Dark apprentice, p.16
Dark Apprentice, page 16
Nikolai buttoned his shirt and considered the fight. He’d been pinned under his own shield and attacked by plants. He saw no easy solution, so he backtracked further in the fight. How had he gotten on the ground in the first place? Somehow, she had struck him from the rear.
“I wasn’t expecting to be attacked from behind, so I guess I could have rotated my shield. But that would’ve left me vulnerable on the other side.”
“Why not create a shield encapsulating your entire body?”
He frowned. “I’ve never tried. We were taught to pivot if we needed to block something.”
“A complete sphere is ideal—too many people forget to block their sides, head, and feet.”
“Is there really much danger of someone attacking feet?” They were such a small target, easily blocked by a standard shield if you could see it coming. Something else nagged at him about the suggestion, but he had no time to think on it.
“Of course there is. If your opponent is smart, they will strike where you are weak, so do not give them any easy targets—unless you mean to draw them into a trap. Now, tell me why your shield failed.”
There was no way he was discussing the dark thoughts that plagued him. Impossible to tell if the shield had collapsed when his concentration broke or if he’d listened to the nagging doubts and let it go.
“The force was too great. I had to drain all my mana to keep it intact.”
“What could you have done instead?”
“If I knew, I would have done it.”
“Why not change the shape, diverting the rock to one side and rolling out from under it?”
He blinked. “Change the shape?”
“That explains much.” A yellowish oblong disk sprang to life in front of her. “You recognize this?”
He nodded. “It’s a sparring shield. Blocks physical attacks and magic.”
“At their heart, spells are shortcuts that enable you to perform magic quickly, without thought. Anyone can create a spell. Incantations, chants, rituals—these triggers allow others to use the spell without understanding what the magic does. It’s like . . .” She paused an inordinate amount of time before continuing. “Light switches. I don’t know how precisely they work, and I’d imagine most Mundanes don’t either, but we can still flip the switch and get light. With me so far?”
“Yes.” The Mundane comparison was troubling, though he couldn’t say why.
“Standard spells are fine, they have their uses. The problem with becoming overly reliant on them is that you fail to customize. Your shield looks and behaves like everyone else’s. Watch closely.”
The yellow tint of Medea’s shield changed to rosy pink and then periwinkle blue before vanishing completely.
“It’s still there,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. “Shields are naturally invisible. When competitive sparring became popular, judges created the so-called ‘sparring shield’ so they could be easily seen. That’s what happens when you use spells created for someone else’s purpose. Masters customize their magic and use spells with intent.”
The shield reappeared and changed from disk to flat plane, then bent down the middle to form an angle like a roof. Tapered like that, the boulder would have slid right off, allowing him to roll away. The shield expanded, enclosing Medea in a full sphere.
Impressive as it was, he immediately grasped the problem that had troubled him earlier. “How am I supposed to attack from in there?”
“What do you mean?”
“Everything will rebound and hit me.” It was a little sad she could miss something so obvious. A complete sphere seemed Useful enough for cowards who wanted nothing more than to avoid being hit, but for someone fighting back, a partial shield was required. Without any kind of gap, you’d have to take down the sphere every time you wanted to attack, which meant conjuring a new shield each time. It might not matter to someone like Medea, but it would drain most people’s mana in short order.
He tried to explain the problem as gently as he could. She didn’t take it well, placing a fist to her brow and sinking to the grass, where she breathed deeply as if steeling herself against his words.
“That was illuminating,” she said when he was finished.
“I’m happy to help in any way I can.” He sat down next to her, placing his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. Steely eyes greeted his, then dropped to the hand, which he hastily removed.
“To think,” she said, “all these years I’ve been approaching the problem wrong. I thought my apprentices dense. Some people are set in their ways and there’s no help for it.”
He stretched out and leaned back on his arms. Few things were more pleasurable than being proved right. “It’s not your fault. Sometimes these things require a fresh perspective.”
She didn’t appear to hear him. “Even before wands, I remember students who struggled with the concept. Obviously, wands have made it worse, but this? I never expected . . .”
He wasn’t sure what wands had to do with full-body shields, but he nodded and muttered something supportive. It was good he was building rapport. A few more conversations like this and he might even be able to bring up immortality again.
Medea began to laugh, the intensity steadily increasing until she struggled to breathe. Nikolai joined her, doing his best to sound sincere. People liked it when you shared their emotions. Slowly she regained control, but not without periodic giggles. At last, she leaned back in the grass and took a deep breath.
“Centuries of apprentices, and it never occurred to me.” Another chuckle escaped. “To think, all this time you believed spells originated from your person.”
Wait, what? She hopped to her feet and he jerked himself upright. What was she talking about? She caught sight of his face and the laughter began anew.
“Don’t worry,” she said with a smile, “we’ll get past this mental block you’ve manufactured.” Medea spun around, looking for something, and ran to tap the boulder. “Ah! Here, we’ll use this. Hmm, it will probably be easier if you start from the same general direction. Come stand next to it.”
“What are you going on about?”
Either she didn’t hear him or chose to ignore the question. Her countenance, normally stoic, took on a frantic energy that was borderline manic. In her haste, she magically yanked Nikolai to the boulder and spun him to face the forest.
“There. Don’t move!” Her blonde hair trailed behind her as she flew through the air and landed several paces away. “I want you to hit me with a projectile spell. Something small—hmm, how about Puncture? No wand! This time, I want you to focus on generating the spell from the rock. Got it? Go!”
She might have been speaking Latin for all the sense she made. “You want me to do what?”
“I want you to cast Puncture, not from your wand, but from the rock, and send it toward me.” She spoke slowly, as if he were feebleminded, and pointed from the boulder to herself.
“What? I can’t do that. No one—” He stopped, suddenly recalling his conversation with the retired Enforcer. The lone survivor of the Collective’s diplomatic mission had said something about spells hitting from every direction, he was sure of it, and she had opened this duel by striking him in the back. At the time, he’d thought it a rock thrown with telekinesis. “Did you hit me in the back with a spell?”
“I’m a mage. What else would I hit you with?”
He stared at her, dumbfounded. She was serious. If this really worked . . . “Sorry, I’m just—I’m having trouble understanding the technique. How do you do it?”
Medea opened her mouth and froze, her face going through an odd parade of expressions before at last she blurted out, “I don’t know, but it’s no different than any other spell.” She pointed at the ground. “There. Can you grab a blade of grass with your mind?”
“Of course I can.” He said it with confidence, and yet it was difficult without the wand. It took several tries, but at last a stalk of grass floated into the air.
“See? You did it, and you boiled water this morning without a wand. How is Punctum any different?”
“It just is.”
“Can you ignite a fire from across the room?”
“I can spark a flame.”
“But you can’t shoot a fireball?”
“That’s the key word—shoot.”
“Ah, so you believe projectile spells originate from your wand.”
“They do!”
“And yet nothing else does. A wand is not a pen, to dispense magic from within like ink from a well. You decide where the magic happens. Your focus.”
As she spoke, a fireball erupted from the rock—no, in front of the rock—and shot toward the sea, flames trailing behind it. He leapt back as heat kissed his chest. A second fireball blazed before him, roiling in place for a moment before launching at the boulder and igniting the surrounding grass. Medea approached. Her hand made a fist, quelling the fire. He couldn’t tell if the heat he felt was the warmth of her breath or something leftover from the spell.
“Souls have a bit of self-preservation in them. They provide modest protection against spells being cast directly inside the body.” Her head tilted as she studied his chest. “But if your opponent is unshielded, and significantly weaker than yourself . . .” She looked up at him and smirked.
The implication was horrifyingly seductive. No wonder she crushed anyone who’d ever challenged her. With that kind of power, he could do anything. A world of possibilities unfurled.
“I . . . I want to learn it.”
“I’m glad you’ve finally consented to learn something I already told you to try. Go ahead then.”
Nikolai kicked a clump of dirt, his dreams of easy power snuffed out like Medea’s flames. Initiating a spell from a random location had quickly been abandoned, as it required casting without a wand, something he was unable to accomplish consistently.
Instead, Medea tasked him with conjuring a shield without a wand. He could stick with the incantation and circular wrist movement if they helped him focus. It was like trying to write calligraphy with his toes. Technically he had the necessary equipment, but none of the parts were accustomed to operating in such a way. Twice he saw a shield begin to form, but it disappeared before stabilizing. After two hours he’d barely made any progress.
“I believe that’s enough for today,” said Medea. “You may stay and practice if you wish, but I’m afraid I must retire.”
After she’d gone he checked his watch, still set to Haven time. Noon. Here the sun was relatively high in the sky, early afternoon maybe. This morning he’d asked Medea again for the time, and she’d shrugged off his question. Irritating not to know. He toyed with the idea of moving his watch ahead by two or three hours, but in the end kept it set to Haven rather than changing it to a possibly incorrect time.
He sat in the clearing and summoned lunch, pirog again. Options were limited when summoning without a plate. As it was, he had to trade hands frequently until the pastry cooled. Before finishing, he tore off a corner and flicked it into the grass.
As he ate, he considered the puzzle before him. Something was messing with his head, that much was clear, but what, and how? He tallied the incidents: yesterday morning, yesterday afternoon, today. What did they have in common? Medea’s mana potions were the obvious culprit, but she’d only given them twice and they didn’t explain the first occurrence. This did not mean Medea was innocent, only that she must be observed more carefully.
The pirog turned out to be the fruit-filled variety, and soon his hands were sticky with red goo. Nikolai returned to the garden by the hovel. There he found what he was looking for behind an old statue—a crank water pump. Hands clean, he set out to explore.
On the far side of the hovel he found a graveyard. Weeds ran rampant between the simple flat stones acting as grave markers. There was no sign that names or dates had ever been etched into the well-weathered stones. If not for a single small mausoleum, he would have mistaken it for yet another curious collection of rocks.
He continued on, picking his way through the tall grass interspersed with the occasional cypress tree, until the land terminated in a sheer cliff. Waves pounded the rocks below in a casual display of eternal power, its beauty intoxicating.
Something tugged at his awareness, little more than a breath of a feeling. As he followed the coastline, it grew stronger. The cliff here was too steep to climb, but further on it sloped to a rocky shore. Nikolai picked his way down between rocks and backtracked along the coast, a hound on the scent.
At the base of the cliff was a wide-open cavern. Humidity greeted him at the entrance. Clouds of steam obscured his view. He made his way carefully, boots threatening to slip on stones slick with slime. Soon his shirt was plastered to his back.
Inside was a natural hot spring. Rivulets of water connected several small pools. Gingerly he tested each with his hand. They grew successively warmer as he approached the back of the cavern. Second to last was scalding, and he dared not touch the final pool.
The cave pulsed with subtle energy, like the immense heart of a sleeping giant, but it was strongest here. A succession of reveal spells found no identifiable enchantments. He’d have to come back when he was more prepared. For now, he might as well make use of the pools.
He chose one a little more than halfway back, stripped, and sank gratefully into the warm water. The tension eased from his muscles. One hand moved back and forth, in time with the thrumming sensation. Small rings rippled out from his hand and moved slowly across the pool.
The more he thought on it, the more convinced he became that Medea was dosing him. The concoction was designed to make him tractable, to prevent him from exploring the island or gaining power too fast. Her feigned anger at his convalescence was an interesting ploy. He would have chosen sympathy, as he had when he was poisoning Petrov, but then she seemed to have a better read on him than he did of her. That would have to change.
Tomorrow he would ask to see the library. Would she bar access, as she had to the dungeon? If everything appeared available, it was a sure sign she had a stash elsewhere. No, that was a certainty. Immortality was one secret she did not share. At the very least, her notes on immortality would be hidden.
When light began to fade, Nikolai exited the pool and dressed in damp clothes. Pink tinged the horizon as he walked back to the hovel. Wind combined with the sound of the ocean to turn the rippling grass into a sea of its own. At the hovel he stooped to avoid the low frame and made his way to the kitchen.
An hour later, he’d managed to summon a very particular style of shepherd’s pie. Mary always did love to garnish her favorite meal with a sprig of rosemary. He took a single bite, savoring the flavor of triumph, then dumped the pie in the trash and summoned golubtsy for himself.
When he’d finished eating, he washed the dish and returned it to the shelf, right next to a familiar chipped plate. He knew the pattern well, given how much he’d stared at its emptiness before Medea had summoned Stroganov. So, that’s how Medea dosed him the first time.
Clever to not always use the same source. She could have used a different concentration the first time, delaying the initial onset of symptoms. He would have suspected poison sooner if he’d taken ill shortly after dinner. By morning, he’d forgotten.
He couldn’t let on he knew about the mana potions or she’d find a new way to dose him. The two she’d given him had been premade, but he was expected to make his own from now on, which meant she would tamper with the brew. She probably already had, given her close “inspection” of the potions he’d made today. One by one he took them from his pouch and poured them down the drain.
Nikolai peeked into the common room. Shadows danced on the walls from the crackling fire. He crossed to the lab, praying it would be just as empty. Luck was with him. He could make potions now and Medea would be none the wiser.
Brewing went much faster, as he no longer had to contend with her constant interruptions. He searched drawers until he found a grease pencil and placed a small dot on each of the vials, marking them as safe for consumption. Potions stowed in his pouch, he crept back to his room. Let’s see the bitch dose him now.
14
THE LIBRARY
Nikolai awoke refreshed and ready for the day. After several sets of push-ups and sit-ups, he showered and took care of himself, longing for one of Mrs. Gallagher’s morning blowjobs. Difficult going without sex for so long. Shaving without a mirror remained a challenge, but he was getting the hang of it. Less stubble today. A hearty breakfast later, he bounded into the lab and offered Medea a cheerful greeting.
“Mmm.” She didn’t look up from what she was doing but waved in the general direction of the cauldrons, already set out for him and probably already contaminated with her drug of choice.
He smiled and set to work. Boiling water proved a nuisance. His good mood meant Medea had to strike him repeatedly to get him in the proper mind-set. Potion-making went smoothly. He was careful to take longer than necessary so as not to seem overly familiar with the lab. When they were finished brewing, he poured them out and watched as Medea began her careful inspections. He could detect no sleight of hand. Either she was that good, or the cauldrons had definitely been pretreated.
He was just about to ask about the library when she said, “No practical lesson today. I want to show you the library. Collect your potions and follow me.” Medea left via the door to the common area, leaving him to stopper the bottles alone. He’d discard them later.
Definitely a telepath. She wasn’t even being subtle about it, but then telepaths were exceedingly rare. Most Magi could sense the intrusion. How was she getting into him without detection? How deep could she go? Nikolai could only pick up surface thoughts. If she could delve deeper, he might be in trouble.
Nikolai deposited his vials in his pouch and went to catch up. Medea stood in front of a door opposite the entrance to the hovel. On the same wall, closer to the kitchen, was a second door he’d yet to enter.
