Interlude: Enchiridion

“Of course I’m keeping the alliteration, how else am I supposed to appeal to a wider audience?” - Ezekial to his publisher regarding his books the Enchiridion of Encounters. Yes, all twenty-six (now twenty-nine at the time of publishing) versions of them.

‘Elliot’ never wanted to be a homeless vagrant, but he supposed few people did.

With a free hand, he sliced away a creeping vine with his spare knife, the old one having been so thoroughly coated with sap that he was forced to discard it.

‘How did I end up here?’ he briefly wondered, counting back on the disastrous events that led to his vagrancy.

‘Ma died of the plague, pa went ahead and got himself killed when he pissed on a dragon's mountain, and the dragon just had to have burned down the farm as well.’

He freed his other hand from the vines, much preferring to be harvesting wheat on a peaceful farm rather than cutting carnivorous vines in the depths of the jungle.

‘Heck, I should’ve just taken up accounting,’ he thought as he threw the knife behind him. A bloom of red appearing out of nowhere as the panther-like creature broke its invisibility. ‘Hawtin was an ass but he paid well at least.’

The lines on his gloves glowed for a moment, invoking an image similar to circuitry, and the knife detached itself from the corpse, flying back to his hands. He stowed it away with his other mundane knives, before taking out a compass and map. ‘Elliot’ held the compass level and peered at the needle, only to tsk in annoyance as he saw the needle spinning without rhyme or reason. The same result he’d been getting for the past month.

He sighed, ‘Knew I should’ve mana-proofed it.’

‘Elliot’ returned the compass and map to his bag of holding. The traditional way wouldn’t work, so instead, he took a deep breath and used his Path Skill.

He focused on an image, a large crystal, one he’s seen many times before, a Wayshard.

For a brief moment, the world felt… louder. Whispers became screams. Soft winds became cutting as every sense was pushed to the extreme.

‘Elliot’ staggered to the side, leaning onto a huge tree. His head was pounding as it processed more information than it was truly meant to. His eyes drifted to the sky, searching for a star that was no longer there.

‘If only I had mana…’

‘Elliot’, unlike many, did not have a single bulb of mana or aura to his name. Manatheres apparently missed him when he was born, and by all accounts, he should’ve died years ago. Either from deficiency or just standing too close to a moderately powerful being. ‘Hells I’m surprised I live this long,’ he thought as the bark underneath his arm suddenly moved. He cursed as the annoyed bark scuttler climbing to a higher point in the tree, before merging back to it seamlessly.

The pain and loudness of his mind slowly subsided as Seek found what he needed. A trail appeared in his mind. Like a line of dust and cloud, it directed him forward. ‘Elliot’, lacking other options, began following it. Knife in one hand to cut away any vines that tried to take a shot at him.

Seek helped him delve into the unknown. The lands not mapped. The seas unsailed. The sights never seen by mortal eyes. But it only directed him to the unknown. When used actively like he did just now, it would direct him to notable landmarks. Sometimes it worked to his advantage. Most civilisations built their cities around Wayshards and his skill would direct him to them. But… if the most notable landmark within the nearest few leagues was a giant tree or a river or a nest of fireflies…

‘Tiny fuckers,’ he mentally cursed as he checked his burn. It stung, but his supplies were low and he recognised none of the nearby flora to brew a salve.

‘That’s what I should’ve done! Become a herbalist, maybe even dabbled in alchemy a bit.’ He sighed, ‘A nice stable desk job, away from all this nonsense. That would be the dream.’

He paused as the trail led him to a cave. Its entrance stood out of the verdant jungle like a gaping scar. No greenery bloomed on the rough grey stone. His moment of apprehension was gone, when he saw a pure crystal jutting out of the floor.

“Thank you, North Star,” he said as he hurried forward. ‘Elliot’ was not a religious man, but he knew when to offer thanks even though the receiver had seemingly disappeared.

Taking out one of his duller knives, he began chipping away at the stone around the crystal. It came free easily and ‘Elliot’ lifted it.

A whisper came to his mind as he stashed it into his bag, the sound was not clear. He would need to get the spell crystal appraised by someone with mana, or aura if he was lucky. Most can’t use spell crystals like Travellers can, but having a spell formula embedded in crystal made a very good example to study for aspiring mages. ‘Rich, noble mages.’

And wild spell crystals meant another thing. He continued deeper into the cave, breathing out a sigh of relief as he spotted the Wayshard glowing just a few dozen metres in.

‘Finally,’ he thought as he neared the Wayshard. ‘A night with an actual bed, warm meals not made of whatever I can scramble from within a jungle and-’

One of his wards broke. The shattering sound echoed in the cave, ‘Elliot’ jumped back, rolling behind a stalagmite, just as a wave of flame slashed through where he stood. Leaving a burning line of fire behind him.

‘Shit shit shit shit shit,’ he thought as he removed and applied a fresh ward from his bag. ‘That was my ward against charms.’

“Who’s there!” he yelled as he began retrieving items from his bag, ‘Mages, maybe a bard of some kind. Definitely an enchanter.’ He took out his weapons, a staff filled with several spell charges, a glass prism and four small baubles which he held between his fingers. The last bauble he spun once, activating it.

He peeked outside of his cover, only to feel his skin crawl as he saw his opposition.

Two figures, one male and the other female. They looked human only in the loosest sense, like the result of an artist who’s never seen a human try their hand at painting one. Their features were too sharp or too smooth or too exaggerated. A thousand tiny inconsistencies that told him he was dealing with the Fair Folk. He didn’t recognise the first, but the second he did.

The bauble soon confirmed it, absorbing the nearby ambient mana and taking on a variety of colours, before it cracked in his hand, letting out a small flame as it did. ‘Autumn Court, and Damnable Hells, she’s still a Duchess.’

“Apologies for the rough reception esteemed Enchiridion,” the male Fae began, his voice sounded melodious and wonderful- his second ward broke and ‘Elliot’ quickly slapped on one of his better wards. A paper seal made by the Yuan Tei.

The Fae continued, uncaring of his actions, his voice now just pleasant instead of hypnotising, “We have come to claim debts and restore honour lost. To even the scales once again.”

‘There’s more than the two of them, a Duchess doesn’t travel without an entourage.’

‘Elliot’ returned two of his baubles, taking out a pure gold coin and a pure black marble, “You seem to know me, but I don’t know much about you. May I know your title?”

The Fae smiled, “I am the Lord of Welcoming Zephyr.”

‘They are really running out of good titles,’ he thought, though he internally breathed a sigh of relief. A Fae Lord was easy to deal with, “And am I correct in presuming that you speak for the Duchess behind you?”

The Lord paled before the Duchess stepped forward with a smirk, “No, you would not be,” she said.

‘Elliot’ took a deep breath, he knew how to deal with Fae, and hiding behind a stalagmite wasn’t ideal. So he walked out of cover with a bright smile. “I would say it is a pleasure my lady, but I would be lying.”

“Ah, but it is a pleasure for me, dear Author of Enchiridion,” she replied with a smile.

‘No hypnotic effect with her words, the ward isn’t responding. Earlier flames suggest she still has a similar title,’ he swiftly analysed. “I suppose both of us should introduce what we go by now, I am ‘Elliot’-”

The Duchess hissed as he said the name, “A false name will not hide you my love. No matter your face or name, I will know you until Last Cycle.”

He merely raised an eyebrow at the interruption, despite the fact he almost shat his pants at the implications of her words. Fae cannot lie. At all. ‘There goes my chance at a normal life.’

“And yet I do not know what you are now, so do introduce yourself... My lady,” he replied, hurriedly sticking up that last bit. There were more… colourful words he wanted to say about her showing up, but so long as he kept up a facade of polite conversation, she would not be able to attack him.

The Lord behind her looked apprehensive, but she still introduced herself, despite knowing full well it would be giving away her current capabilities, “Why, I am the Duchess of Unrelenting Wildfire,” she chuckled, “please do give up, you cannot beat me as you are now, dear E****.”

‘Elliot’ felt a jolt as she said his name, he sold it many, many years ago. When he was being chased by the Kenkou mob over some… borrowed artefacts and needed a quick way to change his face after all his backup identities were found out.

It was his fault for not knowing that selling your name meant selling the identity associated with it, or that none of the people he knew would recognise him as him anymore.

“May I know how you left Arcadia?” ‘Elliot’ may not be a mage, but he did his research when he didn’t pay up the latter half of his contract. Many things did not make sense with her appearance. A Duchess of her power passing into Creation would be noticed by his divination trinkets unless there was someone on this side easing the process. Someone must’ve followed him this far. An extremely impressive feat considering the leagues of murderous jungle between him and the closest thing of civilisation.

She laughed as she saw the mental gymnastics going through his mind, “Why, I simply passed by of my own accord, without aid from this realm's lesser mages.”

His eyes widened. “That is impossible,” he said with genuine disbelief. If anything other than a Fae said it, then he would’ve suspected his Diviner had sold him faulty equipment. But a Fae did say it.

“Why it is completely true my dear-”

She didn’t get to finish, because at that moment he threw the black marble in his hand. The Lord behind her lifted a hand, long since warned about resistance, but his face scrunched up in surprise as the wind he summoned failed to change the trajectory of the marble whatsoever. ‘Of course not knobhead, it’s magical wind.’

The Duchess disappeared in a whirl of flame, right before the marble cracked on the floor where she was. Releasing the null magic zone contained within and instantly destroying the Lord.

‘Elliot’ cursed as the only chance he had at killing the Duchess was avoided. A sudden increase of heat behind him told him to turn around. Seeing the burning flames left by the previous attack began to whirl into the form of a woman and dozens of winged figures coming out from the shadows of the cave.

‘Fuck they came prepared.’ He threw the glass prism in front of him, it stopped suddenly in midair as the sunlight from outside hit it.

The prism parsed the pure sunlight, reflecting the seven colours of the rainbow through it.

The Duchess reformed fully, her form causing the flames to spread, her arm held out as a burst of fire flew towards the prism.

“BLUE!” ‘Elliot’ yelled and the colours disappeared, leaving only the blue lighting up the entire cavern. A sudden flash frost exploded from it, hitting everywhere the light struck.

‘Elliot’ threw up his cloak right as the ice struck. The cold warmed up his Cloak of Inversion and he started towards his goal, the Wayshard.

The heat on his cloak swiftly turned cold as the Duchess easily freed herself from the ice.

“Why do you resist my love?”

“I slept with you once!” ‘Elliot’ yelled. Damn stories, damn all stories to hell. Fae were stories, they were ideas, they embodied it and were limited by it, and some backwards tradition on marriage meant that this Fae was incapable of even conceiving a future where she didn’t drag him back to Arcadia to marry.

He might’ve actually been receptive to the idea, if not for the fact that living with an entity of such casual power was inevitably detrimental to his manaless body. To give an analogy, it would be like being constantly exposed to nuclear radiation.

‘Elliot’ was not that desperate for tail to shorten his lifespan.

It was just that one time.

The Duchess smiled, “I do love it when you play hard to get. Our time when we finally get together may be short, but it will be meaningful.”

‘Evidently, my survival after marriage is not a high priority for her.’

So he raised the staff, pointing it directly at her and the other Fae surrounding him.

“Fog.”

Plumes of white fog exploded from the staff, the Duchess frowned for the first time. “Wind,” she ordered.

And wind was given by one of her subordinate Fae, however it failed to alleviate the fog.

For the Staff of Fog stored and casted two spells at once, one creating physical fog that could be pushed by wind, and another that created illusory fog that did not truly exist beyond your senses.

“Guard the Wayshard,” she demanded, instantly teleporting right next to the crystal with a burst of flame.

But that was not his goal.

‘Elliot’ flipped the gold coin that he held, letting it roll on the floor, until when it stopped to rest, there revealed a door that was not there before.

He rushed through, slamming the door shut behind him. Before him was the infinite store and the Traveller Merchant.

“Dave!” he yelled, “I have more Traveller Gold in a safehouse in the Dread Empire, I wish to buy a teleport to a safe location and for you to not sell information of my destination to the next person that enters!”

The door was slammed open with a burst of fire as the Duchess of Unrelenting Wildfire entered.

But the man who looked just like him with a monocle simply snapped his fingers, “Done.”

And ‘Eliot’ was simply gone.

He woke up in a meadow somewhere. He knew he needn’t bother checking the surroundings, as Dave always held true to transactions, but did so anyway out of habit.

Once he found that the surroundings were clear, he sat down, rummaging his bag for a set of items.

A few minutes later, ‘Emmet’ stood up, the face and demeanour of the Author of Enchiridion now completely changed.