“There is nothing special about me. I am just plain Linaera, well-behaved student studying magic for the Order of Peacekeepers. Nothing special about me, no faerie godmothers or dark necromancers,” Linaera replied, stubborn in her denial.
“Very well, Linaera. There are a number of books in this castle – find something to read while you figure out what to do with yourself.”
***
Linaera followed her suggestion, leaving the mad necromancers to whatever nefarious activity they had been doing. She guessed reading something was a good idea while she figured out how to get away from them.
She went around the corridors aimlessly, trying doors at random, until she eventually found something that resembled a library.
It was a small room – nothing as grand as the other chambers in the God-forsaken castle. Still, Linaera liked the cosy rectangular proportions of it. Magi-lamps gave off a soft yellow glow; the wood of the desk reflected it faintly, showing off elegant lacquer.
Linaera surveyed the books available – every one of them looked interesting. They read: “Battle Magic: Your Guide”; “A Guide to Darklings”; “The Life of Field Mice”; and finally, “The Strange Charms of Fae”.
Linaera decided on the latter. What could she say? She was curious.
The book was made from a soft, brown leather; silvery swirls lay emblazoned upon its cover. Its proportions were moderate, and allowed it to fit snugly in her hands.
She made herself comfortable, and began to read.
The Strange Charms of Fae
Part I.
It is often asked where the fae came from. In truth, no one really knows; some say they are neither angels nor demons, but are stuck within the middle ground here on Arachadia. Others say that the fae are elemental beings, ‘spirits of the air’, if you like. Whereas others even claim that they are deities originating from a world entirely separate of our own.
Linaera made a face. She did not want to be some sort of creepy part-demon thing.
Leaving the debate of their origin aside, the fae have been known as being highly mysterious over the centuries, although rarely malicious. They have been known to steal food, jewellery, and there are even some bizarre accounts of them stealing babies.
The rarely-malicious thing appealed to Linaera. In truth, she was rather “mischievous”, as the book put it. The stealing babies thing was weird though.
This book will follow the many tales of the fae: all ranging from their appearance (which many discuss), to their behaviour and some of their powers. These include having an affinity for their homeland, to magic, dreams; and even to queerer things, such as being able to see the dead. Speaking of which—
Linaera stopped, briefly distracted. She had distinctly heard something move behind her. She turned around, but could see nothing. Your mind is playing tricks on you, she thought. She shook her head and continued reading.
—the fae, due to their unusual nature, have many ‘gwarch’, as they call them. Essentially, they are shamans, and practise the arts of magic – ranging from healing, to enchantry and war magic – and of course, communing with the dead. They also have the ability to communicate with other things, such as Woses, Demons and Ele—
THUD! A book fell on to the floor. Linaera spun round, but nobody was there.
“Who’s there?” No response.
“Neshvetal, if you’re playing tricks on me…”
Nothing.
Linaera felt out with her mind, seeking the cause of the presence she suddenly felt in the room. She hadn’t noticed, but it had become cold. Frigid, even. She wondered if it was a draught; yet no such thing could account for it. (It was clear humans had not built the fortress.)
Linaera? A thought suddenly hit her mind. Impossible, thought Linaera.
Linaera? Can you hear me? But there was no doubt about it: Eiliara.
Eiliara? Is that you? Linaera communicated back, daring to hope.
Oh thank God, they taught you telepathy. I don’t know what I would have done if I had to last one more day in this hell-hole with no-one to talk to, she replied.
Eiliara? Is that really you? Aren’t you supposed to be… dead?
I am dead Linaera. That’s why I can’t talk to you by word of mouth.
But…
You wonder how any of this is possible? Listen, Linaera, I don’t know either, but what I do know – you have to get of here. They’re insane.
I’m with you there, Eiliara. But God… talking to a ghost…
I know Linaera. I don’t think I can stay much longer – but know this: you have a friend. Someone you can trust. You’re not alone.
With that, her presence faded. Linaera sighed. The day had been hell, but at least she had an ally. She still couldn’t believe Eiliara was in existence; she had been taught ghosts were an impossibility.
Guess they were wrong.
She turned back to her book, knowing she would have to play her charade if she had any chance of getting out.
TWENTY THREE
“Rise and shine!” somebody called out.
Linaera groaned and lifted the blankets. It felt so cozy in her bed… far away from mad necromancers and magic and all the rest.
“Ugh… what is wrong with you, Leira? Can’t you let a girl sleep?” she complained.
“Master wants you up early today – you’ve got training!” Leira shouted. She threw Linaera some clothes.
Linaera could see what appeared to be trousers, and a shirt – all linen – and a woollen jumper. All red.
“At least it ain’t black.”
“You should make that your motto.”
She left while Linaera donned the blasted clothes. She couldn’t imagine what the necromancer wanted with her – but she very much doubted it was anything to do with dressing up. What did Leira mean when she said “training”?
Only one way to find out…
Linaera walked out of her room. The clothes rested comfortably on her. She had to admit, whoever selected these clearly had good taste. Maybe the necromancers stole the place from some Northern king. Maybe they also grew wings and flew. Well, the latter was true at least…
Leira interrupted her idle thoughts with chatter.
“Linaera, what exactly did they teach you in Year Twelve? I hadn’t finished it when I left.”
“We mostly learned theory. Advanced magic in practice is only taught later on, once you’ve selected a profession.”
Linaera noticed that they weren’t heading towards the throne room.
“Leira, where exactly is this ‘training’ taking place?”
“Why, in the secondary dojo of course. It’s magically proofed to prevent all but the most powerful of magics from escaping – I designed it myself,” Leira stated proudly.
“I’m sure a puny mage like me doesn’t stand a chance.”
Leira gave her a disbelieving look.
“Linaera, when will you come to accept you’re the offspring of a faerie and one of the most powerful mages to live in the last five centuries? Even if you don’t want to accept the… identity of your parents, you must have done well in the basic training of the mage academies.”
Linaera wasn’t convinced, but kept quiet on the subject.
She was about to ask when they would arrive at their destination, when Leira suddenly opened an unobtrusive looking door – with magic, of course – to reveal the dojo.
The dojo was what one would have expected in such a building: its proportions meek in comparison to its neighbouring rooms, yet no sane person could have pretended it to be small; its windows were gilded, in the fashion of former years, and revealed the exterior. Snow fell in lazy flakes – it felt decidedly more peaceful than Linaera.
Inside, there were tables, containing various items and books. Chairs were also present, in which Neshvetal was lounging, looking vaguely bored.
The rest of the room was empty, but Linaera could feel a power-field circling around them. She had been taught never to go near a p
ower-field until you’re sure of what it does. Linaera didn’t have that kind of luxury, but she guessed that if they hadn’t killed her yet, there would be no reason for them to do so now.
“Hello, daughter. Ready for a day of training?” Neshvetal crooned.
Linaera tensed.
“I am not your daughter!”
Neshvetal waved his hand.
“Semantics.
“In any case, we must begin with your training. But first: your skills so far.”
Linaera expected him to start peppering her with questions. Instead, he took a wineglass from the table – crystal, from the looks of it – and threw it towards her.
Linaera mentally grabbed hold of it.
It lay there, suspended in mid-air, before Linaera returned it to its rightful place.
“It seems they’ve taught you telekinesis.” There was a note of sarcasm in his voice, as if he was pretending to be impressed.
“You’re crazy! That could have seriously injured me.”
“Yes, yes. Now with the next test.” Before Linaera could ask, she felt something knock on her mind. It was a strange feeling: “metaphysical tapping” would have been its closest cousin.
With reluctance, Linaera admitted Neshvetal into telepathic conversation.
Good, you know telepathy as well. Now that the easy stuff is out of the way, we’ll begin with more difficult skills.
He paused. Linaera expected him to immediately start blasting her with attacks, but instead, he did something different.
In his hand, there was now a small, brown device; it had a wooden base, and looked like a tube. The tube itself was silvery metal, and reflected the overcast light. Between the tube and the base, there was a small hole. Finally, a rubber tube extended from the bottom, leading to a small, black metal pot.
This is called a Bunsen burner. It keeps a steady amount of a flammable gas going and can produce an excellent flame. He pressed a knob on the black container, and set the thing alight.
Linaera looked on, fascinated by its eerie blue flame.
I want you to move the flame towards me, he proclaimed. Linaera bit back surprise: he wasn’t offering to die for her.
She focused her reserves; this wasn’t the hardest task she had ever been given, but it could easily go wrong – or right, depending on your point of view.
She began intoning the spell taught to control fire.
“Nehram adis.” Her mind clarified; the flame seemed to swell dangerously in proportion, though it was only an illusion, she knew.
“Gopet terris,” she finished. She felt the flame in her mind: it seemed almost alive, a blend of tiny particles, joined together in a dance of power. She urged them to move in the direction of Neshvetal; they flickered, but the spell held them firm.
Gradually, the flame skewed itself towards its target.
“Concesso,” he intoned. Quite suddenly, the flame flickered out.
Not bad. Now we go to the next thing: electricity.
Linaera groaned – she had never been a fan of electricity ever since she frizzled Sasha’s hair in training. She hadn’t talked to Linaera for days.
Not a fan? Neshvetal telepathised, amused. It is a powerful element against those less skilled than you, you know.
Linaera bit back a retort about him being arrogant about his own power: for one, it wasn’t true; for two, it would probably aggravate him even more.
He took the next item on the table.
You might want to get closer to this.
Linaera stood still.
Very well, be stubborn.
Linaera turned her attention to the object. It looked like a giant grey ball, with two metal rods sticking above it. At the bottom, there was a small lever, presumably to produce the electricity.
This is a Gár-at-Ter generator. When you spin the lever, it spins a magnet around a copper coil, which in turn sends electricity to the sphere. The electricity normally jumps towards the rods above. He turned the lever; and indeed, sparks flashed.
Linaera prepared herself for the spell.
“Nererat termeliar concecvan veris tas,” she began, hoping she got it right.
“Gervis tonnem vitros gis,” she finished. The spell wasn’t that hard to remember; it was the next bit that was more difficult.
Her mind went out towards the electricity, into a strange, strange world. Her senses dimmed, while the electricity became more distinct; its odd, nonsensical orbits became part of her.
She felt herself become attuned to being an electricity particle, being constantly moved about at incredible speeds by forces she could not possibly understand.
With great effort, she tried to curb it, urging it to go away from the rods and into the centre space she imagined.
They resisted, spinning wildly. Linaera increased her concentration. This is where she always got it wrong: something constantly intervened to distract her.
But perhaps the silence of the dojo helped calm her, or maybe she had just become more adept at the art; for the electricity collated for two full seconds on the spot. Then Linaera let it go.
Well done, that was not easy, Neshvetal praised her. Linaera had the bizarre urge to pout like a little girl told she had made papa proud. She squashed with a sense of irritation.
He is not your father, she reminded herself.
Now to the final challenge.
The fighting? Linaera guessed, filled with dread.
No. Something far more subtle. Battle skills can be learned through experience, but this requires true skill.
Somehow, that felt even worse.
You will be bending light.
Linaera gasped.
“You’re crazy!” she shouted, reverting to spoken speech.
No I am not; I fully intend to see what you are capable of, he replied calmly.
Bending light was one of the most difficult skills to master. Only the best could do it – and even then, it required a great deal of practice. It was certainly beyond what she as a student could do.
But Neshvetal simply lounged on his chair, looking faintly amused. Linaera decided to try: who knew? She might surprise him.
Yeah, and the dumb-mage fairy will fly you outta here. Get a grip, Linaera.
Leira had been standing passively, but now she looked mildly shocked.
Master, are you quite sure of this? Even I haven’t been able to master it.
We shall see.
Linaera walked towards the middle of the room, preparing herself mentally.
Do you want the spell?
Yes.
Hear this, for I am only going to say it once: Om Terekon, Deshven Teris. Nembetal tochnemeriath ënris techar. Uden tonos menos gurganthal esdombreteth.
Linaera filed away the words, hoping she didn’t get them wrong… or mispronounced. Mispronunciation was the biggest cause of spells going wrong, Linaera had learned. That and attempting spells far beyond your skill level, but she didn’t have that kind of luxury right now.
She began chanting the spell – it was one of the most complicated things you could do, yet it required nothing besides yourself. And light, obviously.
“Om terekon deshven teris nembetal tochnemeriath ënris techar,” she chanted. Her last words were a shout:
“UDEN TONOS MENOS GURGANTHAL ESDOMBRETETH!”
Colours merged and the world slipped into darkness. Linaera had expected many things, but this wasn’t it.
She tried to “look” around her, but nothing could be seen. There was nothing.
Then, she gradually became aware of things. Tiny little particles all around. They moved in seemingly random patterns, going in strange, convoluted spheres and accelerating (and de-accelerating) in between instants.
There must have been billions of them, all in this formless void. Linaera had no idea how to control them.
Without her intention, she could suddenly see. She was in the centre of the room. Which didn’t make any sense.
What did make sense was Neshvetal�
�s smug smirk as he watched her, doing nothing.
It was that, perhaps more than anything else, that drove her. She had not become one of the most talented mages in her school to be the laughing stock of a crazed necromancer who thought he was a hero.
She didn’t know where the words came from, only that she had to say them.
“Tochperis, ist.”
She felt her consciousness elongating, reaching out and touching the light particles; only now she was also aware of her surroundings.
She felt a glimmer of understanding: her preconceptions about light were incomplete. Not only were they particles, but they were also a wave, vibrating at incredible rates.
Something underlined it all – like a veil of cloth, only more fluid. She understood that to achieve what she wanted, she had to control this.
Somehow, she instinctively produced a field around her, like the one the Gár-at-Ter generator produced, only more powerful.
The fabric seemed to resist and bend, before it made a slight twist around her unmoving form. Linaera now saw the light twisting; a slave to her will.
She had control. Now she had to figure out something to form. A memory came, unbidden.
For a number of seconds, nothing happened. Then, an image flashed. It was brief – but it was enough.
A woman, if she could be called that. She was as pale and as ethereal as the sky. Her hair was like platinum, and her eyes burned gold.
Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished. Linaera was back in her body, exhausted.
She turned to gloat at Neshvetal, but his expression wasn’t just shocked: it was angry.
“Why. Did. You. Show. Her?”
“Who?” Linaera asked, bewildered. She felt his rage; a malevolent tornado.
Maybe he’ll attack me, she thought. She didn’t believe she could defend herself.
Instead, Neshvetal gave her one seething glare – his eyes blue like oncoming thunder – before he zoomed out of the room, his body a blur. A breeze followed from where he had left.
“What the hell?” Linaera asked.
Leira looked uncomfortable, but her expression became almost… one of respect, as she looked at Linaera.
“You probably showed Araya, his lover. It’s understandable he might be… taken aback. But never mind him. What you did there was remarkable, Linaera. Not only did you figure out the whole spell – for the last words are unique to every mage – but you also managed to form a very complex image.”
The Necromancer: New Edition: Republished 2016 Page 19