Chapter 7

Its been two days since then and Vrraet had never felt more lost than he had been. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had a goal — he needed to communicate with the Entity, to know its power, to understand its purpose and intentions, all done in a reasonably safe way.

Vrraet had also spent much time listening. He considered himself an erudite person, well learned and very capable of linking together inexplicable events to create patterns that may be used in the name of Sgnirmah. It is also with this name that he attempts his best to resist throttling a certain Bygail before him.

“... And how is the… egg, suppose to help?”

“It is an empty vessel, it is meant to hold life, create it and mould it from goop. If we are to attempt ‘summoning’ and having an audience with this Entity, we will need to give it a method to communicate back.”

“Would any other host work?”

“Forgive me if I do suggest that no one would volunteer.”

The room, as characterized by the typical architecture found underwater, was dark and suitably moist. While nearly the entirety of the Sanctuary can fit into this description, there were a surprisingly large array of other structures beyond its boundaries; them having found themselves washed apart through the millennia or having been scattered about since the day they had been cast into the sea.

Most importantly, however, was that these buildings were out of the Sgnirmah’s sphere of power and can be found by those in the know. Blessedly, Vrraet could count himself as one of those. Unfortunately, he would have to share it with Elst in pursuit of some dubious goal.

Somewhere due north, closer towards the above-water where land striders live, the two conspiring Iasgaireans had located a suitable location where the two can work on some extremely dangerous and difficult subjects. Vrraet had thought it to be a horrendously bad idea because with all honesty it is absolutely terrible. He was, however, rather out of ideas and time, thus he had to make do with Elst's plan to open a line of communication with thaumaturgy.

Vrraet wouldn’t consider himself to be against the idea of poorly structured and vaguely implemented, no, he had used them plenty often and even created a few, including the Sands of Truth that can reveal the previously unseen. They are quick, easy and most importantly, can be used whenever he goes.

While he did have little issue with such magic in a context, he did have several large objections towards using it as part of something as important and accident-prone as a summoning. It wasn’t because neither of them had ever attempted such a procedure — that alone was bad enough — but also because he had no way to judge how the Entity will react. As far as he was concerned, they were making it all up on the go. He would have expected that from Elst but himself?

This is a terrible idea.

Yet, he persisted, listening to Elst’s wild and senseless reasoning.

Personally, he believed that having runes as the basis of containment would be the best idea. One to prevent thaumaturgic effects from exciting or moving whatever the two Iasgaireans binds it to, one to allow the Iasgaireans to remove it from the host and some more to dictate its arrival time. Despite his ideas and centuries of practice, he still as unsure as to how effective his own preparations would be.

Elst, however, had gone down an entirely different route.

“Magic is an art, an expression,” Elst explained, “It is free form, a conversation between you and the world, to give and take.”

That, Vrraet thought, Is what I disagree with.

Elst was a researcher and much like him, an Elder. What they differed was that Vrraet was allowed dedication towards a single subject whilst Elst had to give lectures and produce scrolls of his findings whenever he was alive; the Saighgair shuddered at the thought of more Bygails having access to this unrepentant mad Iasgairean’s works. Vrraet would suggest that Elst purposefully expire himself in an effort to stay away from the less interesting work but that wouldn’t explain why he was here.

Didn’t he say that he was still working on his own project?

Regardless of what manner of excuses that Bygail used, what mattered was that he was here. Vrraet didn’t refuse his offer — it was too precious to pass up for some stuck-up sense of pride. Without his help, his work here would have progressed so much slower but yet for the same reason, he was equally frustrated with the fellow.

It wasn’t a matter of philosophy — well, it is, but rather also a problem of ideology. If there was anything Vrraet could be proud of, it would be his dedication towards solving immediate and practical problems with equally practical solutions. If there was an enemy, kill it. If the enemy cannot be killed, build something that can blast it to pieces. If it was something that requires more abstract thinking such as diplomacy and summoning behind the back of the Sgnirmah…

It would be accurate to describe him as feeling distinctively out of his depths.

However, it couldn’t be said that he couldn’t contribute anything to their project. Aside from the more durable fish-skin parchment that the Iasgarians carve in, he had also developed a type of writing tool that uses “burnt” slates and a scraping tool to quickly allow scripts to form. With that and some other careful manipulation of air, he managed to scrape by an unnecessarily large collection of implements. With these tools, he had been the one responsible for marking, creating and prototyping the ‘summoning’ circle, using runes and lines to markdown concepts such as ‘dividing’, ‘barriers’ and ‘calling’.

Fundamentally, his runes harnessed the ambient power present in the world, allowing the runes to string together into sentences and phrases until a coherent thought and purpose can be identified without fail, directed with strings of traumatically active materials such as gold to serve as a path for the energy. It would be meticulous, direct and if anything goes wrong, he would be confident to announce it was not his fault.

Elst, on the other hand, rejected any notion of safety. On his end, he introduced the concept of catalysts, sacrifices that can invoke complete concepts rather than the descriptive runes. While they can serve as a substitution and probably lessen the amount of Iasgairean errors, it also meant that there would be dredges left behind and the occasionally misunderstood meaning.

Which was why, as proclaimed the Bygail, he held an egg within his spindly arms. It wasn’t just any other egg too, it was a damned Wutwyrm’s egg. How he had gotten his hands on one of those was mystifying in its own right.

“And if it thought of the egg as food?”

“That is why we shall indicate it as a vessel rather than for consumption.”

And Vrraet hadn’t even pointed out that they themselves understood little about the mechanics of magic and how perception from the other direction, the receiver, would affect the ritual. Truthfully, he would rather spend more time researching spirits and the like, testing how they respond to being summoned and devising ways o trap, harm or otherwise inconvenient the, in ways that simple weapons cannot.

But time is short.

Thus, they found themselves alone in the isolated ruins of a hovel, hidden amongst the growing kelp as they danced close to the surface sunlight, fixated with a plan that is both morally and practically dubious to the extreme. On the floor, caked with a layer of heavy, sticky dirt that wouldn’t dissolve or break down rapidly when exposed to water, was a series of carved circles. Three meters by three meters each, the middle one overlapping the other two, it wasn’t particularly large. One was intended to be the area that the two Iasgaireans will sit at, surrounded with protective glyphs and isolated barriers that would separate them from whatever that shows up. The second circle was meant to be the receiving area, the place where the Entity will appear and converse.

And the third one, Vrraet thought, Well, that is to be determined.

But for now, Vrraet had his hands full with trying to understand how to mesh reagents and Elst’s brand of magic into his circles. If he had his way, he would spend days, weeks or even months to refine the circle. He would use not just a single, dingy room to inscribe such monumental work, no he would use an entire structure, construct it from its bedrock up and raise it by brick mortar — above water even if that is needed. It would be able to summon and hold any spirit, it would be able to accommodate any number of participants and function at any time without needing for sacrifices, hopes or additional personals.

It could have been perfect.

Alas, that couldn’t be.

The Iasgaireans were short on time, thus they had to do their best with substitutions. As such, Elst had been amassing a variety of objects that Vrraet had trouble understanding their purpose and origin — some he hadn’t even seen before.

“Is that… that’s a corpse. That is a corpse, isn’t it?”

Over in the corner, all carefully wrapped up in seaweed and hempen ropes was a familiar silhouette, slumped against the wall. Even through its thin disguise, it would be impossible to not see that is was a dead body of a Bygail, all covered up.

“Yes? He wouldn’t be using it again.”

Vrraet stared at him, silent in judgement. There was a long moment as neither said a word, letting the question hang for a while as the absurdity seemed to have affected only one within the chamber.

Eventually, Vrraet pointed looked away, looking at the other items. There were some amount of crystals, all bundled up in balls of gelatine to prevent them from scattering. Spools of some metallic threads could be seen, punctuated with sacks of mysterious herbs and bestial parts, laying about. How, or more importantly, why, these could qualify as reagents were beyond his understanding.

“Enough of eggs,” he finally said, unwilling to question the question he so wished to ask, “We fir must determine if the concept is functional before we continue with the experiments.”

“A test, then?”

“Yes,” answered Vrraet, giving the circles a look over once again. The circles, when fully functional, would and should be able to call to an individual across time and space, bringing them back to here if they are so willing. Moving someone against their will with magic is difficult, using natural laws to move something is much easier in comparison. The magic that the Stjernmah, Cuain, demonstrated was impressive in its own right. Even if it was probably non-selective and has only several permanent locations it could function at, it was not a feat that could be replicated lightly. Especially, it calls forth an image, a representation of the whichever they summon, and to bring it forth, both must agree to the summoning. This way, both the summoner and the summoned entity can be protected from each other.

That aside, certain limitations came along with his current design. He was sure that there are beings that cannot fit in it and, in some cases, do not have bodies. As such, trying to do so without either a medium to hold said formless being or some larger circle, it would break the circle and its circuits of runes, resulting in catastrophic failure on the part of the summoner.

What that would entail, however, Vrraet noted with mild irritation, could range from being blown to pieces, rend apart into meat sludge or sent backwards to the summoned being’s origins instead.

All in all, he had no intention of ever testing that out.

In order to compensate for not knowing where, what or who the Entity is, he would have to use the closest thing he had — its name. Whether it would prove successful in summoning it would be dubious at best, but he felt confident that he would at least catch its attention.

Before any of that, however, they must confirm that the circle works.

Elst apprehensively agreed after a moment of consideration, “... It might prove rather difficult. The Iasgaireans have no legend or history of spirits, and the only ones I know of all originate from the land striders, which I doubt would be willing to be summoned.”

They fell into deep silence again, staring down at the lines of white, stark against the dark mixture they had lathered onto the stone floor. The yellowed light of vines glimmered from above, taunting them with its faux cheerfulness.

“Shall we attempt it on the lost Saighgairs?” Vrraet abruptly suggested, “Should we not attempt to retrieve them?”

“... That I believe would be a poor decision. Noble perhaps, but rather foolish,” Elst hesitantly replied, looking up again.

“Explain.”

“Wherever these Saighgairs are now, they are not merely lost to us but most likely taken by the Entity,” Elst said, his tendrils curling in unease, “To summon them… I doubt that we can, and to do so would likely draw the Entity’s ire. It would be best not to test it.”

Vrraet paused.

It was unusual for Elst in particular to take a reserved stance. As Vrraet himself had little dealings with things such as spirits and the like, he could not argue against Elst who had made it a point of study.

“Besides,” Elst stated, “We have little ways to call them back. Perhaps with their own Vessels, we can link them back to our world. Without that, we do not even have a name to recognize them by.”

“... That is true,” Vrraet admitted, leaning back.

“Then?”

They sunk back into sullen silence again. Vrraet could keenly sense the passage of time within the little hovel, the disquieted thoughts running through the two of them.

“We can test it on one of us.”

Vrraet looked at him sharply, a retort ready at his mandibles but he held back his words. Even if he felt distaste at using a living being and most importantly Iasgaireans as their first test subject, he couldn’t quite immediately tell him no.

“The circle is not refined for this manner of testing,” Vrraet warned, arms crossing, “Moving a spiritual entity is entirely different from moving something physically.”

“That is not what I mean,” Elst shook his tendrils, “We do not need to move our selves in any way.”

Vrraet’s mind stuttered to a stop as a bolt of realization struck him, “You are not suggesting that we temper with our own souls, do you?”

Whilst the Iasgaireans have no religion, it was plenty obvious to them that souls, in fact, do exist. He had little proof of how the Sacred Vessels function or how the Sgnirmah herself managed the feat of allowing her subjects to be reborn again and again, he could make conjectures that it must have had something to do with souls.

For obvious reasons, that was an incredibly valid reason to not do it.

With that in mind, Vrraet vehemently expressed his opinion.

“Well,” Elst said, “I have little other plans.”

Casting his gaze around the chamber, Vrraet found his manifold eyes settling onto the egg once again, still sitting innocuously within the Bygail’s arms. There, he lingered.

“Say, would it be possible to move other souls? Ones that have yet to be developed?”

Elst listened, twitched, and slowly let the Wutwyrm egg down onto the floor. With that, he removed a sheaf of fish skin parchment from around his waist, wrapped tightly into a book that he now fervently flipped through.

Vrraet waited patiently as the Bygail eventually ended on a page, flipping back and forth as he referenced some unknown inscriptions with anxious twitches of his tendrils. As Elst did so, he muttered, “Yes… That should be possible. I do not know how to recreate this effect but some something like the Stjernmahs’ Sacred Vessels...”

“We know it can definitely be done,” Vrraet shook his own, waving his fingers in dismissal, “But we digress. We are not here to bring back the dead, we are seeking a communion.”

“And we have no way of testing if it works.”

“We know that something will happen,” he said as he gazed back down at the inscribed circles, “We just do not know how close it will be to the desired outcome.”

“The land striders have a phrase that I find to describe such a situation quite well,” Elst stated, looking out at the entrance of the building.

“Oh?”

“I believe it to be something… something similar to ‘A leap of Faith’.”

“... ‘Faith’?”

While Vrraet had studied the writings of land striders, having also been utilizing their manuscripts to garner further understanding of magic and other subjects, there were several words that he had been unfamiliar with.

“Faith is... unconditional belief,” Elst stated after thinking for a brief moment, “To trust in something despite not being able to determine the outcome.”

“That sounds rather foolish.”

“And I’ve heard it to be a staple of religions,” said Elst, his sight still firmly planted at the doorway, “Much like our own towards the Sgnirmah, wouldn’t you agree?”

Vrraet thought about it.

And, to his shock, he quickly discovered that he did not like thinking about it.

Elst asked, his tone calm and even, “Do you understand what I mean now?”

Faith, unconditional belief, these are all things that an Iasgairean possess in spades though Vrraet had never heard someone explain it in such a way. How could someone dissuade the generosity and power of the Sgnirmah? Her strength, power and care for them were evidential in her gift of unending life, her protection against the cold, dark abyss of the sea. It was only natural that the Iasgaireans serve her with their all, that he felt was sure to be.

“Do the land striders all possess such… similar mindsets?”

“No. But I have heard that many profess their allegiance towards one of their gods before their deaths.”

“Huh.”

Vrraet felt distinctively uncomfortable somehow, a curious itch scratching at him from within his head. It was as if he was on the verge of some monumental understanding and he knew that well, that some greater comprehension he couldn’t reach but moments before now stood at the brink of his consciousness.

Desperately wanting to move his mind off such a topic, he found himself thinking about the Entity, that which had taken his previous Saighgair companions until nearly nothing remained of them, that which had boasted incredible power against the protective barriers of the birth sites, tearing through them until nothing had remained. The idea of giving faith to something other the Sgnirmah made him sick to gills.

And even the birth site that it had attacked earlier — even that seemed faded, his mind struggling to even remember it. Ever since he had returned, or perhaps after the Saighgairs were lost, it had seemed like no one else had paid it any mind.

Where is it from? What did it want from them? From me?

The most important question he had, however, was one he hadn’t dared to think of.

Is it a god?

“Elst,” he spoke, speaking the name directly, his own eyes refusing to look back, “How much do you know of the Sgnirmah?”

“... A bit. Not too much.”

“This might be a strange question, but… is she a god, Elst?”

“... No, I do not think so,” Elst furtively replied, quiet, “And if she is, she would be rather far from any god I’ve heard of.”

“And this Entity?”

“I do not know, Vrraet. A powerful spirit, maybe, but I know of no worshippers.”

He tugged on his tendrils, stress cleaning them as he paced around the room.

Gods.

Is the Sgnirmah a god? Is the Entity a god? Why are we created? What extent is their power?

The more he thought about it, the greater the unease that ate at his psyche. He understood that he was not gifted at all in the field of mythology, arts or the like. For much of his lifetimes, he had thought of himself to be a practical being, someone that focuses on problems that could be solved, ones that have concrete applications and not some whimsical debate about religions, gods and faith.

When he looked outside at the ocean, out of the safety of his Sanctuary and protection of the colony, he hadn’t thought of it as created by something foreign, something greater than them all. When he looked at spirits and the like, he hadn’t thought of them as ‘ancestors’ or some deep, dark creatures of the depths. When he thought of the Sgnirmah, he hadn’t thought of her as a god, his god.

Perhaps he once did, a time long past when he first gained recognizable conscious, to be capable of more than gnawing on fish bones and catching prey by hand. Maybe then he had found wonder in the world, to see the sea around them with fear and awe of their majestic profoundness. Where was the awe? Where was the deep-seated fear of the unknown? Where was the worship of terrible forces outside of his control?

Now, he felt that old, buried fear resurfacing from within the darkest corner of his mind. With an ironic awareness, he could feel the way blood pumped through his veins, the heart that hammered within his chest. There was a tightness he couldn’t explain away with equations, lines and research.

Something primal, something that, in his addled existence as an Iasgairean, was lost and found. He hadn’t felt it in many, many years and now that he stood before a circle, not at all ready to even begin confronting these unknown giants.

He felt… small.

Insignificant.

...

Then, as soon as it arrived, it passed.

The sensation, the awful realization that had its claws hooked into his brain released their grasp. With a gasp, just hidden, it faded away from him, leaving the burning veins in his flesh washed with a clear-minded coldness, like a cloud lifting from the water surface and allowing sunshine to reach the murky darkness at the bottom of his brain.

What nonsense was I thinking?

It didn’t matter what he thought of. It didn’t matter if the Entity was a god, a spirit or whichever creatures that wander the deeps. It didn’t matter if he himself had failed to comprehend the concept of religion, faith or this odd branch of magic that Elst was interested in. Nor did it matter, if at all, if the task seemed impossible or complicated.

All that did matter was that the Sgnirmah ordered it and her will is absolute. An audience we will need to find and if not...

And with that, Vrraet left the questions of morals to his future self.

If the Entity is a god, so be it.

“You think too much,” Elst reminded him, “Either way, your task remains the same. The Entity is still an unknown and we knew well it is intelligent. Until we understand, we can barely even contemplate about fighting it, so focus.”

“Yes… yes, you are correct.”

It was Elst’s turn to look confounded this time around, his tendrils frozen as he prepared to go on another monologue. Taken by surprise, he could only manage a, “I am?”

“We must continue with tests now,” he found himself saying, a calm state washing over him as he felt the tension slipping away from his muscles, “Regardless of what may occur, my responsibility is to ensure it occurs.”

The Bygail didn’t speak for a while. It was with difficulty that he said, a few moments later, “Well, that is correct.”

“We’ve wasted enough time,” Vrraet concluded, “Besides the validity of the summoning ritual on the Entity, we must first ascertain that the preliminary functions are operational.”

Elst didn’t argue about that.

Time passed, and the two Iasgaireans kept working without further disturbances.

They wouldn’t be ready today but Vrraet believed that it was acceptable progress for having so little time and resources to work with. Even if they couldn’t attempt to summon the Entity directly, they could very well make sure that everything else works as intended. Mindful of the morality issues of tampering with the souls of their own dead, the two resolved to run their tests on fishes instead.

To most, the feat of being able to trap a soul, even if it did belong to a common trout would be a reputable success. Witnessing the ghostly apparition of a fish that had yet to realize it was dead served to bolster his confidence in his work but yet left him deeply dissatisfied. If it had been the previous Vrraet, the one that had spent much of his time within his work station and busy being jealous of other researchers, such setbacks and working in such conditions would have made him neurotic.

Now, he was merely displeased. He understood, but that didn’t prevent him from wishing for more time.

Thus, after a hard day’s work with little product to be shown, he returned to the colony for rest. It was a strange sensation, looking up at the moonlit sky from beneath the waves. He hadn’t thought of the sky as mysterious in quite some while, or the ocean, the rocks, the various life forms that had lived here. The centuries have drained his sense for discovery and appreciation for the world with a curdled desire for mere knowledge. With every passing life, he had felt… lessened.

When an Iasgairean return, reborn within new flesh, his mind moves on, still malleable as a newborn with all the experience of their previous selves. They were meant to grow, to understand more, to become better. For Vrraet, however, he merely became jaded, shrivelled and bitter.

Next to him walked Elst. Similarly, he had been watching the moon above as they swam silently through the water. For the first time, Vrraet found it in himself to understand that perhaps the Bygail had a point. Maybe he had been too ingrained with his old sense of devotion, too entrenched within what he believed to be real.

The moonlight was poetic, or at least he would have thought so if he knew what poetry meant. Despite it all, he felt pure, light and cleansed of doubts, glimmering as under the watch of the celestial object. Just the reminder that he could perform magic was enough to send tingles up his spine and renew his urge to cackle — No, those are reserved for land striders.

But, he said nothing on his way back, not to Elst and not to himself. No words were needed and no more was said when the reached the stony gap within the ruins that served as the entrance to the Sanctuary.

His room was as he had left it and sleep claimed him in its grasp soon after. Thankfully, he was allowed a dreamless night, exhaustion taking him. He thought of many things before so; he thought of his role in this world, he thought of the discoveries he could make, the entities he would soon encounter and to his surprise, he felt excited.

The next day came quickly and as did the next.

And then the next.

And the next until an entire week had gone by.

He had yet to receive word from the Stjernmah but he had left that at the back of his head, half-forgotten and half-remembered. He was distracted, concerned and jubilated at the same time because it was time.

His preparations were just about as ready as it could be.

With a hurry, he left his chamber without a hint of grogginess, his hands shaking with excitement that he could barely contain — because he was ready. His work with the summoning circles was finally finished.

It was time to seek an audience.

As he left the chamber, one that none other had entered in many days, it would be shown that, just perhaps, there was more than a revelation and change of heart. The walls of the room, made of ancient bricks and stones were etched with numerous markings that weren’t there before. Curves, sharp edges, jagged twists and turns, they formed a massive mural across the surface, etched deep into every available space.

In Vrraet's absence, the vines slowly dimmed, allowing the symbols to fade back into obscurity, unseen, unheard.

Indeed, Vrraet was ready, his efforts and delicate arrangements with his other Iasgaireans, all led to this day.

And.

So was I.