1-6 E

I closed my eyes halfway through Mordo’s rant about procedural shit before the meeting started.

When I opened them, the room was empty and dim. I was sprawled across one of the benches with a thick purple blanket draped over me. The only light came from a strip underneath the bar’s countertop.

My head was…not as bad as I expected, from the pain that had been starting before I fell asleep. I guess I slept it off?

There were two notes sitting by the light strip. One in Mordo’s terrible handwriting and one in neat loops decorated with multiple flourishes. A bowl of fruit sat next to them.

“Hey Thing One, thanks for giving me an excuse to cut everything short. Didn’t want to wake you, I know how bad the Boss’s hangovers can get when they’re pissed at you. Back door’s probably the easiest way to leave, but there’s usually an acolyte or two up top if you need something from us. Good luck with the shit with your sister, but we can’t help with the Fae. Boss has some pretty deep resentment there, don’t wanna get the same treatment you did. Have some of the fruit if you want, it’s fresh from our horn of plenty.”

A cup of water and an apple helped wash the fuzzy taste from my mouth as I moved to the next note.

“Tamara, you are indisposed as of the moment of writing. This is a small gift, free of any obligation to reciprocate, to show you what my Pride and I may offer. It likely will not be exactly what you require, but it may be a starting point.”

Below it was a neat list of contact information and the title of a book. The Bier of Immortals.

I should get home, ask Scully for the book. If it was helpful, maybe I’d get in touch with the Sphinx again. If she was willing to train me, I could get past the hypnosis thing she’d done when I was answering her questions. It didn’t hurt that she was nice to look at, too. In an inhuman and kind of terrifying way but exciting all the same.

Then again I could still feel the warmth from last night and the way it had twisted my insides up.

It was only just getting light outside when I got back to my car. There was next to no traffic even before I got to the backroads leading home. I could see faint runes along the turnoff, getting thicker as I pulled up the driveway until it hit the line of magic I’d seen when I first came home. This time I noticed the ethereal angel that looked vaguely like Scully on top of the house as it turned to track me.

A shower had to come before going back into the Archive. Scully didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d appreciate me sitting in there in sweaty clothes with greasy hands and hair when she wasn’t desperate for me to fix everything. The sarcastic asshole of a bird was watching some animated movie on the tablet when I went by, but the mirror-woman herself hadn’t popped up by the time I got in the shower. Guess that meant she didn’t have anything important to mention.

After the shower, though, she appeared. Before I’d managed to get dressed.

“Lady Blackleaf, you have just received a message from the Paranormal Incidents Division. A transcribed copy is available for your perusal.” Her eyes, devoid of color as they were, still seemed to be staring at my face.

“Uh, Scully, could you not bother me when I’m not dressed?”

“Apologies, Lady Blackleaf. Preferences updated; I will no longer speak or physically appear while you lack clothing.”

That…that didn’t cut out a lot of things, but it was probably the best I’d get. “Can you bring me books here without me going to the Archive?”

“To an extent. Some books should not or cannot be removed from their specialized containment areas. A few of those are not advisable to transcribe. Additionally, current regulations prevent the removal of first editions without a personal override from the Lady Blackleaf. Removal of unique materials remains prohibited without majority approval of all Archivists, due to the potential to lose any knowledge outside of the Initiative permanently.”

“Alright. Well, can you bring me whatever the message was and The Bier of Immortals.”

Her image didn’t seem to move, but a sheet of paper and a bound pamphlet that couldn’t have been more than a dozen pages were in my hands before I could blink. “Will there be anything else, Lady Blackleaf?”

“Not that I can think of. Just tell me if anything weird happens or get me if you need something.” Her image blinked out. “Oh, and thank you, Scully.”

There was a long pause, but her voice echoed out at barely above a whisper. “It…it is no trouble, Lady Blackleaf.”

My marked hand started to burn when I went to read the government one. Apparently it wasn’t important, since the burn faded away when I went for the pamphlet instead.

“While I am young, by the standards of Immortals, the ennui that stills our souls has begun to reach me. And so, I write about our biers; the pedestals and tables those of us that have found immortality sit upon as we rot.

I have just seen the dawning of my second century yet have not aged a day since before the United States were an independent power. I have watched everything I loved, every single friend and family member, wither and die. My children’s children’s children have come and gone from this world and outside of our unseen domains, I am forgotten. It is a story as old as Humanity, perhaps older still.

Immortality is as varied as the beings one may find on Earth or within the Roads and the Wood. But what few realize before they have irrevocably set themselves onto this path is that all varieties come inseparable from loss. A mortal cannot live beyond their years without sacrifice. To disconnect ourselves from the passage of time, we lose an anchor, for lack of a better word. We come unmoored from everything that ever grounded us. To survive past our second centuries, to become something remembered, we must have a passion. Something that keeps us from becoming lethargic, little more than a preserved corpse held in state for the world to look upon.

This passion, this desire, can take many forms. For natural immortals, it is often a base part of their psyche. The need to hunt, to build, or to collect as a few examples. But for us mortals, we shape ourselves to become defined by the concepts that resonate most strongly within us. A hunt for knowledge or the joys of creation in some. Steering the fate of your descendants or plaguing the lives of your enemies in others. Achievements. Experiences. The unknown. Those are things that keep immortals tethered to existence, rather than falling into a fading routine until they become little more than spirits.

At the core, these needs are all the same. As exemplified by the oldest immortals, those who remember the birth of the stars and who saw when mankind first developed fire, the quest is for sensation. Novelty and excitement, memories and experiences outside of what’s known. The Fae subsist on such, though their courts are frustratingly ill-defined with regards to what each desire. To bargain with the Fae, one must offer what is unique. Among the true legends that walk this world, the same holds true.

What remains of this volume is a comparison of several well-documented figures, pairs of similar immortals and examining how one remained and the other faded away. The more mysterious of immortals, while personally fascinating to myself, will not be discussed. Nor, to the undoubted disappointment of many readers, will my mentor’s history be examined. Lord Blackleaf’s history will remain a mystery, pardon the rhyme, because he wishes it so. Olaf taught me everything I know. While I regret some choices, he did not force me down the path. I swore to never break his confidence, and I stand by my oath and always will, or let me be Forsworn.”

Lord Blackleaf…

In small text beneath the author’s name was a publisher’s mark. 1935, in London. But the writer had said Olaf. That was grandpa, but there was no way he was that old. Even if the Sphinx had called him a contemporary…

Right?

“Scully, is it possible for you to bring me water?”

A literal goblet made of gold appeared on the desk to my right. The water from it tasted like fruity tv static.

“Of course, Lady Blackleaf. Please attempt not to damage the text.”

“Thanks, you’re the best.”

No response this time, so I turned the page and started reading.

~-~-~-~

At five that night, after a phone call and several hours of reading and trying to get anything more pieced out that I could do, I found myself in front of a gated community. Probably-fake marble walls, about ten feet high, surrounding a cluster of Grecian houses. There was a gate of golden metal with a speaker box by it blocking cars from going inside. They were topped with artistic bronze spikes that glittered with magic in the evening sun.

“State your name and business.” A deep, feminine voice came through, crystal clear. I genuinely didn’t think the box was being used to transmit it.

“Tamara Aufrey. I spoke to Alara on the phone earlier, she said I should come here.”

“Ah. You may enter. The Matriarch is in the primary mansion, directly across from the central pool.”

The gates slid apart, moving horizontally instead of swinging in or out. They also glittered, but I wasn’t sure how much of it was the metal and how much was magic. The houses weren’t all identical but there was nobody outside as I drove up. No cars were parked on the street, either. It looked like the road in here was set up like a big square or rectangle with an extra street cutting right across the center.

There were columns around the pool, higher than the wall around the edge but lower than the houses that pressed in on most sides, almost like it was meant to be hidden. A handful of trees that I was pretty sure shouldn’t grow well in this climate mixed their shade with that of the arcade made by the columns. In the center, partly obscured from view, was a massive pool. Rocks stood out at one end with multiple small waterfalls and shadowy grottos. The rest was surrounded with white sand, the water itself a beautiful bluish green.

I kept my eyes on the pool itself, because the other option in that direction was to watch the people around it. A handful of them might have been human, but most were decidedly not. Clearly Sphinxes, their coats were almost a rainbow of color even though they tended toward pale gold. A few had swimsuits or other coverings. Most, well, didn’t. And all of them were watching me as I parked on the curb right in front of the tallest house in the area, what looked like four stories of marble. An ornate lions-head knocker sat in the middle of the door.

The door opened before I could touch it, though. Instead of Alara, a girl that looked my age answered. She seemed normal enough; long red hair, green eyes, pale skin. No fur and no pointed teeth behind her smile. She also wasn’t wearing very much. She did have a tank top on at least. One long enough that it wasn’t clear if she had short shorts on or just wasn’t wearing pants.

“Hi! I’m Alyssa, Mom said to walk you to the study so you don’t walk into something you shouldn’t and get your brain fried.” She gestured for me to follow her in and in the process ended up bashing her hand into the doorframe. I couldn’t understand what came out of her mouth after, but the doorframe started to smoke and her entire body shifted.

She still looked mostly human, but more along the lines of how the Matriarch had appeared last night. Reddish fur, a few shades lighter than her hair, covered everything and blood-red wings were poking through holes in the back of her top, which had noticeably deflated in front.

“Damn it, I can never get the illusion to stay up when I get hurt or excited. Surprise is supposed to be the hard part, not that.” Her frown was still somehow cute, even with teeth clearly meant to rip out throats. “And I wanted to keep it going too, see how long I could make you think I was just a regular old boring Human.”

I followed her inside and the door shut on its own with an echoing click. Unlike home, the door didn’t open into a big entryway with stairs but into a long flat room lined with benches, tables, and games. A few board games, anyway, and what looked like play areas for other things.

“First floor’s the common area for everyone. The girls that can’t leave the compound relax here when the sun’s down. Basement’s for the younger kids, upper levels are for my sisters and I. Up top’s Mom’s study and all the other off-limits stuff. We’ve actually got an elevator since, y’know, those of us that can’t shift can have issues with that many stairs.”

She took me to a fancy elevator, stepping across a rug that I would’ve bet my entire bank account was older than the U.S. to get there. Inside was more of that overbearing gold aesthetic, with a mural of clouds painted around the ceiling lights. “Blegh, I know. Mom insists on the color scheme. Says it’s to make us remember our roots. I think it’s just because she likes to have everything match her coat.”

I didn’t manage to get a word out until the doors closed. “I’m Tammy. You’re…not what I expected after meeting the Matriarch.”

“I know! I’m going to be your main tutor when Mom’s not going over your special issues, like those nasty curses. I made my aunt mad once and there was an itchy bald spot right between my wings for almost a year before Mom said it was enough.” She flexed the wings making a few of her…other parts stand out even as the feathers grazed the ceiling. “If Mom asks, remember, I didn’t complain about the color scheme and I introduced myself properly. She’d probably stick one of my aunts in with you instead, if she knew, and they’re no fun. Half of them can’t even work a computer.”

“You’re going to be teaching me?”

“Careful there, questions and Sphinxes and all. They don’t let us out until we can control ourselves, but it doesn’t matter that much which side asks them.” Her smile dropped and her voice was level. “Seriously. Not everyone here has self-control. If one of them screwed with you, some really bad stuff would happen. It might be safe to ask things once I teach you some protection stuff, but until then just don’t go there. That guardian-spirit of yours is sitting on things that could wipe half the country out even if we were warned it was coming and you’re the only thing keeping it tethered. I’d rather not be at ground zero for that.”

The elevator dinged and she smiled again. This time it looked forced. “Follow me and you’ll be fine. Mom’s going to give you the Talk and then test your affinity to see what’s best to go over. However it goes she still wants me to teach you how to use that badass bracelet, since she thinks it’s a great focus for making glamours like the Fae project themselves through.”

I had nothing to say to that. The phone conversation was just talking about where to meet her and what she wanted in exchange for teaching me. Access to the Archive for three hours after each major session and to one book a week while I was being taught sounded perfectly fair to me even if it was probably a raw deal on my end, with some of the stuff in there that I had no idea how to even read safely, much less make use of.

The study was a tall building, with two rows of windows and tall bookshelves. The Matriarch was sitting in her more humanoid form, a set of crystals arrayed in front of her. I couldn’t meet her eyes and ended up focusing on the stones.

“Welcome, Tamara. As we discussed, this meeting will be the first of several. My daughter here will handle your routine lessons. Despite her age, she is rather gifted as a practitioner. Especially with regards to illusions; that skill, once passed on, should provide you a means of utilizing your gift from the Fae.”

She gestured at the crystal set, sixteen clear gems set in a golden lattice. Three diamonds, one made of eight stones, the other two made of four each. Next to them, three larger gems sat on pedestals. “This is an affinity test. Relatively recently refined, it is a common tool for narrowing down what schools and elements a practitioner is suited for.”

She gestured for us both to take a seat. The armchair was delectably soft. “Your education, as you described, is woefully lacking, so I shall begin with what magic is.”

“People tend to assume magic is something other. That because it disagrees with what the majority of the world experiences, it must be unnatural and foreign. People that think such are no better than those that insist the world is flat. Even a cursory study would disprove their theories; if magic was a poison on the world like many Purists claim, we would be a symptom of the Earth’s illness rather than a victim. Magic exists in everything, from every leaf to every speck of dust. Look deep enough and magic becomes apparent, binding together the world as strongly as the forces you humans have recently begun to understand. It flows as water does, following channels and currents in reality to places where it pools and concentrates before cycling through again. Where magic grows heavy, life arises. In places on par with the intensity in the Roads, that life can form spontaneously. Spirits, gods, and elementals spring from raw power given even the barest catalyst. Where it is weaker, things such as you and I began. Life that barely grazes magic, but that dies nevertheless if severed from the wider network.”

“To go deeper would be to indulge myself in philosophy. While there are as many schools of thought as there are practitioners, there are two broad categories of practice. Like all things, they have areas of overlap. Immortals like your grandfather and myself tend to favor the old ways, Wild Magic as it is termed now. The path of contracts, of pacts, of faith. Where one draws power largely from the trust of others and of the world itself. A lightly constrained, albeit lightly focused, way of casting where one pull on and shape the mana outside of oneself with only a minor investment of one’s own. Shamanism, priestly magics, summoners, and binders all lean to the Wild side. For us, rituals are deeply personal and rarely shared because the very act of using them draws on our reputation. We walk consistent paths and grow stronger from routine, when those oft-tread ways deepen into ruts that then become channels that pull in power of their own. Even in carving a shallow offshoot from these channels, some power will flow with us.”

“In recent centuries, Structured Magic has become more widespread. The advent of the printing press allowed mass-distribution of once-rare magical texts, breaking the monopoly on practice that various lines of power had held for millennia. Its main trait is relying on the magic inside of yourself for directed effects. Soulless enchantments rather than bound spirits, concentrated and concrete spells that pull from the mana within and are limited by one’s affinities. They use set rituals and standardized contracts to borrow power and contact willing patrons. Where we pull on tradition and routine to strengthen ourselves, they rely on it. We shape and guide the flows of power in a magic of our own tradition, while they force it through molds and dies to force effects codified by generations before.”

“Both have merits, I will admit. I personally teach a blending of the schools, but lean quite heavily to the Wild. A Structured practitioner without an appropriate construct to deal with danger is just as dead as a Wild one who lacks the trust of their surroundings or the force of tradition.”

“What you focus on will depend on how you choose to proceed and what aptitudes you have. That is where this device is useful; identifying what your inner mana is most attuned towards. Among magical society, there are nineteen Elements agreed upon. The Sixteen, and the Three.” She gestured at the largest diamond pattern, her fingers grazing the four corner pieces. “While magic itself cannot be easily categorized, it tends to have certain focuses. Shaping it into a spell refines it further and sees amplification if the focuses of the power and the spell align. Mana attuned to the sea would balk at being used to create fire just as a rock would inevitably fail if asked to fly.”

Each crystal she tapped lit up, their glows spreading between each other like the sources in our ritual had. This time, though, there was another crystal in the center where each met. “The four basic Elements are Water, Air, Earth, and Fire. Fire is diametrically opposed to Water, while Earth is the same with regards to Air. Generally, they are placed opposite each other in diagrams. These four are the Primary Quartet. The boundaries are neither cut nor dried; neighboring elements can mix and form something with an accompanying stable alignment and magical nature. When they have merged to the point that the two components cannot be separated, they are referred to as the Para-Elements. They are not entirely intuitive, nor fully accurate. But where water and earth mix, it is generally referred to as Ooze or Mud. The energy of marshes, of fluids and mutability. With Fire and Earth mixing, there is Magma. Molten stone and ancient heat influenced by the volatile energy of a living world that is ill-content to gently fade.”

“Where Water meets Air, there is Ice. Mist, perhaps, would be more accurate, yet the creation of ice is an application not found by relying purely on water. It is the energy of reflections, of illusions and misdirection. Where Air meets Fire, we see Desiccation. The dry heat that thrives in desert sands and preserves as much as it might destroy.”

“Now, imagine that above and below the plane formed by these physical elements are two powerful aspects. Light and Darkness.” One of the larger gems shone like a floodlight, the light from it curving in unnatural arcs into the one furthest from it, only visible as more than shadow by the halo of light it consumed. “Spirit and Body. Abstract and Concrete. Life and Death. None are exact, but all are true. Above the plane sits Light. Where it touches Earth we have Wood. Nature, the magic of plants and the wild. At the meeting with Air there is Lightning. Chaotic energy, prone to disasters and harming the ones who harness it. With Fire, it blends to create Scourge. This one has many names, but it is an energy of cleansing and violence best exemplified by a burning, consuming, scouring light. At Water the reaction is rather, well, strange. It gives you Flesh. The shaping of living creatures, living tissue. Knitting it together or rending it apart in equal measure.”

“Below the plane sits Darkness. Earth blends into the magic of Bone, of animation. Water forms Salt and Fire forms Ash, powers of decay and desolation. Where it meets Air there is only Shadow, the void of the forgotten. These diamonds, touched by Light or Darkness are the Quasi-Elements.”

“Most beings only have one primary affinity, an energy that calls so strongly to their being that they can shape and speak to it with ease. A handful of minor resonances often show up, where one can shape power with an effort that often lacks fine control. It is rare for resonances or affinities to directly counter each other, as done by Water and Fire or Lightning and Bone. In every case of a natural pairing between hostile magics, there is a mediating factor to balance them.”

“What I cannot stress enough is that there is no inherent wrong or right in magical affinities. Someone gifted with Shadow or Ash might be exceedingly skilled at bringing ruin to their enemies, but the magic itself is outside of morals. You cannot simplify it into good and evil, and every attempt to do so has led to nothing but bloodshed.”

“Primary Elements are the most common to control. Three out of four practitioners will see themselves gifted within the Primary Quartet, with one of six likely to possess a gift towards the Para-Elements. A tenth will lean toward the Quasi-Elements, with most living individuals tilting toward the Light-touched energies. The gifts of the Abstract are easier to control for new practitioners than the gifts of the Concrete, where spirits and workings call out to even those that labor behind their veils.”

I did a quick count in my head and made sure it wasn’t phrased as a question. “That’s only eighteen. You said these were the Sixteen and the Three.”

“Correct. The third of the separate powers is the only one that can be directly touched by any and all practitioners. While the Prime Quartet exists where the Abstract and Concrete are balanced, they are tainted by their own elemental natures. The only Element, as modern magic classifies it, in total balance is Blood. An affinity rarely seen and even more rarely exploited, it is the domain of the soul and the self. It is a mediator between all others and a steppingstone to great power for those that possess it. But it draws attention.” All the other crystals were glowing, but she was hesitant to touch it and trigger its own.

She sighed and the silence stretched on for long, uncomfortable seconds. The middle crystal remained unlit.

“To examine your affinities, all I need you to do is to hold the set and bring your magic to the surface. The stones will light if you have an affinity or resonance and the brightness will show the extent of the gift.” She passed them to me, but her eyes were elsewhere. “It will show us if you are as gifted as your grandfather and my lost children once were, or if you have a more acceptable talent.”

Just like when I was syncing the ward arrays, I let the light inside of me float up to the surface. Under the Sight, little streamers siphoned off into five of the crystals.

An orange glow for Fire, bright as a candle.

Not-light from the crystal she’d pointed to when describing Bone. It hurt to look at, just like the pillar in the dark room in the Archive.

Green light, faint and flickering, in the gem for Wood.

A peach-colored light, bright as an LED, twinkled within the crystal for Flesh.

And of to the side, pulsing in time with my heartbeat, was a glow the same color as Alyssa’s fur, the brilliant crimson of freshly spilled blood.