Wordscapist: The Myth (The Way of the Word Book 1)

by Arpan Panicker

  “Amra,” he responded, his tone demonstrating how mutual our dislike was. He said it wrong though, like always. My name had two phonetic syllables. You got it wrong only if you were stupid or rude. He was both. But then I quite deliberately mangled his name too. For me, he was always Kermit, and I said his name likewise.

  “Congratulations on almost getting Silvus,” he smirked, the stress clearly on the ‘almost.’

  “Well, it’s closer than you have got to the Free Word,” I responded, my expression deadpan as I responded to the sarcasm and not the compliment. “I heard there were some fireworks here last night, and I don’t see any wordsmiths in restraints.”

  “Well, I might not have wordsmiths,” Kermit replied, his smirk still in place, “but I do have information on the Wordscapist.”

  For once, I didn’t have a response. How the hell had he pulled that off! How did he know!

  “You’re not the chosen one, Amra,” he said with an infuriating chuckle. “The Lirii have other agents as well. And some of us are even making progress.”

  I bit my tongue to prevent myself from responding to that bait. I would figure this out later. Right now, it was important to find out what this fool had discovered.

  “And what kind of progress would that be?” I said, trying to inject a balance of taunt and curiosity into that.

  “Well, unlike you, I have no qualms sharing my work with my CCC colleagues. It’s all about getting results at the end of the day.”

  Results, my foot! But I smirked back at him and waited for him to complete his grandstanding and come to the point.

  “Andrew Wallachian a.k.a Andy’s body was found in Mumbai. He bears signs of a snatcher attack,” Kermit proceeded, thankfully abandoning his smirk. “The interesting thing is that the snatcher was definitely souped up and directed. The Guild has taken down another Free wordsmith.”

  The scene in Silvus’s office made sense now. I didn’t mention that though. I didn’t want Kermit to rub more of my failures in my face. “What does that have to do with the Wordscapist?” I asked, downplaying Andy’s murder.

  “Patience, Amra,” Kermit responded with enough condescension to drown a cat. “So, there are signs of a witness. Someone who was there. Someone who wove!”

  “The Guild assassin?” I asked.

  “No, the Guild just sent the snatcher. Someone else. A cipher!”

  The boy! My eyes widened despite myself.

  “Exactly,” Kermit smiled. “The boy who is playing host to the Wordscapist. We studied the Continuum monitors and got readings of some chaotic but powerful weaving on the scene. We don’t know what role he played, but he was there.”

  “Do you have a fix on him?” I asked, trying my best to keep my voice steady.

  “Well, you know how things are, we have to do things traditionally here,” he said, the smirk back in place, “We got some norm witnesses who saw the boy at the scene, bloody and messed up next to a beheaded body. With some prodding, we retrieved some memories that gave us a physical description. Even better, we got his motorbike’s license plate details.”

  “Brilliant!” I exclaimed, despite myself.

  Kermit was taken aback, and responded with a surprised and straightforward thank you. He continued in a more civil manner, “With some more investigation, we discovered the boy’s name and address, and also the fact that he bought a train ticket to Goa. Enquiries here revealed the hotel room he booked, and we have retrieved his belongings from there, including his passport and some other papers. All records indicate that he is here now.”

  I had to give this round to Kermit. He got lucky, yes, but he had worked with his luck and had achieved results.

  “Good work, Gurmeet,” I said, making half an effort at getting his name right, “this is great news. So what is his name? And where is he now?” Kermit stumbled through a series of foreign sounding words, five of them in all. “Sorry?” I said, as I failed to understand what he was saying.

  He repeated the words, stumbling less, but making the same sounds.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “His name,” Kermit said.

  “All of that?” I asked.

  “Yes, all of that,” he nodded.

  “Wow! There is no way I am remembering that. Is there a code name you have assigned him?”

  “Well, he calls himself Slick, based on our investigations with his colleagues and friends. I guess we could go with that.”

  I made a face. Some cheek he had calling himself Slick. Well, we would see how slick he was.

  “So where is this Slick now?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Kermit said, “but we will soon enough. He has left quite a trail. He roughed up some locals last night at the beach with a powerful summoning scape. I believe some kind of fey being was involved. The victims were delirious and it took some effort to piece together a story. We haven’t managed to track down any of the Free wordsmiths yet, but there are signs that something big happened in the Free Word camp last night. The scape signatures point to the cipher and some of the Free wordsmiths.”

  “He’s been active, hasn’t he? Any sign if the boy’s mind is still aware? Or has the Wordscapist completely taken over?”

  “That’s where things get a little confusing,” Kermit said. “The signature we got from the Mumbai scene was a straightforward one. One wordsmith, untrained but powerful. He wasn’t weaving but I guess he had some kind of a visceral reaction to the snatcher that caused a trace scape. The one we got here in Goa points to a strangely combined signature. Two wordsmiths, both incredibly powerful and weaving as one. I’m not completely sure but I think the Wordscapist and the boy are both involved. The boy is definitely aware, and he is working with this Wordscapist being.”

  “That is not good,” I said as I walked towards the table where the boy’s stuff was laid out. I picked up his passport and looked at the photo and the name. No, there is no way I could even begin to figure out how to say it, let alone remember it. The photo showed a smiling, benign face. There was nothing benign about the trail this boy had left. I turned around and spoke to Kermit, “For all purposes, we will treat them as one entity. And the mission is clear. Take them down with extreme prejudice.”

  He looked at me and slowly smiled. “For once, Amra, we might actually agree on something. Let’s take this freak down!”

  Dew

  I watched the waves as they rolled in, one after another. It was good to be back on land. An entire life spent by the ocean hadn’t prepared me for the experience of trying to cross it on a small raft. It had been rough. A lot less than it could have been, I guess, if Slick hadn’t attached us to that ley line. It got us to the Indian coast in four hours, traversing a huge distance at an insane speed. It was scary to even think of it. But we arrived in one piece. Which was a miracle considering that Mr. Slick hadn’t figured out how to let go of the ley line.

  We had approached land at a frightening speed, primed to be splattered against the first tree we came across, as Slick muttered word after word, trying to jump off the ley line. De Vorto had worked with him, but had slipped into Gaelic with his instructions because of the excitement of the moment. That hadn’t helped, and there was a brief moment where I had actually considered cutting him loose so that I wouldn’t be pulled to my death with him. I had realised then that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t abandon him. I was stuck with him, even if it meant ending up spread across a series of palm trees. But one of the things Slick tried worked after all, and the raft skittered across the shallow waves like a flat stone skimmed across water, before ploughing to a stop on a deserted beach, north of the Pondicherry coast. The landing totalled the raft, but then, I didn’t see any of us planning another trip on that bundle of matchsticks any time soon. I saw Slick patting it a couple of times as he got off, freed of the bindings I’d woven around him. I was surprised; I hadn’t pegged him as a sentimental type.

  We found a couple of fishermen who provided us with fresh coconuts, fri
ed fish, and directions. A short hike later and we were in Pondicherry. Slick dug up some contacts and got us a cottage on the beach in Auroville, which was a pretty enough place to stay in.

  I had come to Pondicherry a few times in the last few years. It was like a smaller, quieter, stranger version of Goa. It had its plusses though. There was a peaceful, quiet air to the place that I liked. De Vorto had dismissed the feeling as a ‘ley fugue’ when I spoke to him about it. He said that there was an abundance of ‘holy’ places along ley lines because of the ways in which they affected norms. I didn’t contest it, but held on to my special feeling for Pondicherry. Sometimes, a rational explanation just doesn’t cut it.

  Everything that had happened in the last couple of days had been overwhelming. And given my life in the Free Word, that was definitely saying something. I had learned of Andy da’s death. I had met Slick, and though I didn’t know it in the beginning, Alain de Vorto, who in a strange combined way were the Wordscapist. I had seen scapes beyond imagination. I had turned against my people, Papa Loon, the Free Word, to impulsively help this crazy boy I just met. I had flown in a creaky raft across the ocean. I wished I could say ‘thank you very much, that will be all’ and take it easy. That wasn’t an option. I was in it for better or worse. I wondered what ‘it’ was. I waited for De Vorto to come back and talk to us, to give us some direction. I tried to ignore Slick who was snoring heavily in the cottage, his snores carrying to where I sat on the beach. I watched the waves, lost in my thoughts.

  Slick

  “So norms can fly?” De Vorto repeated, a little slowly, as if he was having trouble absorbing the concept. “Using metal birds that can fly really fast?”

  “Yes,” Dew repeated patiently. I was trying hard not to burst out laughing. De Vorto had learned a lot when he had been in my head. But now he was finding life in the 21st century more and more disorienting, especially with no personal mind reference to dip into.

  “And you propose that we reach Scotland in this manner?”

  “Well, I was saying that we cannot get to Scotland in this manner,” Dew said. “We need money and lots of papers to be able to get there, which none of us have. Mine are in Goa, and so are Slick’s.”

  “Can’t we weave up these papers?” De Vorto asked, failing to understand why that was a challenge.

  “Not really,” I said. “These papers need to go through machines that are immune to illusions and wordscapes. They need the real deal, and will not respond to imitations.”

  Dew nodded. She had started coming around. There was still a weary irritation to the way she dealt with me, but at least now there was acknowledgment and some conversation.

  “Slick’s right, I’m afraid. There are all kinds of complexities with tickets and passports that we would never manage to weave correctly.”

  “Passport,” De Vorto said slowly, “Something that lets you pass a port. Nice word.”

  “Well, it might be a nice word, but we don’t have it. You can go invisible and slip through, but Dew and I will be stuck.”

  “You said that you haven’t learned how to teleport yet, Dew,” De Vorto said, looking at her for confirmation.

  “I have learned the theory, but I haven’t practised much. I couldn’t risk porting all of us across such a distance to a land I have never actually visited.” Dew was quietly emphatic. There was a cautious determination to that girl, which was so completely different from my wild impulses. It was fascinating.

  “No, I wasn’t suggesting that you teleport us across. I was thinking of a passport,” De Vorto said, rather mysteriously.

  “Are you thinking of a teleport spell?” Dew asked.

  De Vorto looked up at her, surprise on his dainty little features. “Yes, I guess that is one way of looking at it. Have you used such a thing?”

  “Yes, the Free Word uses it extensively. It ensures that Free wordsmiths can travel together to locations irrespective of skill or personal experience with the destination.”

  “Good, good,” De Vorto said. “Then let’s get to work building one.”

  “But I have never been to Scotland, De Vorto,” Dew said, “I wouldn’t know where to start. And I have never built a teleport spell myself.”

  “Well, you can start now. And don’t worry about being to Scotland. The highlands are a part of me, and they will guide us to where we need to go.”

  “Oooh, we’re going to Scotland! Haggis, here I come!” I rubbed my hands with glee. Both of them, however, continued speaking as if I didn’t exist. They were doing it all too frequently now.

  “De Vorto, I do not understand how you propose what you...” Dew started.

  De Vorto darted towards her and disappeared an inch away from her, almost as if he had merged with her. A strange look came across Dew’s face, as she went silent. I wondered what was happening but had the sense not to say anything. I sat and watched her face as she stared into the distance, lost for the moment. A few long minutes passed, during which time I fidgeted more and more, trying hard to keep silent and not interrupt whatever it was that De Vorto was doing. Finally Dew relaxed, her eyes returning to the here and now. De Vorto reappeared too, looking extremely pleased with himself.

  “It’s beautiful!” Dew exclaimed, looking at De Vorto.

  He smiled at her. “That it is. My land. I am going back!”

  “And De Vorto,” Dew spoke slowly, as if she had just realised something.

  “Yes, Dew?” he asked with a smile.

  “I seem to know exactly how to weave up a teleport spell now.” She looked at him accusingly. “Isn’t that something!” he exclaimed, throwing up his tiny hands. “Well, get to it then.” With that, he flitted away. He disappeared even as he reached the cottage door. I wondered what he did when he disappeared. It’s not like he had a social life or anything.

  Dew looked at me, a little helpless and lost.

  “He messed with your head, didn’t he?” I said quietly.

  “Well, he gave me memories. And yes, he did something to my memory of the teleport spell theory. I know a lot more about it now, and I also remember weaving it. Though I’ve done no such thing. And it’s all different now; the words, the technique.”

  “Yeah, he does that,” I said. “He doesn’t understand that memories are personal.”

  “Memories are powerful, my dear little children,” De Vorto whispered softly. He had been hovering just over us. He hadn’t left at all.

  “Stop doing that!” I said, a little sharply. He smiled at me rather mischievously and then turned to Dew. “Get to it, Dew. It is past sunset there. We will have a bit of a walk to my cave once we reach our destination.”

  Dew looked at him blankly, while he looked at her with his I’m-so-happy-I’m-going-home smile. “The spell that you left in my head is in Latin. I learned it in Esperanto. What have you done?” She spoke slowly, in that peculiar way of hers, where the speed of speech or the lack of it conveyed menace. There was a lot of menace in this one.

  “Esperanto, ah, I picked up a few words from the boy’s memory of the dead wordsmith’s notes,” De Vorto spoke, smiling. “It’s funny how my spells have survived and become a language all by itself.”

  “Andy da’s notes, yes,” Dew said pensively. “I forgot that you predate Esperanto by many centuries. Your name does translate pretty well in our language.”

  “Of the word,” De Vorto murmured, “Indeed. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “But that’s the language I learned my smithing in, De Vorto,” Dew continued, after giving him a moment. “I cannot weave in Latin. I haven’t learned it well enough to weave in it.”

  “It’s all the same, my child,” De Vorto said, his smile cuddling the condescension in his voice into a soft, non-threatening tone. I had to learn how to do that. “Just speak the words, as you ride the meaning in your head. The same way you always do it. Your gift is strong and this spell will not tax you at all.”

  Dew opened her mouth to speak but De Vorto continued righ
t on. “Moreover, it is a spell. It does not cause any harm till you cast it. And I will be watching, guiding you. If there is any hazard in it, I will not let you cast it. Beal?”

  “Deal, De Vorto, not beal,” I corrected automatically. I was his Wikipedia, and now I was his Urban Dictionary as well.

  “Deal?” De Vorto repeated without missing a beat.

  Dew looked at him searchingly, trying to see if this strange man was conning her into doing something dangerous.

  I decided to put in my two cents, “De Vorto, I don’t want to burst your bubble but...”

  He didn’t give me a chance to complete my thought. “Then don’t. We will get there, and we will find my body. If it isn’t usable, we will have to find another way.”

  I hated it when he did that, responding to questions in my head. How was it even possible, especially now that he was out of my head, all two inches of him! I nodded, however. There was no point fighting this, and I guess it was as good a plan as any. Mumbai was already a distant memory. We weren’t going back to Goa for sure. Pondicherry wasn’t going to be safe for very long. I guess Scotland was far enough to offer us some sanctuary for a while. And then there was haggis, of course.

  Dew picked herself and looked around.

  “I guess that’s as good as anything,” she said, walking over to the bottle of water left in the room.

  “That’s pretty smart, actually,” De Vorto nodded.

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “Well, he needs to be inside something considering he can’t really hold on. Otherwise we won’t be taking him with us,” Dew explained, even as she turned the bottle around, examining it.

  I was still not completely sure what was happening, but decided to keep quiet. I didn’t want to look any more stupid in front of Dew than I already did.

  She sat on the bed and started whispering a string of words, most of which I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to admit, even to myself, that I didn’t understand any of it at all. I watched her work as her scape sign pulsed and glowed, covering the bottle completely. A few minutes later, she looked up. “I’m done.”