Chapter 231 – Spirits

The next few days were a whirlwind of planning and talking. Mirian mapped out a curriculum on glyph magic. “Xipuatl might be able to assist, given he’s seen both the Baracueli and Tlaxhuacan schools of magic,” she mentioned.

Within the hour, her former classmate was in the room with her, only looking a little haggard. As he entered, Xipuatl gave a deep bow. “Prophet Mirian,” he said.

“You don’t have to bow,” she said.

He cleared his throat, blushing. “They told me I should. It’s… so weird. You’re still… I mean, you look like… a student.”

“Yes, it becomes annoying, actually. I look too young to be taken seriously. Except for the eyes,” she said, smiling.

Xipuatl shivered.

“Here’s what I have to get them started,” she said, laying out sheafs of papers where she’d neatly written out lessons and practice sessions. “Any changes you’d make?”

Mirian was pleased to see that, within his area of expertise, Xipuatl was still sharp and eloquent—the person she’d seen in the Bainrose Library study sessions so long ago. He went over several changes he’d make, and had good reasons for all of them. Nagual wouldn’t need any practice using a catalyst—the catalysts were incorporated into the battlestaffs—but they would need specific instruction on how using a catalyst and glyphs separately would work, as well as practice with fine control using glyph pathways.

After a few days of planning, Mirian began to spend two hours each day lecturing Xecatl and a room full of nagual on Baracueli magic. Each of the nagual had been chosen because of their ability to commune with Ceiba Yan. Little of what they learned or remembered would make its way into the sacred tree’s soul and memories; after all, trees remembered things differently than animals of any kind. However, the sum total of it would slowly work its way into the great tree. In turn, the tree could more easily impart a skill to someone communing with it. Only Xecatl would receive the full benefit. By now, the nagual had made the practice of this sort of ‘tree learning’ technique into a blend of art and science. Like teaching, it could be no other way.

Observing it all, Mirian began to contemplate how the communing techniques could be used in the time loop. Memory transfer like what the temporal anchors did was far beyond them. But communing…

There were ideas she wanted to play around with.

Meanwhile, Mirian began to take her instruction directly from Xecatl.

Her first lessons were on soul communion, but those lasted only two days before the older woman realized Mirian had already mastered the basics.

“I picked up some tricks from the Elder creatures. What Viridian is doing in Torrviol is similar, as well.”

“You’ve mentioned this, ‘Viridian’ before,” Xecatl said.

“I’ll bring him next time when I bring the reference books. I think I’ll just use an Akanan airship to get here next time.” That made her pause. “Have any Akanan airships attempted to reach the island?”

“Yes. Scebur’s proxy was on the first one. We started shooting them down after that.”

Mirian raised an eyebrow. “That reminds me. I’d love to learn more about Tlaxhuacan armor and weapons. It takes two to avoid a war, and as much as I’d like this to all go peacefully… it might not. And we should be prepared for that.”

“Yes. I will see to it. First, though, we move onto spirits.”

The term ‘spirit’ wasn’t the best translation, but there was no equivalent to the Tlaxa word in Friian, Cuelsin, Eskinar, or Adamic.

They first started by looking at basic spirits.

“This will be easier to learn since your soul-sight is already extremely developed,” Xecatl said as they reached the Training Gardens.

“Do you construct the spirits directly?” Mirian asked.

“Attempting to construct a spirit is like trying to scoop air up with your hands and push it down into your lungs to breathe. No, we create the conditions where it should form, and let it develop. You provide water and sunlight to a plant and it grows on its own. You don’t pry it out of its seed.”

That was a simple enough concept. “What are the boundaries of the spirit?”

“That is harder to answer. There aren’t boundaries like a walled city, it’s more of a continuum. Like a forest gradually petering out. Like the waves of the ocean moving back and forth across the beach, both with each wave, and with the tides.”

“Like auric mana.”

Xecatl hesitated before replying. “Perhaps. But auras are malleable and manipulatable with a single thought. A spirit isn’t like that.”

They stopped walking in front of a single plant in a single pot. It was some sort of broad-leafed myrvite bush she didn’t recognize. Most things in the garden were growing together, but this bush was isolated specifically for training purposes.

“A spirit is a thing of connections. Foremost is the connection of souls. Sense the souls before you in this pot.”

Mirian noted her use of the plural, even though there was a single plant in front of her. The heretic priest, Lecne, would have told her souls were, by their nature, separate. They could touch, but never join. Only when scoured of uniqueness by the proper bindings could foreign soul energy be merged with a soul. Already, she knew that explanation was wrong. And Mirian was here to learn. If there was a contradiction, she would resolve it. She closed her eyes, bringing her hand close to the plant. Sensing its soul through her focus was easy. Plant souls weren’t especially bright, but her sight was good. It was easy to see the definition of it. Harder to see its ever-so-faint aura.

Souls, she thought. She began to search. There was a small insect crawling on the underside of a leaf. No, four insects, spread across the plant. She focused in. A worm, crawling about the soil. Some other small detritivores. She wasn’t a fool. She knew from Viridian’s instruction such creatures were invaluable in creating the soil the plants would thrive in. The insects attempting to eat its leaves, perhaps a net harm. And yet, the plant would respond, toughing its leaves, changing itself to be less palatable.

A spider came by as one of the insects tried to chew on the edge of a new leaf. Quickly ambushed the offending insect and sat there, mandibles and legs tapping as it devoured its prey. Another obvious connection. Another soul. But is it part of the spirit?

She looked closer, straining to see more. There must be more to it. She reached out to touch the plant. Commune with it.

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The plant whispered of the sun beating down on its leaves. Whispered of the little insects that had tried to gnaw on it. The spider was now chasing around a second one. How does one define a spirit if the souls are in motion? The spider and the insects are here now, but they won’t be soon. It’s a thing in flux.

She thought on that. As she did, she noticed something deeper in the soil. Clinging to the bush’s roots were tiny bits of fungus. Thin hyphae, snaking through the dirt. When she touched the plant’s roots, she could sense what she interpreted as satisfaction from the plant. It was a type of satisfaction that had to do with being given the right nutrients. Viridian would approve. This plant is quite happy. Except…

Except, it was thirsty. As the hot sun beat down, it would let out bits of water from its leaves to cool itself, but those roots straining at the soil were thirsty. The morning dew might help nourish it. Rain might come, or it might not. For all these possibilities, it prepared itself by some primitive instinct.

That’s the plant, though. How can a spirit be defined if nothing about its constituent parts is static?

The plant, she knew, was unconcerned by this problem. It needs to define nothing. It needs to name nothing. To it, the world is in flux, and that is simply life. She thought of Professor Endresen, always trying to nail down definitions for arcane physics. But that was a human thing. But the problem wasn’t concept or understanding. She could understand the relationships here. Insects, spiders, detritivores, fungi, plant; soil, sun, water, air. The problem was language. By necessity, language was limiting.