Chapter 45 – Fly

Xipuatl looked at Mirian, then eloquently said, “Wait… what?” Then his face turned to disbelief. “Wait, are you sure you saw your soul? The first time?”

“Yeah,” Mirian said. “I could see my aura on the outside and it was like distant weather moving across the sky, and my soul was like lava that was swirling around like it was being blended, sort of like when you make tzatziki sauce and you’re stirring really fast, except since it’s all through your body it’s more like if your circulatory system was made of the tzatziki and your heart was a blend spell.”

She frowned.

Xipuatl frowned.

He said, “I wouldn’t quite describe the ephemeral majesty of the soul that way,” at the same time Mirian said, “Gods that’s my worst metaphor yet, I’m so sorry.”

Then Xipuatl went back to, “But you actually… saw it?”

“I sure think so. Only… there was something there. Like a hole in it, except not a hole. I couldn’t see it, but it was like something was displacing my soul and it had to go around. Like—” She stopped herself before she said like the tzatziki sauce going around an invisible stir stick because there just had to be a better way.

“Have you been… cursed?”

“Loads of times. One time at preparatory school, another girl thought I was spreading rumors about her and called me a—oh, wait, you mean like a necromancer’s curse? Gods no. I think I’d remember that.” She paused. “Can you examine my soul to see?”

“That’s not my expertise, unfortunately. If you were a plant I could. Do you feel ill?”

“No, I feel fine. It wasn’t hurting me or anything. At least, I don’t think so.”

“That’s good, because I can’t fix curses. It’s not… soul magic is just as broad as arcane magic. Moreso, even. This is the other reason I need more people. If I’m to fill in the theoretical gaps, I need people who can look beyond my piece of the picture. Speaking of which… you brought your abacus?”

“Of course,” Mirian said, handing the jade statue back.

Xipuatl opened the door and led them to his study room. The room contained three entire shelves of books and scrolls, and a large ornate desk carved with the same forms and figures as the artwork in the apartment.

His theoretical framework was, to put it lightly, amateurish. That made sense; he was still a student. It was clear that he was taking the research seriously, though. The scrolls and books he’d accumulated were all full of hard numbers from arcane research. Several of them appeared to be recent publications from the wizards in Torrian Tower.

Mirian spent nearly an hour looking over his math and pointing out errors when she found them.

“So what’s next?” she finally asked, as the hour grew late.

“Years of work. Maybe decades,” he said. “The Tlaxhuaco have never seen reason to quantify the runic system or find conversion ratios. Nor have the Luminates, at least as far as I can tell in the research I’ve done.”

“The energies must be fundamentally different, if the catalysts required to access them are different.”

“Different, yes, but there has to be a transformative equation that describes it. How else does the soul produce auric mana?”

“That assumes it does. I don’t think the scholarship quite agrees on that. It’s the leading hypothesis, since ambient mana and auric mana seem to repel each other, but….”

Xipuatl sighed. “That’s the other problem. If the other fields were actually solved, this would be so much easier. Also, I don’t think looking into the auras and souls of people will be the easiest, since people are so messy and inconsistent. Sure, they can give you subjective input, but even a practiced arcanist will never output perfectly consistent energy levels. My first measurements have been plants.”

“You built something already! May I see?”

“I suppose so. You’ve seen this much.” The device was in another room, this one full of artificer’s tools. The whole setup made Mirian jealous—she would have loved to have her own personal crafting room. Xipuatl removed a cloth that was covering a large lumpy object on one of the tables.

The device resembled a tree stump, with densely packed wooden rods covered in symbols forming a circle around a mess of tangled wires, both silver and gold. Mirian studied the symbols carved into it. Unlike glyphs, which shimmered faintly with bright color pairs, the runes glowed a steady silver, like moonlight.

“What’s it do?” she asked.

“That’s the problem. It doesn’t do anything.”

“Ah. Well what’s it supposed to do?”

“It’s supposed to measure a soul-spell. I can’t even begin to diagnose the problem, though. And the problem is—no one else can either. Tlaxhuaco hasn’t applied modern artifice to their magic, and no one is allowed to study it here.”

“Unless you teach me,” Mirian said.

“Which,” Xipuatl said with a sigh, “I am in no way qualified to do. And probably shouldn’t do. But…”

Mirian understood. If he was right, it really was a theory that might revolutionize the way magic was understood. She still wasn’t convinced he was right, but what did she have to lose by exploring it? “I’m committed,” she said. “And when I commit to something, I don’t back down.” He didn’t know just how much time he did have to teach her.

***

She spent the rest of the cycle on the tasks she had set for herself. Xipuatl refused to teach her how the celestial runes were made, so she spent time memorizing their form and function, continuing to dig through his equations and statistics, and meditating. Magic had never felt easy to her, but for some reason, this kind did. The more she examined her soul, the more she was convinced she was right; something had burrowed into it. It was concerning, but then again, wouldn’t that disappear when the loop reset again?

Illusion Spells began to bore her. So had Artifice Design. She would need to keep the Physics and Spell Engine classes to continue her research with Xipuatl in the next cycle, but too little of her time was spent getting Torres to tell her design improvements and tips. That freed up two classes in the next cycle. Combat Magic, she would keep. Nothing could replace rote practice.

On the 21st of Solen, she walked to the spellward towers. The barrier was intact. The next evening, it was gone. Again, she wasn’t sure if it was sabotage or the arcane eruptions south of them, but the timing lined up with the latter. She’d narrow down the window further next cycle.

The day before the Akanan attack, she spent the evening with Selesia. It would have been an overstatement to say her Eskanar was getting good, but like soul magic, she seemed to have a natural knack for languages. She could say a few simple phrases, and understand most of what Selesia said when she switched to Eskanar.

Together, they walked to Torrviol Lake. The setting sun scattered sparkling flames across the waters, and when they turned, the town was silhouetted by the red horizon, the sky bright with orange-brushed clouds hanging over the distant hills.

“It’s beautiful,” Selesia said, smiling.

“It is,” Mirian said, though when she saw the majestic Torrian Tower back-lit by the dusk, all she could think was, it shatters tomorrow. The city is razed, and you die with it. And I can’t stop it. It still seemed impossible—and yet, she had to find a way.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

They ate dinner together, and held hands as they walked back to the dorms. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mirian said again. The lie tasted just as bitter as the last time, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell her the horrible truth.

***

This time, Mirian set up the crates she’d need to climb up the latrine shaft into Bainrose a day early and stabilized the crates with shape wood and the ground with shape stone. This meant she was watching from the parapet when Torrian Tower was bisected. The cascading explosions illuminated the approaching army. Mirian watched, noting how and where formations moved. This time, she left the spy atop the southeast tower alive. She wanted to see what he did.

In the northern forest, she could see faint flashes of light and movement around a certain area. Probably near another entrance to the northern catacombs. It was too dark and distant to pinpoint the entrance. She hoped bog lions ate them all.