Vignette - Paths are Not Fair

“Each path is different, candidate, some will lead to glory, others to death, some to great power, others … not.”

“That is not fair or balanced. Your Proctor did not even try to get the classes right!”

“Heh, even your games didn’t achieve true balance. Life will not even try.”

Chapter 2

I will be civil, because I don’t want another headache!

Statue or not Akil was intimidating. Was it the lion body or simply the memory of pain? It didn’t really matter. Inquiries must be made.

“Hello Akil, may I ask you a question?”

“You just did” His cheerful voice boomed, echoing inside the head. “So logic dictates that you indeed may.”

He ground his teeth at the stupidity of a stone statue spewing dad jokes. I will not be sidetracked by inane arguments “... What can you tell me about your people?”

“People? I am a voice given form by your mind's desire. I am a Spirit of Intelligence provided with a database of knowledge and a rudimentary personality. Your legends might call me a Golem.“

“Ah, then who or what spoke to me in the.. Void?”

“The Proctor spoke to you. The database you have access to does not include more details.”

“But what does he want? Why did he do ...” a circular inclusive gesture “This!”. Calm down, I'll get no information if I'm in a coma.

“Your question was nonspecific. Please clarify.” Cheerfulness was a sin. Anger would be preferable!

“Why did he move me to this prison and claim to destroy my world?”

“This is a school, a tutorial, not a prison, though from your memories perhaps the two have similarities.” Akil’s obsessively bright voice rang in between, rather than in, his ears. The voice was growing slowly louder. Moving from a simple snare to a deeper bass drum. “The Proctor forced the renewal of your world because it was filled with technology. The thought process and knowledge associated with technology are antithetical to magic. As long as technology exists it will make learning magic exceedingly difficult. This is also the reason that you can’t remember many details of how your old world worked.” Wait what?

What can he remember? This morning he had a waffle. Dough cooked between two hot plates heated by…. The thought fled as his mind moved on. Then he drove to work in his car. A car is moved by …. His eyes moved on, looking for something else to think about but merely found Nothing. Without distractions his mind jerked back to the last few thoughts in horror.

Deep breaths, Inhale and hold, wait then exhale slowly. Move on.

No control, no power. Focus on what you CAN do.

“.... polite suggestions.”

“I am sorry, I lost track of the conversation. Will you repeat the last bit?”

“Certainly, This is a school not a prison…”

His teeth ground continuously in frustration. “Sorry can you repeat from after you told me you were screwing with my memories.”

“Your memories tell me that screwing refers to copulation. I am a statue. I am incapable of screwing. Even if I were, memories are intangible and thus incapable of being screwed.”

He was beginning to worry about the lining on his teeth. If this continued they might be worn to nubs. He opened his mouth, blew out the frustration and tried again. “Can you continue from the part where you told me I could not remember details of how my old world worked?”

“Certainly, The laws of physics that you used to ‘know’ are merely one way of looking at the world. You might say that they are more like polite suggestions. Speed limit signs on the path. Have you ever cared about such signs? At least when a police car was not present? The purpose of your world is to provide a profusion of working magic Paths. Paths that are untainted by implicit assumptions of the Proctor’s history and training. The Proctor’s society is becoming stagnant.

All their paths are from the same root and over time they have started to become one incestious tree. You might call it finding inspiration from new blood, or avoiding academic incest.”

Akil’s voice was becoming painfully loud, bouncing inside his skull like a bowling ball in a lane with the bumpers up. I can’t stop here, I need more information. Headache or no.

“What is in it for us then? Why would we go out of our way to help someone who destroyed all that we used to be?”

“You have already been told this. You get life. Without magic the inhabitants of this planet will not survive.” A ghostly image of a Velocaraptor-ish lizard jumping 30 feet in the air to grab a swooping eagle in an explosion of feathers. The image forms for but a few moments, then fades away.“ Past merely living your quality of life will also depend on magic. Despite what your fictions may say, barbarism is not a pleasant way to live. Running water and toilet paper are hardly the only things you will deeply miss.” Booming, echoing through his thoughts. “Finally if you do create and progress a stable new path you will be welcomed as a citizen of the galactic empire with full rights and privileges. The Proctor’s people will not be ungrateful.”

A drop of liquid beads from his nose down his upper lip and into his mouth, the taste sweet iron, blood. He steels himself, suppressing the pain with sheer will, and asks. “What can you tell me about magic then?”

“Too much for your mind to bear at the moment. We are nearly at the safety limit of what you can handle for psionic communication. Before I tell you more, you must make your choice. Different databases are available to each of the choices. You are advised to try the Mirror of Self before making your decision. Enough your mind can take no more.”

The echoing of Akil’s voice at last fades away leaving him alone on the field with a now inert statue.

A glowing arrow burst into existence over the opposite end zone, pointing straight down. Seething with frustration and no little amount of pain, but having no better option, he stomped in the indicated direction.

Take a breath and let it go.

Inhale, hold it, exhale, hold it. Each step in the soft grasses a balm to his aching head. Each breath an experience. Of cool spring air scented with crushed grass and woodsmoke. By main will he calmed the emotions raging inside, little by little, step by step.

A pool of water slowly became visible through the shading grasses. Invisible unless he stood nearly on top of it, it was not a deep pool. Several feet down closely fitted smoothed river rocks paved a bottom devoid of silt and as large as a dinner table. The water was still and immaculate. No grass, no dirt, clean.

Unnaturally so.

Another stride and his reflection rose from the banks. He stared, he could do nothing else. The forced understanding of the cottage and library mere lightbulbs before the light of the sun. This is who I am, stubborn, foolish, swayed by emotional waves yet aspiring to rise above them. Every petty desire and ignoble action was brought beneath the microscope of introspection. Noble impulse and compassion tossed out and examined in no obvious order. Not weighed against each other, for there is no external judgement. No external, but certainly internal judgment. I do not like myself. He decided. The thought hurt on a fundamental level. A spiritual level. So many bad things. So many good. How many wrongs to balance a right? The old philosophical question was no longer pointless. I could do so much better than I have.

He looks away in shame.

He jerked back. Was this all the will he had? To look away and pretend he did not see? HELL NO! He was better than that. He would BECOME better than that. He stared into his reflection. All that he was, a part at a time. If it was bad was there anyone else to blame? If it was good could he claim only noble intentions?

Simple choices had no simple motive. Complex interplays between desires for approval fighting with greed and trained morals. He liked some of what he saw and hated much else.

But regardless of hate or love it was all him.

If he didn’t like what he saw no one else was to blame. But then again he was looking at the man in the mirror.

It was time to make some changes.