to properly cast healing magic, or I would stop teaching him entirely.

  It was incredibly dangerous—not to mention illegal—for anyone but a Magos to take an Apprentice, and it was even worse if a wizard decided to take on a College castoff for the role, since the Wizard’s College was supposed to have final determination on who could and couldn’t use magic within the Empire’s borders. We had only known of a handful of examples where such apprenticeships had been sanctioned in Veldyrian history, and each of them had presented extenuating circumstances—which we lacked.

  Still, even though I was merely a recently elevated Journeyman wizard and therefore lacking the chutzpah necessary to buck the establishment, I was more concerned with survival out here on the edges civilization. And since Pi’Vari had actually attended two years of College before being expelled on grounds of insufficient aptitude, he was the perfect candidate to learn a few of the simpler spells.

  I still can’t explain how I was able to use magic at all. I knew from guarded conversations with other wizards of my rank and station that it was nearly impossible for me to be doing what I could do, but it seemed to come naturally. Obviously there was more to it than that, but I tried not to think about it too much—especially since asking questions would have made me a target for Imperial Inquisition, which I obviously wanted to avoid.

  As I wound my way around the stone column, I couldn’t help but wonder about the person who had inhabited this body before me. I had gleaned very little in the way of details about him, since he hadn’t kept a diary and I didn’t exactly want to go around using the temporary amnesia act to get people to tell me more about myself.

  His name was Jezran “Cobalt” Wiegraf. The first name, Jezran, was his given name and the one he had carried into the College. I understood that it was a southern name, and that Jezran had been assimilated into Veldyrian as a small child following the destruction of his home town during a skirmish. The Empire apparently paid extremely well to find new recruits with magical aptitude, and the recruiters are given considerable leeway as to the methods they choose to employ in securing such recruits.

  The second name, “Cobalt,” was actually more of a label which indicated the color of his aura. That color dictated with which types of magic should come naturally to Jezran, and his aura had been determined during a ritual involving a reading of some sort conducted by an Imperial Archivist, or Librarian, prior to his enrollment at the Wizard’s College. There were over a hundred different aura colors, and there were just as many different types of magical affinities. “Cobalt” was apparently associated with Augury talents.

  The third of Jezran’s names was the name of Antolin’s house: Wiegraf. This name was only granted after the annual draft, which functioned for all intents and purposes like a professional sports draft. The order of the draft is determined by the accomplishments of the participating house’s previous calendar year. These accomplishments could include the securing of natural resources, successful incorporation of foreign states into the Empire, the invention of a new series of spells or, on rare occasion, the founding of an entirely new school of magic.

  Magos Antolin Wiegraf had accomplished such a rare feat in the year preceding Jezran’s draft. He had successfully patented Somnomancy, or Dream Magic, after years of secretive, dedicated research. Many had attempted to tackle the subject in the recent past, but for some reason or other none had been successful.

  As such, he had gained the top selection in the draft, one far higher than House Wiegraf could ever have hoped to receive otherwise. In fact, due to its financial weakness and the flat-out terrible political savvy of its master, House Wiegraf had never actually qualified for a draft pick prior to its selection of Jezran. With some closed door politics Antolin had somehow managed to nab the first overall pick, which carried with it a few other bonuses.

  I moved slowly around the pillar, careful to ensure that even if I did pass out I would mitigate the damage by keeping my weight low and my knees bent. I came to Dancer’s supine form and gingerly lowered myself to my knees beside him. His spear, as always when he slept, was gripped tightly in his hands across his chest. I gently moved it out of the way so I could assess his wounds, and I was relieved when I saw that the two inch, ragged hole in his chest had been closed and was now a tender looking patch of fresh, pink scar tissue.

  I leaned back and finally allowed my hands to clutch my chest as I co
ughed. It seemed like the worst of my chest pain was over, and I could probably safely conclude that I wouldn’t be having a heart attack any time in the next few minutes.

  I had always been in more-or-less fantastic physical shape. My brother and I had played all kinds of sports growing up: soccer, baseball, and tennis were sports we had cut our teeth on at an early age. Adam had always shown a natural talent for baseball, and had even managed to get selected in the late rounds of the draft as a third baseman coming out of high school but chose not to sign so he could play college ball in an effort to improve his draft status. The decision had paid off with a third round selection after his junior year of college.

  So this type of physical ineptitude was more than just a little bit of a shock, but I closed my mind to such thoughts and thankfully they stayed put away without protest. I had things to focus on just then, and there were literally thousands of people who needed me. I couldn’t fail them if I ever wanted to look at myself in a mirror again.

  I looked at Dancer’s spear and wondered just what secrets it contained. I touched its gnarled, wooden shaft and it was warm to the touch. It was fairly straight, but it had a few burls and knots which Dancer had learned to expertly use to facilitate his grip. Not only was the wood less than uniform, but it was worked with highly intricate carvings, none of which appeared to be more than swirls and random patterns.

  The blade was clearly not originally designed to be a spearhead; more likely it had been the tip of a long blade of some sort that had been broken off the rest of the weapon. The way Dancer told it—if I could understand the little man’s broken speech correctly—was that it was a weapon of the gods which had been sundered during a great battle a thousand years ago. The sword had been broken in two, and the handle had been lost in an ocean somewhere. But the tip had become a prize of his tribe, and they had affixed it to one of their totem weapons: a long club of some kind.

  The enchanted spear had granted him a suite of impressive augmentations, including his superhuman ability to leap into the air and preternatural reflexes.

  I had tried to divine its origin and total package of powers using standard techniques, but the ancient weapon had seemingly refused to give up its secrets. It would appear that the spear preferred to remain something of a mystery, which had made licensing it more than a little difficult, but we had successfully managed to obtain a license to keep and carry the weapon after taking advantage of some loopholes in the bureaucratic web of Veldyrian law.

  I stood slowly from my position near Dancer, suddenly aware that I had almost nodded off. I made my way back to Pi’Vari and saw him sitting cross-legged with the spellbook on the ground in front of him.

  “Are you ready?” I asked, summoning as much strength to my voice as I could manage.

  Pi’Vari shot me a look, but he bit his tongue. “I believe so,” he nodded.

  “Good,” I replied, sitting down next to him carefully. “Just remember that the most difficult part is fueling the spell once you’ve prepared it; do it slowly and steadily,” I reminded him. “If you don’t construct the spell properly it should be fairly obvious, at least with a spell this simple. If that happens, just empty your mind and start over; there’s no point in trying to force it.”

  Pi’Vari nodded and closed his eyes. I wished I had enough energy for my Third Eye spell, which would allow me to see the spell’s glyphs and equations as he cast it. But with a spell as small and simple as this one, even if he failed to properly cast it the consequences were unlikely to be detrimental. Probably the worst we could expect was a heat wave and flash of light, and depending on just how badly he overfilled the spell, we might be temporarily blinded or essentially sunburned.

  His eyes were darting back and forth beneath his closed eyelids, and he was obviously tentative. When it looked like I was going to have to tell him to start over, he breathed out the air his lungs had been holding and his hands glowed with a soft, yellow light,

  Pi’Vari opened his eyes and the wonderment he felt was plain to see; this was easily the most difficult spell he had ever successfully cast since I had started teaching him. But I knew that the longer he waited to discharge the spell, the longer he would drain his energy reserves, and even a small spell like this one could be harmful to the casting wizard if he didn’t execute it before he ran out of power.

  “Now just place your hands on his face,” I instructed calmly, “and let go of the spell.”

  Pi’Vari moved to comply, then he hesitated. “Should I not at least use some of the spell on the arm?”

  I shook my head patiently. “No, I don’t care about the arm right now,” I explained, “I want to prevent infection. His arm will still be crippled even if you put every last ounce of energy you had into fixing it; this spell is useless for fixing muscle and bone, all it can do is repair soft tissue damage.”

  Pi’Vari nodded and placed both hands on the left side of Aemir’s face. The golden light clung to his hands, and I could see him begin to panic as he failed to release the spell.

  “Just let it go,” I said as softly as I could manage, “imagine that you’re wearing gloves. Just straighten your fingers and allow the gloves to fall off.” I’d actually had the exact same problem when casting my first healing spell, and I hoped that my own solution would help him somewhat.

  He seemed to regain his composure and he straightened his fingers stiffly.

  “Good,” I encouraged, “now just let it go. The spell knows what to do; you don’t need to control it any more. Just let it go.”

  Almost as soon as I had finished speaking, the golden light slipped off his hands and encircled Aemir’s face. I reached down and grabbed Pi’Vari’s hands, gently pulling them back from Aemir’s skin.

  “Well done,” I said, genuinely impressed that he had managed to pull it off on the first try. It had taken me a half dozen attempts my first time.

  The spell’s energy danced around the wound and after a few seconds, its glow dissipated to reveal an almost completely scarred wound. The entire left side of his skull was now covered with a thin layer of scar tissue and while it wasn’t enough to allow us to move him, it did appear that it would be enough to prevent infection. Unfortunately, that was all I could hope for.

  “Nice job, Pi’Vari,” I said without even a hint of a grudge. “I’m not sure I could have done any better with a single casting. How do you feel?”

  His fingers were trembling as he wiped his mouth. “More tired than I anticipated, Jezran,” he admitted. “I find I cannot stop my hands and arms from shaking.”

  I nodded sympathetically. “Casting spells always carries a physical price, as well as a magical one,” I explained, “and the first few times you cast a spell are always more difficult than later on after you’ve practiced. Still, that was a hell of a job—first try or not,” I slapped him on the shoulder before slumping back against the rock.

  “Thank you, Jezran,” he replied absently before I nodded off.

  Chapter XIV: One Door Closes…

  When I awoke I found myself much less exhausted physically, even though I was still almost completely depleted of magic. I felt a tingle of energy in my core, but not enough to cast any of the spells I had prepared. I cleared the cobwebs and took in the scene around the stone column, where a stalactite and stalagmite had joined together thousands—or millions—of years before.

  Aemir was sleeping, and his breathing was slightly more even than when I had gone to sleep. Dancer was awake, and he had moved around to this side of the pillar but he was silent, as usual. Pi’Vari was awake, but he looked like he was trying to get some rest.

  “What happened to the obelisk chamber, Pi’Vari?” I asked before he could fall asleep.

  Pi’Vari sat halfway up. “I do not know exactly,” he began, “but I awoke to find all of you unconscious, and the chamber had become unstable for some reason. There were no signs of activity from the obelisks, but the chamber itself was collapsing. I dragged each of you out as quickly a
s I could manage, and not long after I had pulled Aemir from the room did it collapse.”

  I shook my head and ground my teeth angrily. That obelisk had been our ticket to finding whoever was behind these attacks, and now it had been destroyed by a million tons of collapsing stone.

  “If that’s the case, then we have to get out of these caves,” I said after thinking about our options for a few minutes. “There’s nothing more we can gain here. The enemy’s been alerted to our presence and they know that we’ve discovered the chamber of domes. I’m assuming that the trophy collection, or graveyard, or whatever it really is was supposed to remain a secret and that they would like to keep it that way—which means we need to get out of here as quickly as possible.”

  Pi’Vari nodded in agreement. “I concur wholeheartedly, Jezran,” he replied predictably. My herald had never been supportive of our various excursions into the wilderness, and he clearly wanted to return to some semblance of civilization as quickly as possible. At least this time I agreed with him that it was our best destination. “However,” he continued, “have we truly accomplished anything here?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “We came here,” he said with a slight shrug, “to deal with the invaders who have been attacking Coldetz. Have we actually done anything about them?”

  It was a good point. “I don’t think we’ve actually done anything about it during this trip,” I admitted, holding up a finger, “but we did confirm that the specific threat which manifested and attacked while we were there has been neutralized, at least temporarily. The woman controlling the force, this ‘Mistress Tyreva,’ is already dead.”

  “Yes,” Pi’Vari agreed, “but what of the Iron Butcher?”

  “The Iron Butcher,” I mused, “is somehow controlled by—or potentially even joined with—this other man, Mistress Tyreva’s lover and protégé. If I had to guess, and I’m afraid we’re down to that right now, I would say that he impulsively attacked us as soon as I triggered some sort of alarm or warning system while attempting to activate the obelisks. He wasn’t ready for it, but he did it anyway.”