Marin's Codex

by Benjamin Medrano

  “That they are. If I had a coin for every time someone offered to ‘teach me some magic’ in a bedroom, I’d be able to live a life of luxury,” Emonael agreed, and grinned at Christoff’s blush before she continued. “As to my progress, don’t worry about me. I’m an elf, five years might be a while for you, but it isn’t that bad for me. If things don’t turn out well, I can always find a new teacher. I just can’t tell you what I’m working on because I promised Marin to keep it between the two of us until we’re done.”

  “I . . . I suppose. I’m not nearly as long-lived as you are,” Christoff admitted, settling back with a sigh. “Though you shouldn’t be too confident about having plenty of time. I’ve heard a few odd things from Reesa that have me worried.”

  “What sort of things?” Emonael asked, perking up slightly. “Marin tends to ignore most of the outside world for her research, so I don’t get much news.”

  It had been an interesting few months for Emonael, though Marin hadn’t been joking about how boring it would be. The entire first week had been spent going through hundreds of variations of the simple light spell she’d started with, figuring out what each minor change of tone or gesture might do to the spell. Marin had been forced to heal one injury when the spell had created a glittering sphere of crystal that had promptly exploded, which had shown the demon exactly why Marin was so careful to keep her experiments in an empty room.

  They kept meticulous notes on the results, but in her spare time Emonael had started going through the library. It didn’t leave her much time for getting out, but the sheer depth of Marin’s research impressed Emonael even more deeply the more she looked into it. Still, excursions like this with Christoff and Damiya were important, and not just because she needed the occasional carnal encounter to keep herself sane.

  “She hasn’t said a lot about it, but it sounds like Pharos started up the Association in the hopes of building up the power of local magi, particularly because there’ve been some indications that Tethlyn is getting expansionistic,” Christoff said unhappily, frowning. “They’re a bit bigger than Pharos, but I’m really hoping that she’s wrong. I don’t want to get stuck in the middle of a war.”

  “Tethlyn . . . now, I’m not the best with geography, but aren’t they south of us?” Emonael asked, honestly uncertain.

  “That’s right; they’re a major trading partner of Pharos, and our main route to the ocean. Our only other trade routes go through the mountains and are much longer besides,” Damiya said, her own brow furrowed with concern. “I haven’t heard anything about that from Master Felda, but she doesn’t talk about politics much, instead preferring to talk about magic. You very well could be right, and that worries me, a lot.”

  “For good reason. War isn’t a good thing for almost anyone,” Emonael replied, forcing her concern to seem milder than she actually felt as she thought back to her summoning.

  She’d been summoned by an arrogant elven mage, and he’d intended to send her here to the Association to kill as many people as she could manage. Certainly, she’d killed him fairly promptly, but Emonael hadn’t bothered to check on what his motivation had been. But when she considered that incident, combined with her having been in the nation south of Pharos, it was enough to make her think that the danger was actually understated.

  If the man had been working for Tethlyn, she doubted that they would give up after losing a single mage, though they’d probably hesitate to use a demon again. It took her a moment, but then she mentally shrugged. She wasn’t going to give up the chance to continue her research with Marin. While she didn’t really care that much about the fate of mortal nations, Marin’s research was just too attractive to abandon. If war broke out, she’d figure out what to do at that point.

  “Enough of that subject, though. So, you were learning how to keep insects from attacking you, Christoff? How’s that going?” Emonael asked, and smiled as he groaned.

  “Oh, don’t remind me! Reesa likes giving motivation to get it right, and wasps are not fun,” Christoff griped, and Damiya giggled loudly in response.

  “Teacher, I heard that there could be a war between Pharos and Tethlyn.” Emonael’s voice interrupted Marin’s reading, and Marin blinked, looking up at her recently returned student as she continued. “Do you think there’s much truth to it?”

  Marin paused, making a note of where she was in the book before sitting back and letting out a weary sigh, rubbing her temples as she answered gently. “Of course there is.”

  “What? But both nations are predominantly elven, and have been trade partners for nearly three centuries!” Emonael protested, to Marin’s private amusement. If she didn’t already know that the woman was a succubus, she’d likely be clueless, and her eyes drifted to the amulet she’d given the demon to allow her through the wards on the library. What she hadn’t told Emonael was that it also helped conceal the woman’s nature from the other magi, among other things. She wasn’t going to lose her only apprentice at this point.

  “Yes, both countries are mostly elven, but that just allows any grudges to fester longer, rather than getting them over with fairly quickly. This particular war is brewing because of the decision to settle the lands we’re currently sitting on, Emonael,” Marin explained slowly. “Two and a half centuries ago, this region wasn’t settled, and both nations were about the same size. Both wanted to settle this region, but Pharos already had a small military presence in the area, mostly with watchtowers like the one my manor was built around, so they ended up settling the area. That event is likely the source of the current difficulties facing Pharos, as the ruler of Tethlyn hasn’t changed in that time, even if Pharos’ ruler has.”

  “Oh. That’s . . . worrying,” Emonael murmured, hanging up her jacket and approaching slowly.

  “It should be. On the other hand, having seen things like this play out before . . . I suspect that I won’t be around for the actual conflict,” Marin replied, letting out a soft sigh. “I’m guessing that the war will hit us in about twenty years or so. Based on my health and a few divinations, I suspect that I’ve got a bit less than that left to me. So you’re probably going to have to deal with it; not me.”

  “I . . . I see. Why haven’t you tried to extend your life, then? You’re powerful enough that I’m sure you could find a way to do so. I’ve heard of magi managing to extend their lives almost indefinitely, at least until they’re killed by an outside force,” Emonael asked, frowning as she added, “Like the Holy Priestess of Charda; she’s practically immortal, isn’t she?”

  Marin couldn’t help the laugh at Emonael’s final comment, shaking her head as she swallowed, then giggled and shook her head. “Oh, you had to use her as an example, didn’t you? She’s hardly immortal, though I suppose it looks like that from the outside.”

  “She’s human, and hasn’t aged a day in five centuries, so I think it’s a reasonable view,” Emonael replied, her eyes narrowing as she continued. “Still, your response . . . have you met her, Teacher?”

  “I see that I’m not going to get back to work just yet. I suppose it’s story time instead,” Marin replied, sighing and standing up, sliding a ribbon into the book and closing it carefully for the moment. “Come along. I’ll get some mulled wine and I’ll satisfy your curiosity a bit.”

  “Will this story actually tell me how you started down this path, Teacher?” Emonael asked, opening the door for Marin politely as she stared curiously. “I’ve always wondered why you’ve been so . . . focused on it.”

  “If you insist, yes,” Marin replied, pulling on a shawl to help stave off the evening chill and heading for the kitchen.

  The room was far too large for feeding just two people, but Marin liked having the space as she got to work on heating the wine. She used a basic spell to heat the water and wine more quickly, adding the spices to the water before starting on the wine. It took a few minutes, but Emonael waited patiently. Likely because her apprentice knew she wasn’t going to get anything out of her befor
e she was done, Marin reflected wryly. Gods knew she was getting predictable.

  “Would you care for a mug, Emonael?” Marin asked as she finished up the mixture to her tastes.

  “If this is going to be a long story, yes, I would,” the demon replied, and Marin laughed, pulling out a second mug and filling both of them. She handed one to Emonael before heading for the front room to sit in her favorite chair.

  “Now then, where to begin . . .” Marin murmured, settling down and taking a sip of the wine, almost feeling her age more poignantly as she thought back, then let out a sigh and nodded. “I suppose all the way back near the very beginning. When I was only forty winters old, I learned I had a magical talent, Emonael, and like everyone else, I believed that if only I could find the right teacher, I could make an enormous difference in the world. At the time, there was a famous healer, Clarissa the White, and I can’t possibly tell you how excited I was to be taken in as her apprentice, for I had a talent with healing magic.”

  “Clarissa the White . . . I thought that was the name of the Holy Priestess’s teacher . . .” Emonael murmured, then her eyes widened and she asked. “Wait, are you saying . . .?”

  “Yes. The ‘Holy Priestess’ and I shared the same teacher. In fact, I was expelled as Clarissa’s student when she found Marilla, which is the Holy Priestess’s name,” Marin explained, not really feeling angry as she sighed and shrugged. “I don’t really blame her. You’ve doubtlessly noticed how slowly I cast spells, yes?”

  “I have, and I’ve never been able to understand why. You’re incredibly careful and precise, but even that doesn’t quite explain it. You cast at half the speed, or slower, of anyone else I’ve seen,” Emonael admitted, her words so blunt that Marin couldn’t help another laugh.

  “Forthright, but true. The problem, Emonael, is my body. While my mana reserves equal or exceed those of any other High Mage of my skill and age, my mana veins are abnormally thin. I cast spells at the speed I do because that’s the fastest speed at which I can channel mana into them. At first, Clarissa didn’t realize that, so took me in as a student. Over time, the problem became more apparent, but she couldn’t find another student with the talent for healing, so she kept me on,” Marin continued, toying with the mug and taking a sip. “I learned a lot from her, mind you. But when she found Marilla . . . well, the next week I was without a teacher, at the age of sixty winters.”

  “Oh. That must have been hard. What did you mean about her not being immortal, though?” Emonael asked curiously.

  “Because I know how Clarissa lived so long, despite being a human. She died by accident, not from age,” the elf replied sadly, shaking her head. “Clarissa rarely asked for coin for payment, save when someone was wealthy. Instead, she took payment in the form of life energy. She’d take a year of a person’s life as payment, which most were happily willing to give in return for her work. Marilla does something similar, adding a fragment of the life force of each priestess she teaches to her own, extending her lifespan immensely. It has to be done willingly, mind, but it’s how they manage it.”

  “Oh! That’s . . . I suppose I can see why so many people would give up a tiny fragment of their potential lifespan to keep themselves alive, but that’s still crazy!” Emonael murmured, her eyes wide. “So they just . . . kicked you out, before you learned that?”

  “I was expelled after learning only the basics, really, though I learned far more than Clarissa likely thought I did. In the end, I was able to make a living as a healer, tending to caravans as I traveled the world, and tried to learn from other healers as well.” Marin’s voice was soft, thinking of the long past. “Knowing what I did, I had to confront the possibility early on, and I decided that I wouldn’t follow in Clarissa’s footsteps. I would take my own path, and as an elf my life would be long enough as it was. There was no reason for me to extend it further. Still, if she hadn’t expelled me, I never would have met the Caravan of the Golden Moon, and you and I wouldn’t be talking here now.”

  “I suppose I can sort of understand your point of view, but that’s still weird to me,” Emonael replied, pausing as she thought, then asked. “The Caravan of the Golden Moon? Who are they?”

  “Who were they would be more accurate. The caravan and people who made it what it was are long since dust, I’m afraid,” Marin told her with a sad laugh, taking another sip of her wine. “I had been on the road for some fifty winters, I believe, when I came across the caravan, far to the south on the Amber Plains. They were a nomadic tribe of humans, trading with the various cities that bordered the plains, and I joined the caravan to cross from one side to the other. As chance would have it, though, I joined on the trip where they stopped at the center of the plains, in a natural amphitheater that was holy to their people. There, the nature of the rock formations caused the full moon nearest summer solstice to grow much larger and shine a brilliant gold. It was beautiful on its own, and I could understand why they thought it holy at the time, yet it was what came afterward that set me on this path, Emonael.”

  As Marin paused to wet her throat, the demon eagerly sat forward, almost spilling her wine as she asked, “They knew what it is that you’ve shown me, then?”

  “Of course not. If they knew this, they’d still be around, and the world would have changed as well. No, they simply put my feet on the path,” Marin corrected, shaking her head. “That night, I saw them perform their sacred dances to their god, Balvess, Lord of the Golden Moon, as they raised their voices in song. Young and old, men and women, all of them joined in save for those too small to have learned it, and those who were too infirm to join. And as they performed the dance, each and every one of them cast the same spells. They created streamers of light through the sky, levitating and dancing in the moonlight. Some produced stronger effects than others, yet all of them could use the same spells, Emonael. They didn’t think of it as magic, not in the way that you or I would. They considered it the holy blessing of Balvess on them, yet . . . I knew that I’d seen something that could change everything.”

  “What did you do?” Emonael asked, settling back in her chair, her expression growing thoughtful. “That all of them could use the spells . . .”

  “Precisely. It meant that talent wasn’t actually necessary. I decided that I had to know why and how they could do what they did, so I approached them . . . and was promptly rebuffed,” Marin explained ruefully, shaking her head. “Still, even then I was stubborn. I joined their caravan on their travels, and I spent two decades in their company, until they finally saw me as a member of their tribe, though that came only after I converted to Balvess as well. It took time, but it was worth it. I finally learned their rituals, and how their youngest members had to tirelessly learn to make the exact movements of the dance in time with the songs, and that even then, most of them had to do so for weeks before getting the slightest spark of results. In the end, I realized that the dance was the gestures of the spell, while the song was the words, but even then I didn’t have the pieces I needed to put it together.”

  “Still, my conversion wasn’t purely for show. I truly had come to care for the people of the caravan. They were my family in many ways, though I’d seen many grow up in my time there, and knew I’d outlive all of them. They knew about my curiosity, as I’d shared my observations with the caravan head, and in the end they encouraged me to go out and search for my answers.” Marin smiled bitterly and shook her head. “Even now I’m not certain what happened to them in the end. I suspect they knew trouble was coming, for they vanished when war broke out between two city-states on the plains. Their faith still survives and grows, though.”

  “I have heard of Balvess’s faith, though I had no idea it’d had such an effect on your own life, Teacher. But I haven’t heard of the dances you mentioned,” Emonael admitted. “I’m sorry to hear that you had such a loss.”

  “It was hardly the only loss I’ve had over the years. I’m an old woman, Emonael. As for the rituals . . . those were lost with
the caravan, or will be when I die. Those I will not pass on, for they are sacred to me still,” Marin told her, straightening slightly as she stretched and continued. “When it comes to the rest of my experiences . . . those are buried in the library, so I’m not going to recount all of them to you. Suffice to say I attended a conservatory to learn about music and dance, then spent centuries pestering magi into getting copies of their spells as I pieced my work together. I think that’s enough of stories for the moment, though.”

  “As you wish, Teacher. Thank you for telling me.” Emonael stood and gave a slight curtsey before picking up her mug and offering to take Marin’s as she asked, “I do have another question for you, though.”

  “You always have another question. What’s this one?” Marin asked, handing over her mug and standing up slowly, her muscles complaining.

  “My friends have been complaining that I haven’t made much progress since becoming your apprentice. I know that I promised not to share your research, but does that mean that I can’t cast spells in public?” Emonael asked, pausing by the door. “I’ve refrained to be safe, but I wasn’t certain what you preferred I do.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t ask about it sooner, really. Go ahead and cast spells in public, Emonael, just try not to be too obvious about the breadth of spells you can manage.” Marin laughed, smiling as she added. “I was young once, so I do understand. Besides, in a couple of weeks, we should have enough results that I’ll finally be confident in starting to write down my research in full. I just need to decide what to call it.”

  “Thank you, Teacher,” Emonael replied with a bob of her head, and as she turned to leave the room, she grinned and added. “As to what to call it, I’d say you should name it Marin’s Codex. It’s the result of your research, after all.”