Due to the length of Chapter 4, I've split it into two parts :)
Chapter 4
Dreams are real; dreams exert
influence
~ Anonymous Valarian sage
Farinwood
With the Medaillon around her neck, Averroes
retreated.
She
sat on her chair and looked at Rayne.
McSee
became a particular shade of purple, close to exploding.
His
magical studies were a well-guarded secret; the ostracism and humiliation
within the society of his peers too great a burden to bear. Beyond that, there
were those who actively sought out sorcery in any form and were ruthless to
practitioners, even to the point of death. These extreme deeds were covertly
overlooked by the government of the day. The Electan turned a blind eye, while
professing tolerance from the speech podium.
The
big man ran large, strong hands through unruly red hair, bringing them forward
finally to cover his face. Breathing deeply for calm, he had pause to reflect
on the unfairness of the situation.
Barring
the simplest tricks - lighting a fire, closing a door - his knowledge was
truthfully theoretical. He knew how to work spells for extraordinary feats, but
he was not sure they even worked practically.
Risking
his place in society, perhaps even his life, he nonetheless set out to study as
far as he could advance in the art under present day restraints.
It
was a dream he chose to realise after seeing an old man near death on the
narrow streets of Linmoor snap his fingers to light a fire for warmth. As a
member of a civilisation that hated anything unexplainable, he should have
reported the old tramp; he was a boy entranced.
And
here, here was a man outraged last night, and yet this man was a first rank.
McSee
dropped his hands. He looked first to Averroes, his gaze sympathetic,
understanding her confusion, or so he thought. She, like him, was not told the
whole truth, and was therefore as shocked as he, which was true, but was not
the whole of it.
She
had drawn her legs up and rocked to and fro. Nothing McSee could say would help
her, and he turned his gaze aside.
Next
he looked to Aven seated in his armchair on the edge as if about to take
flight. His few white hairs stood up; he had really rubbed his pate. McSee was
briefly amused.
He
moved to Rayne, who was as immobile as a statue, grey eyes vacant. The sight
spooked him. What was the matter with the man? A glance at Aven again told him
the old man was anxious, but not too surprised. He quickly shifted back to
Rayne. A flash of insight, and McSee understood what happened a few minutes ago
went entirely against Rayne’s will.
The
Society taught one such as Rayne could command the Maghdim and cast the
enchantment, a secret leaked generations back, a secret without teeth for the
device was believed lost. Rayne was part of a sect that hid the Medaillon, and
wrestled with the all-important Enchantment when he took over the Mantle’s
reins; he was also a mortal man who grew up in this society that regarded what
he was as wicked, worthy of death.
No
wonder the man was ambivalent; he had been suppressing his gifts his entire
life. With new pity in his heart, McSee made a move towards the frozen man.
Aven
sprang up. “Wait, McSee. It is the Enchantment; it is like no other. This is
when Rayne will be at his most vulnerable. In calling upon the power of the
Medaillon for the first time, he loses his sight, will and soul for a time.
This happened once before to another, and we nearly lost him because we
interfered. Rayne is unwilling also, which makes this harder, and thus it will
take him longer to return. Wait, please.” Aven shook his head, clearly angry
with himself. “This is my stupidity.
I was the one who taught him the lore and versed him in the Enchantment. I knew
this would happen and still I sprang it on him like a theatre master. Aaru, it
shouldn’t be handled in ire.”
“You
versed him?” McSee questioned. “I thought the passing spell was learned only
once.”
“You
know a lot.”
“A
leak long ago.”
“Yes,
well. The passing is revealed when the device changes hands. How Averroes
managed, I really do not know. The Maghdim Enchantment used here is different;
this is when the sorcerer seeks to employ it, and that is where the danger lies
… so, yes, I versed him.”
“How
did you know?”
“Mantle
archives. You talk too much.”
McSee
shrugged. He thought, under the circumstances, he had a right to understand.
“He never used it before?”
“There
was no call to, and he hates it.”
“Yet
he is the Mantle,” McSee pointed out.
“The
perfect choice is a man who thinks twice, not so?”
“Does
Averroes lose her control over it after this?”
“We
know little. No one dared - wait, his eyes flicker …”
Rayne’s
eyes indeed showed movement.
Silver candlelight was not near the silver vapour
of a soul temporarily travelling beyond the body’s means of control. The
silvery state was not vacant, however; there was the sense of presence,
multiple, a sense of being watched, even aided, supported.
Perhaps magic employed left
essence, the kind that aided newcomers.
Rayne’s core gathered it
together, establishing a connection back to his flesh. It was unfamiliar, yet
not, and it was not comforting and yet it was. The realms of magic always have
two faces, and he would soon know that intrinsically.
He grasped the connection, as he
dimly perceived he swerved without direction, and pulled himself hand over hand
back to his body. It was hard work, but soon it was also easier, familiar.
And it felt good.
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