S01E10 - The Growlery

*****

I slid the doors to the septumhate closed and turned to face my companions and baby-sitters. Raising a stamped and sealed letter up as a prize, I gave Simon the biggest grin I could manage. “Ever been inside a growlery?” I said.

Simon’s eyes went wide as dinner plates. “They…they gave you a growlery? Already?” he stuttered in surprise. “That’s…”

“Amazing?” I said, walking over to stand before him. “Incredible? Totally unfair?”

Simon blushed and looked away.

“I’m an old man in a young man’s body, Simon,” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I look the same age as you, but I’m twice as old, with twice the experience. You’ll be back here soon enough yourself.”

He nodded. “I keep forgetting that you’re older than you look.”

“And I keep getting surprised by the stranger in the mirror,” I commiserated. “I argued to get you access to the lower levels. Unless you’d rather go have drinks with Brice and Colin?”

“No!” he burst out. “I mean, not that I wouldn’t want to, but …”

Brice and Colin laughed at the young apprentices discomfort. “I know only the magus are allowed on the lower levels,” Brice said. “We’ll be at the Bell and Pony. Just walk straight out the Citadel and keep walking. It’s on your left side near the marketplace. If its past 6 bells, we’ll head back to the embassy.”

“Don’t forget you begin training in the morning,” Colin said, handing me my glaive and backpack.

We parted ways downstairs at the front desk and after I presented my letter to Sophia, Simon and I were taken to another large circular stairwell. This one was located behind the front desk and descended deep into the earth. The worn stone stairs were lit at intervals by brass torches with glowing crystals set in their ends. The harsh light from the torches illuminated veins of metal in the walls and stairs, causing them to glitter in a thousand shades of silver and gold. A hundred stairs later, the well opened into a circular room which had benches and bookshelves carved into the stone. The benches, I noted, were thickly padded and appeared quite comfy. It was an effort to keep myself from the books.

Heavy iron-bound doors were set at each of the cardinal directions, with the stairway located in the south wall. In front of the north door, an old man sat at a desk reading a book. He looked up as we entered, and the harsh magical light turned his leathery face into a roadmap of years.

“Keeper Rouben,” Sophia said, handing him the letter I had given her minutes earlier. “I bring to you the Magus Samuel Andrew Carter, and Simon, apprentice of Magus Indred Formen Cansuil. Please see to their needs, by order of the Septumhate.” Giving me a curtsey, she took a step back and made her way back up the stairs.

Even though I argued for the title of Sage, they refused to bestow it until I had shown another two works on par with the Celestial Window I had crafted. It stung a little, I’ll admit.

The Keeper opened the letter with his gnarled fingers and it shook slightly as he began reading a voice that was rich as polished mahogany. “Let it be known that the Septumhate of Kaliana recognises Samuel Andrew Carter as one knowledgable in the Esoteric Arts and awards him the title of Magus, with all rights and privileges accorded to a that of the first order. He is to be given a medallion of recognition according to his rank, a growlery in the west wing, and any reagents and crystals requested. By order of Sage Eamon Carmac Aghton, on this 14th day of the 10th month in the 1217th year of our Lady Avelan.”

He placed it on his desk with a palsied hand and retrieved a key from within robes that were faded as an autumn leaf. Touching the key to the door behind him, he opened it with a muttered word and entered, returning with a coppery amulet of orichalcum on a thin chain of mithril. It was inset with each of the seven sacred crystals surrounding a melody stone, and spellform was engraved on it in silver and gold.

“They did not see fit to present it themselves, so the ceremony falls to me,” he sighed, stretching out the loop of chain attached to the medallion. “Kneel before me, Magus-to-be, and prepare to receive that which is your right by virtue of knowledge.”

My back stiffened at the thought of bending the knee, even when I was getting what I wanted. “In my world,” I said. “We kneel before no man.”

Keeper Rouben fixed me with a gimlet eye and I could hear Simon shuffle uncomfortably behind me.

“We are not in your world, Hero,” the Keeper said in a quiet voice. “In this world we take some small enjoyment in our ceremonies and rituals, as irritating as they may be for some.”

I eyeballed the loop of metal between his fingers, wondering if I could just duck my head through it. We made eye contact again.

“That would be unwise.” He said.

Heaving a sigh, I went to one knee before the wrinkled symbol of everything that stood between me and the quest to return my daughter safely home. My glaive clattered against the floor as I laid it down.

The Keeper hung the coppery ten-sided orichalcum amulet in front of my eyes where it rotated slowly, revealing first the pattern of spellform and crystal, and other side engraved with the Eye of Providence.

“Suos surcoir, ea num di Demi Avelan. Be thou a magus, in the name of Lady Avelan.” He intoned, placing the amulet around my neck.

As the chain fell around my neck, I felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck me. Power surged and flowed in electric currents that scattered my thoughts and threatened to fry my brain. An etherial bell sounded in my ears, once, twice, three times, and then everything was still.

“Evenciz surcoir,” The Keeper said, taking a step back. “Arise, magus.”

I struggled to my feet. This was obviously more than just a ceremony, I thought. The amulet was tied to a locus and would allow me to channel much more power than I would normally.

I found my tongue after some small trouble. “Thank you, Keeper Rouben.” I said.

“Stings like the dickens, doesn’t it?”

He chuckled. “Some piss themselves when the amulet attunes.”

“I can’t possibly understand why,” I remarked dryly.

He chuckled again. “Well, Magus Samuel,” he said. “You have been given an amulet attuned to your growlery, which is a fine thing indeed, but it is empty. What rank loci will you be engraving into its walls?”

“Rank one through nine, not including the cantrips.”

Rouben stared at me. “There is no rank nine.”

It was my turn to chuckle. “Then I’ll be a Sage by tomorrow afternoon.”

*****

Simon helped me carry the heavy boxes of reagents and crystals down the empty corridor of the west wing. It spiralled widdershins deep into the earth, a sloping ramp of nothing bare stone walls and just enough torches to keep it from being gloomy. We made three revolutions around the circumference of the citadel before a doorway appeared on the left. Built of some dark wood, It was stained black and bound in thick iron bands. Coppery runeform glittered on its surface, wards against intrusion by unwanted visitors. I addressed the door. “By my command: Open!” and it outwards, revealing my own personal growlery under the city of Ubrid.

A spellform had already been carved into the centre of the floor, filling the room with a bright blue light. Not only handy as a source of illumination, it was there for channeling the nexus of power that flowed near the surface of Kaliana, a tangle of ley lines that flowed through the Earth and met under the island. Invisible currents of power also flowed above Avelan, crossing and merging with others to form Air nexus. Water nexus would be formed by rivers, lakes and seas, and Fire nexus formed as volcanos or hot springs when the magic was created deep in the belly of the world, flowing through the magma there and emerging when it neared the surface.

The magic wasn’t different per se, power was power. It doesn’t matter how you generate electricity — coal, hydro, solar, wind — it is the same end result, you flick a switch and a lightbulb illuminates. The only real difference was the amount produced and dependability of the source. Air and Water ley lines tended to be weaker and shift over time, while Fire was powerful but understandably difficult to work with. Earth was the best bet for a magical nexus that would power your personal locus for centuries or millennia.

Simon and I stepped into the room, setting the boxes and my glaive by the doorway. After less than a day with the thing I understood why people preferred swords, it was bloody awkward to lug around. A staff wouldn’t be any better though, and I made a mental note to find a strap for it so I could sling it across my back like a guitar.

The growlery was not overly large, with ten two metre tall walls formed of alabaster gestalt rock capped by a domed ceiling. The doorway took up most of one wall, and a six metre channeling locus took up most of the floor, leaving me with nine and a half walls and a bit of floor to work with. The channeling locus itself was an intricate affair, resembling a nested Apollonian gasket, inlaid with mithril and orichalcum. It pulled power in from the nexus below, amplified it with the mithril and stored it in the orichalcum, allowing it to be transmitted to my amulet using the embedded crystals and the principle of correspondence.

“Ever see a channeling locus before? I asked Simon.

Simon studied the spellform on the floor, his eyes following the runes as they looped around circle and square. “I’ve never seen anything like it before,” he admitted. “But I’m just a third year apprentice.”

“Each of the circles will contain and power one crystal, allowing you to use the gathered magic to power one spell. Larger circles gather more power and are necessary for higher ranked spells. Once the spell is triggered, the power in the circle is consumed and must replenish over time. Larger circles, obviously, take more time to fill,” I said, pointing at the circles. “See those three big ones? At least a full day to recharge.”

I turned to the boxes we had brought in, rummaging through them until I found charcoal and a beam compass.

“Have you ever assisted Indred with setting a spell locus?” I asked.

He shook his head in the negative.

“Did you expect to accompany me to my growlery?”

He paused, uncertain how to respond and I held my hand up. “It doesn’t matter. I suggested that you accompany me and the septumhate never blinked. They fought me on other things, but allowing an apprentice deep in the mysteries of the nexus they passed right over, like it happens all the time.” Simon looked uncomfortable.

“I’m sure you’ll be asked to report to them soon enough.” I said, dropping the subject. I had planned for that, actually. Simon was a known unknown.

I walked over and ordered the door shut. Selecting a suitable spot on the rear of the door, I inscribed a 30cm circle and spoke to to Simon as if I were addressing a student.

“The first thing we do is cast Riemu’s Cloak,” I said, scribing three squares inside the circle, their vertices set 15, 20, and 40 degrees from true. “It’s a third rank spell, utilising the Aspect of Riemu, a minor celestial being. According to the mythology, he was able to hide in the bath of Dtoaa undetected and spy upon her while she bathed. Quite the pervert. Remained undetected until his foot slipped and he fell, exposing himself in more ways than one. Because of this, Riemu has an affinity for Dtoaa, but conflicts with Cassiel, her husband.”

I drew nine runes with seventy-eight strokes within the diagram using charcoal, and when satisfied with my work I applied a reagent ink of powdered silver and crystal over the charcoal. Using long-form cantrips, I shoved chips of smokey quartz into the wood at the appropriate locations, and another cantrip sliced one of the crystals in two, completing the spellform. Returning to the locus in the middle of the room I selected a 40cm circle and pushed the other half of the crystal into the stone with a cantrip.

I turned to look at Simon who was watching the entire process like it was a reality television show. I should have brought him some popcorn. “This is the fun part,” I said with a wink, then spoke the invocation:

“Riemu, angel of unrequit'd love and eternal longing, hearken to me and attend! Heareth the plea of this indign one and grant him shelter within thy grace. I beg of thee, covereth me with thy cloak so yond I may beest conceal'd from mine own enemies! Manifest over me: Riemu’s Cloak!”

The spellform glowed brilliant orange and faded to a dusky dandelion hue. A deep bell sounded in my ears, proof that the spell took hold. Because I had used a larger circle than necessary, the spell which would normally last eight hours would remain active indefinitely, or someone used some Divine-class magic against it.

A light tinkling echoed around the room.

“One of the best things about Riemu’s Cloak,” I said to Simon, “is that it warns you when you’re being spied on. Since I’m certain that the citadel is protected against scrying, the phone call must be coming from inside the house.”

“Phone call?”

“Ha, that didn’t translate? The person scrying is within the citadel. Makes you wonder who, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Simon said, shaking his head like a mop. “It really doesn’t. I just want to complete my studies and become a journeyman mage. I’ll work hard on my masterpiece, become a magus, and apply for a position with the mage corps so I can travel and see the world. I have no interest in politics and intrigue. None.”

“It’s not paranoia when they really are out to get you.” I said, tapping my ear.

On the wall next to the door I then inscribed numerous cantrips in 10cm circles, with triangles and runes inset. Cantrips are spells that are not very powerful, but are often invaluably convenient for any mage. And a right pain to recite long-form when all you want is a small spell. Putty, for softening materials. Cleave, to slice something. Mend, for small repairs. Scribe, which allows one to temporarily write or draw with a finger on any surface, even still air or water. Ironcloth, which makes any cloth touching your body tough as iron for a few minutes. Flame, useful for illumination and starting fires, or controlling small fires. Others useful for everyday living were added, allowing me to heat and cool drinks, enhance the flavour of foodstuffs, or use a telekinetic hand to manipulate things.

Many spells could also be cast ‘sinister’ to achieve an opposite effect. A sinister version of Mend could be used to break things, Scribe to erase, and Flame to put out small fires. Having access to one spell often gave you the ability to use it in several different forms. It was all in the activation.

Retriving my glaive from the wall, I selected the largest rutile crystal from the goodie box and walked over to stand in the middle of the locus. Placing the crystal against the smooth floor, I gripped my amulet, I muttered the now shortform cantrip for ‘putty’, allowing me to push the crystal into the floor like it was made of hard putty. There, it would be filled with power from the locus. Another cantrip, ‘cleave’, sliced the crystal in half, leaving it flush against the floor. Using ‘putty’ again, I shaped the remaining half of the crystal into a more suitable shape and placed it against the shaft of my glaive. When I used ‘putty’ again, the Loia wood resisted, and despite my efforts the crystal failed to sink into the wood. I struggled for a few minutes, growing ever more frustrated with the resistance.

I meditated for a moment, thinking about what I was trying to accomplish and the tools I was working with. The shaft of the glaive was gifted Loia wood, it was part of a sentient tree that had once been an elf, and that tree had chosen to make a gift of this shaft of wood. Maybe some sentience remained in the wood and a bit of respect was due.

I held it in my hand and thought at it. “Hey, I’m not sure how much you can understand, but I’m honoured to be holding you. You were a gift from Ryllae so I can defend myself in this world and I would like to place some crystals in you so I can channel magic through them.” I paused, then appealed to vanity. “It would make you more powerful and maybe a bit prettier too. Definitely more valuable.”

I pressed the rutile crystal against the shaft, and it sank in effortlessly. I felt the connection between the two halves of the crystal activate and power flowed into the weapon.

I snorted. What next, sapient pear-wood?

Now I had another channel to my locus besides my amulet. It didn’t increase my power, but two is better than one, right?

The next step was to imbed a smoky quartz crystal into the Riemu’s Cloak spellform I had placed on the door, cleave it and place the other half in my glaive. Now I could activate an 8 hour non-detection spell using the crystal. I could long-form it and supply the required power using my amulet, but the entire point of a staff was to enable access to short-form spells.

The rest of the day was spent inscribing more charcoal spellform on the walls with charcoal, erasing them when I suspected a conflict, and growling at trying to balance what was necessary against what was useful and what would play nice together. Erasing a completed spellform after it had been activated was not an easy task, so it was imperative that I do this right the first time.

After many hours with the help of Simon, the loaned spell books of Indred, and my own personal knowledge, I had the foundation laid for my growlery. I was thankful for the spell books especially, because they contained notes on conflicts that were invaluable. There was a big difference between a returning teenager’s account of magic use and that of actual magus who had time to explore the subtleties of magic in their world.

On the door itself I paid particular attention, placing wards to ensure no one would enter and if they did, I would be notified. Omia’s arcane lock, Vaasa’s alarm, along with fire and lightning wards were inscribed, the trigger being set as opening the door without my voice speaking the proper passphrase. I skipped the acid ward, fearing damage to my locus. Sadly, wards have to be placed at the place to be warded, otherwise I’d have the most well-protected glaive in the world. Well, me and every other magic user.

“Why did you ward the door so heavily?” Simon asked, leery of the now lethal hunk of wood.

“How do you know it’s heavily warded?” I countered. “Maybe every other magus has even nastier things attached to theirs. Mine could be under-protected for all we know.”

“You’re under the citadel,” he said. “There’s no safer place in the world against attack.”

“I’m not worried about attack,” I replied. “I’m worried about sabotage.”

He had nothing to say to that.

I considered the youth before me, who was just a handful of years older than my daughter. Not quite old enough yet to have an instinctive mistrust of authority and the machinations of those with power. It would come with time.

I clapped him on the shoulder. “I think we’ve done good work today,” I said, offering him an encouraging smile. “We’ve inscribed a lot of useful spellform and once they’re properly powered and linked to my pointy staff, I’ll be a walking powerhouse, able to cast lightning bolts, fly, summon walls of iron, stone and ice, and still poke things with the pointy end!”

“I don’t understand even half of what you’ve done today,” he said. “I’m not sure if I’ve learned anything or not.”

“Tell you what,” I offered. “I’ll gift you my spell book to study when I return to my world.”

His face lit up like I had just promised him a pony for his birthday. “Really?” he said.

“Really really.” I replied. “You’ve been an invaluable help and I’m really grateful. Your preparation of the inscriptions saved me many hours, and your recall of celestial beings and their aspects was priceless, not to mention all the times you ran back to Rouben for more materials. Time is valuable, you can never recover time lost. Not without a rank nine spell, anyway.”

“I, I’ll hold you to your word, Magus Samuel,” he said, tongue tumbling over his words with eagerness.

“And I’m trusting you to keep quiet about what you’ve seen in here, Simon” I said, giving him a wink. I can play the game too, and if a potential spell book is what it takes to make him think twice about opening his mouth, it was an easy promise.

“Appear before me: Galgalliel’s Clock!” I intoned, channeling the spell through my staff and the corresponding crystal. A small spellform on the wall blazed as a thread of energy left from the locus on the floor to fill it with power. An hourglass the size of a dinner plate wove itself into existence from ribbons of ambient light in the room. A bull, two sickles and five stalks of wheat were engraved on the hourglass, telling me it was the 14th day in the month of the Bull. Glittering periwinkle blue sand spilled into the bottom half, the level indicating that nearly four hours had passed since sundown. At dawn, it would flip and the sand would be the colour of dried corn.

It vanished after a dozen grains of sand had fallen.

I tapped my glaive on the door and spoke, “My voice is my key. By my command: Open!”

Grabbing Simon by the elbow, I gently guided him out the door. “Let’s go see if the guys are still at the Bell and Pony. I could use a drink and a meal.”

*****

Author’s Note: This was a difficult episode to write, for many reasons. It was not only hard to convey the ideas in my head but I was interrupted by real world issues as well.

I’m a private person, but with this foray into the online world I suppose I have an obligation to keep readers abreast of certain facets of my life. To be brief, I have a medical condition that needs attending. Nothing serious, but a minor surgery is being considered. The good news, I suppose, is that if I go through with it I will have a few days of recovery time to write. So that’s something to be happy about, eh? ~Wry Grin

Completion date: 22NOV2019

https://twitter.com/GrinWry