Amez awoke yet another day, feeling severely tired and probably late for work. I wonder if Master Kash will continue to forgive me?

When he got outside of his apartment, he saw a fit-looking teenage girl playing some jumping game with a group of younger boys. He went up to her and put out a small pile of money from his pocket. “I’m late for a meeting. You know me right? You know my tattoo shop down the streets?” He pointed vaguely in the direction of his shop. The teenager nodded, looking at the pile of money in his hand. “I need to go meet my client right away, I’m already late. But can you go to the bakery for me, buy me breakfast, and meet me outside of my shop as soon as possible?” The teenager turned around, telling the boys she just was just given a job and couldn’t play with them for a while. She nodded and took the money. “If I’m not outside my shop, just knock on the front door and I’ll open. Also: you can keep the change, but don’t buy me something cheap; buy me something tasty and filling.”

With that interaction out of the way, Amez sighed at how miserably tired he was feeling, and started jogging towards his shop. Not unexpectedly, upon his arrival; he got to face a sullen-looking Master Kash, flanked on either side by his gold-armored guards. Master Kash was so sullen he didn’t even comment on Amez’ lateness, and just stared at him with quiet annoyance.

“Hi there, sorry again” Amez said with tired breath. He didn’t get a reply, instead Master Kash opted for the silent treatment. Amez went towards his door and opened it. “Please come inside, I’ll start where we left off right away!” This prompted Master Kash to change to a slightly less annoyed expression, and he followed Amez into the shop. Inside Amez sat down at his drawing table and began talking about the sketch, something that got Master Kash into a better mood, or at least more of his default neutral one.

Breakfast arrived soon after, and Amez ate it while trying to make Master Kash talk. A rather difficult business. But if he could get Master Kash to talk he could eat and just listen. Instead Master Kash responded sparingly as always, and Amez had to hurry up his eating in order to not appear to waste time.

For hours onwards, Amez labored at the drawing, feeling dead tired on the inside, but determined none-the-less not to screw up his entire commission just because of his late evening activities. This after all wasn’t his first time coming to work tired. He’d had periods in the past where drinking buddies of him had kept him at the tavern waaay too late, and so even though he felt terrible, it was a kind of terribleness with which he had some experience. As they finished up for the day, and Master Kash left the shop satisfied about the sketch which was starting to finish up; Amez decided to requisition his shop bedroom once again. Packing up his work, he then opened the bedroom door, and stopped – immediately hearing talking. Specifically, he heard Rum talking, telling some kind of story. As Amez looked inside the room he saw Rum sitting in the middle of the bed, leaned against the wall, with White Rose at his side, attentively looking into a book Rum was reading from.

“And thus the young Captain Marti announced to his enemies: ‘Then give my yer finest wench! And I’ll leave yer ship to sail another sunset!’” Amez watched as Rum grabbed the sheet of old paper, and turned a page. His fingers seemed to be tracing the lines in the book, and White Rose seemed as captivated by its contents as any skeleton ever could be. “Captain Marti fired a second ballista into the rear of Gulfinders’ ship, putting on a display of his own ship’s might as the Gulfinders panicked from the now second hole in their ship’s hull. ‘Do ya believe me now, Gulfinders!? Hand over yer finest wench, or watch yer ship sink to the ocean depths!”

Amez could’ve listened more, but he was starting to suspect what kind of story this was, also he was severely tired and was starting to lose the ability to listen. He stepped into the room and up to Rum and White Rose, the skeleton being the first to notice him, but only when he was practically standing beside ze, so captivating had the reading been.

“Rum” Amez said in a tired voice.

Rum paused reading and looked up at his little brother. “Yes brother?”

“Rum what are you doing?” Amez asked.

“I’m teaching White Rose to read. Did you know children learn best when they’re read to from an early age? I learned that from an elven childrearer once. And with the extreme capacities for attention, focus and patience that White Rose is displaying, I think ze’d probably learn how to read very quickly, and I have little doubt that ze would be able to read through whole archives and libraries when I first get ze started. I think your customer was right, Rum: books, stories; those are how we’re gonna give White Rose aboutness. In fact I think that if we just got ze started reading, ze would probably produce zes own abundant aboutness in nearly no time. I’m very much looking forward to that result. Thus” he gestured at the book, “I’m reading to ze now.”

Amez looked down at Rum with a face of fatigue. “And what are you reading to ze? To me this sounds like one of those romantic stories that sailors bring on board their ships to pass the time.”

“Ah” Rum replied, “you’re quite right. I actually got this from a sailor this morning. I talked with him down at the market a few hours ago, and he was so happy when I cured his swollen foot that when he asked if I needed anything, and told him I needed a book, preferably a novel; he just gave it to me! For free!” Rum looked quite happy. Amez didn’t think a sailor’s romance was an adequate trade for Rum’s miracle magic, but he was too tired to tell Rum that.

“Okay, but I think perhaps White Rose is going to need more than sailor romances. Now–” Amez gestured at the bed, “–I’m gonna need that bed. I’m so damned tired from yesterday I just really terribly need that bed.”

“Aaah” Rum said, disappointed, “too bad, we were just getting started too! Wasn’t that an interesting story White Rose?” Rum glanced over at the skeleton while climbing out of bed, almost as if expecting a reply. The skeleton, to Amez’ fatigued but surprised expression; nodded.

“When did ze learn to nod?” he asked.

“Ah, we worked on that this morning. Making ze able to nod or shake zes head will go a long way towards communication I think. Though it was very difficult to teach ze. I mean, skeletons don’t have many preferences with which I can explain it to ze. Ze doesn’t eat, drink, or generally show much inclination for anything. So in the end teaching ze to differentiate between positives and negatives, and then to give a qualitative judgement of approval or disapproval on liking, dislikings and facts – all this is very difficult. But as you can see, I think ze’s starting to understand what it is like to want and approve of something personal. Ze is actually able to choose between an affirmative, and a negative, response. I tested it by making ze take a stand on whether to spend time with me, or time without me. And after a frustrating few moments of guiding ze in head-movement, and introducing ze to the concept of choice – which I had to explain to ze. After THAT: ze finally started to make some reactions. Actually, about choice, I feel like you should hear the explanation as well, I feel like I really did good there! So–” Rum said, and sat down on the bed next to Amez, who had rolled onto it and was now trying to rest with his eyes closed, “–my reasoning was that: to choose is to make those most solid and permanent parts of you – those parts of you capable of generating a resistance to the free flow of reality – to make those parts impose upon the world a signature of change, a kind of change only you can make. If you do this: if some of the solid, permanent, real you, makes a mark on the world that must mainly be interpreted as mark of you, and thus a new part of you, at that point YOU – and ONLY YOU – have made a choice. The tricky part about White Rose was to bring out this resistance – because ze is so fine with whatever I do – I needed ze to make a stand, to resist me. It took a lot of time I tell you.”

“Brother–” Amez began, putting and hand to his trying-to-sleep face, “–why are you telling me what a choice is? I damned know what a choice is, I’m not a skeleton!”

“Well I just thought it very interesting. I mean, imagine if we got a second skeleton! We’d have to teach the concept of choice all over again! And I’m sure you’ve never had to teach someone the concept of choice. I think my explanation really nailed it, don’t you think so?”

Amez opened his eyes, and looked over at Rum. “Brother – don’t you dare make another skeleton sentient! Not in my shop. No more skeletons, no more anything-overly-magical. I’m only glad White Rose isn’t being discovered yet. Be glad for that you too. Now shush, go! I need my sleep.”

Rum left Amez, and Amez slept like a stone for at least two hours. Until, that is, he was brought back into mere slight of awaken consciousness, as his fingers reported a cold and touching sensation. It felt like a tapping – a tapping running over each and every one his fingers, though one at a time. Fighting to be allowed yet more sleep, Amez pulled away his hands and put them both next to his face. He rolled over and tried to sleep again. For about two minutes this seemed to have worked, but then he felt a renewed cold hard tapping on his fingers. Cold touches that repeated themselves several times over, going through all his fingers until Amez had had enough, and begrudgingly opened his sleepy eyes. In front of Amez was a skeletal hand, tapping along on his fingers like a practised dance, and moving faster and faster with each sequential iteration. After a few seconds Amez withdrew his fingers and snuck them under the blanket, where White Rose couldn’t get to them. Looking up into White Rose’s skull, grinning at him, he noticed ze putting zes head to one side, as if wondering about what he was doing. Then White Rose shook zes skull, displeased at losing zes counting toys. Amez didn’t quite know what to do, but he decided he no longer wanted to stay in the bed, and got up, hurriedly putting on his boots while scanning the room for Rum. He wasn’t around, but then just as Amez stood up, the work room door opened and Rum stepped inside, a piece of buttered bread in his mouth.

Upon seeing his brother, Rum tried to speak through the bread, at which he failed. So Amez spoke instead: “Rum you need to keep White Rose from counting my fingers obsessively over and over again while I am asleep. Actually, scratch that: just make ze not count my fingers at all. Once was enough.”

Rum swallowed his bread and then looked at White Rose: “White Rose, have you been counting? What did I tell you about counting before we have your mana secured? It’s dangerous! No counting Amez! No counting anything!” Rum walked over to the skeleton and looked at it sternly for a moment, before his face changed. Rum looked... pondering? Rum turned to Amez, a question on his face and mouth: “Did you say over and over again? And did you say obsessively?”

“Well, yeah. Ze was counting all of my fingers, then ze was counting them again just after. It was really annoying.”

Rum looked at White Rose. “Are you starting to discover multiplication, White Rose?” The skeleton tilted zes head to the side.

“Multiplication?” Amez put on his own face of confusion.

“Yes” Rum responded, returning eye-contact with Amez. “What reason would ze have to count your fingers over and over again? I think there is only two likely reasons: either ze became stuck in a repetitive loop in order to keep zeself entertained, like an actual obsession, or ze was trying to combine multiple countings. If ze has started to notice that your fingers can be counted in iterations, ze is likely to soon figure out multiplication, since each iteration gives ze 10 fingers to count. Think of it like this: we humans understand the world through pattern recognition. In fact mathematics is little else but pattern recognition. Inherent in all patterns is repetition and difference. When things repeat, they come to form continuity, and consequently unity. When things differ, they break apart and become like things of their own. The world is but the repetitions and the differences that we are able to grasp from it. Everything becomes things from this process of our minds. Now, if White Rose counts your fingers in a singular process, which ze then repeats, and ze chooses to combine what ze counts instead of starting from zero each time; if that happens ze is effectively bundling your fingers into an arithmetic factor of 10 and then repeatedly adding this together. Put in simpler terms: your fingers becomes a representation for the number of 10, which ze repeatedly adds. That is multiplication. From the repetition of counting the same over and over again, ze will come to know all your fingers as a singular unity, as the number of 10.”

“Hah” Amez said, not knowing how to process this information.

“Actually this development is a little concerning. If ze’s starting to advance zes mathematical abilities of pattern abstraction, ze may be starting to attempt more difficult – and thus mana-draining – computations. The ultimate danger is if ze discovers factorials, but before that we should confirm whether ze has actually discovered multiplication, and look out for any signs ze is starting to figure out exponents.”

“What are exponents?” Amez looked at Rum. Of course Amez knew basic math, but he couldn’t say he’d ever heard of exponents.

“Well...” Rum stroked his beard and looked thinkingly at Amez. After giving White Rose a glance of concern, he headed over to where his brother stood, then leaned in to whisper: “It’s when a number is multiplied with itself a given number of times. If ze discovers exponents, ze can begin to abstract the act of multiplication itself, which is already an abstraction of addition. Worse still, this opens up the arena of equations and polynomials.”

“Polynomials?” Amez’ words were ultimately unnecessary, his face expressed all of his confusion with ease.

“Doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that it will make for very mana-consuming arithmetic I promise you.” Rum nodded with stern worry at his little brother’s less than entirely comprehending face.

“And how do we look for... exponents?” Amez asked.

“Hmm. I can look for it. Just tell me of any odd behavior on the part of White Rose. In the meantime however, and now that you are awake, let’s continue the lectures on people magic!” Mentioning his own lectures on people magic put Rum in an almost instantly good mood. This was his area of expertise after all, Amez recognized those self-esteem fueled thoughts from behind Rum’s smile.

Amez and Rum moved into the shop’s work room, Amez sitting down next to his drawing board, and Rum positioning himself for circular walking, beard stroking and talking with his eyes unfocused.

“So where did we leave off yesterday?” Rum glanced at Amez, expecting a reply.

“Eeeh...” Amez began. “Brother, I was very tired yesterday. I have a hard time remembering much.” Amez looked into the blue for a moment, trying to recall anything. “Something about threads... dirty magic... reverberations? And something about a machine?”

Rum nodded and began his circular walk. The lecture was now in progress. “The machines of magic are the spells, the magic made into a tool channeling a particular change into the world. The energy of the machines – those energies all flow through the threads as reverberations. Think of it like tiny carts pulled along streets of a city; the streets are the threads, the machines the city, and the carts the energy. The threads combine together in their shape and intertwining connections to make out the machines, in a manner vaguely similar to how streets can connect and shape the layout and function of a city. But, let’s not overextend this analogy. To use perhaps better words: the threads are your mana, and the properties of that mana, like the length of the threads and how the threads are combined into structures, these produce the magic cast into the world as you can see it. And a particular kind of magic, and the power of that magic, is a reflection of the particular properties and structure of your mana-threads, and the raw force you are able to push through the structured mana.”

Rum walked a round in circle without saying anything, just letting Amez soak in the hitherto presented knowledge. “With me thus far?” he asked.

“I think so, maybe. Probably. Yeah” Amez nodded confirmingly. “Threads are mana. Structure and properties of threads are spells. And there’s this force? Wait. You’ve been teaching me a lot of theoretical stuff now. How about the practical? How do I do any of this?”

“Well” Rum began, “that is where you need to give up on all preconceived notions of how magic works. The magic of the gods is in truth a perpetual kindergarten of people’s power. The gods help you, but they also constrain you, in your magic use. The first step to people magic is rebellion! Not in the mere manner of deciding on an alternative, like telling me you want people magic, but an actual act of rebellion – a resistance to the structure imposed upon you from the world itself, as it is governed by the gods. As someone trained in magic, you should have a sense of the world’s magic, in particular yourself. When you cast magic, aided by the gods: have you not felt, if ever so slightly, a little tingly feeling of yourself being like ridden with energies? Like a flow of energy that just dives through you, out of you, and into the spell? That is yourself, your own mana, letting you know of its existence. To rebell is to connect with it, and redirect it. It’s difficult to describe, but it’s almost like talking to it, but without words. Just an intuitive will from you imposed upon your ethereal self. In this case an intuitive act of resistance! It is a thing that must be practised, perhaps, but I’m here with you, and I can guide you through your spell creation. I’m here to condense months worth of independent effort down to just a few days.” Rum smiled at the end. Amez’ head, even if impressed with what he was being told, still felt that Rum’s smile was a little malicious. It was a smile promising days, or even weeks of headaches, and likely sleep-deprivation.

“Alright” Amez sighed. “Let’s get started then. Teach me how to DO people magic.”