Sight Beyond Epik Sight: A Steampunk Fantasy Romp (Epik Fantasy Book 3)

by William Tyler Davis

  But he tiptoed anyway. This was mostly to do with living in such a strange and uncomfortable place. The cottage didn’t feel like home. But then, to Epik, home had never felt like home. It was a place he laid his head at night. Somehow the cottage was even more uncomfortable than that, though he couldn’t put a finger on why. Alone, at night, it felt like snooping—only worse. And the cottage was eerily unsettled at night—creaking and groaning, moaning, and farting. Every now and again, it hiccupped. Epik dismissed the urge to run back to bed, back to Kavya’s embrace.

  Schmilda was already sitting at the table, sipping on another cup of coffee. It steamed before her slender nose and fogged her wire-framed spectacles. “You’re late,” she cackled—it was a witch thing, cackling. Millie had taken to doing it, as well.

  “Sorry.”

  As Epik acknowledged the cuckoo clock on the wall, it acknowledged them. Coo Coo Ca Cha, Coo Coo Ca Cha, it chimed on midnight—which so happened to be the agreed upon time.

  Neither Epik nor Schmilda spoke of tardiness again. Instead the witch dusted off a faded volume of a book set before her: The Art of Sorcery, Vol. 4: Combinatorial Magicks, 1st Edition

  “There’s a fourth volume?” Epik asked.

  “Aye, there is,” Schmilda said. “Doland was a dear friend.”

  “You mean, you knew him?”

  “Know him,” she corrected. “In our youth, we were pen pals. Later, of course, he saw fit to use his pen for other things.” She placed her hand on the book. “He stopped writing to me and found someone else.”

  She opened it to the middle. The pages there were almost black with ink. She flipped further ahead and found a page with nothing on it.

  “Unfinished.” She tsked.

  “Maybe he did finish,” Epik began, “maybe he used invisible ink or a spell or something—”

  She cut him off with a glare.

  “You’re probably right,” Epik agreed.

  “Of course I’m right, but that’s neither here nor there.” She turned back to the black page still held by her thumb, nodding. The same scrawled handwriting from the first three volumes. “Read this three times through. No more, no less.”

  He did. Schmilda took a sip of coffee, then she glared at him, goading him to speak.

  “Telepathy?” Epik asked.

  “Tele-what?”

  “It’s—it’s what Gabby, uh, my father called it… I think.”

  “Well, call it what you like,” Schmilda said flatly. “Did you read it the three times?”

  Epik nodded.

  Schmilda cocked her head as if listening for any eavesdroppers. “Begonia would not approve of this—Dora, either. It’s not an easy thing to do. You see, it’s more than a spell. It’s not a spell, and it is, all at once. It requires the entirety of your magical well.”

  “But I—”

  “Requires,” Schmilda cut off his protest. “Requiring magic is not the same as consuming it. Spells both require magic, and they take. This one doesn’t take. To do it demands a great deal of patience and practice. You, my dear halfling, possess none of the first and have no time for the other,” she said. “I like to think of it as two brains speaking as one9—not an easy thing to do.”

  “I’ll just try then.” Epik had no reservations. He went for the cupboard.

  “No, no,” the old witch shimmied to get out of her chair, “you need to start small. We haven’t discussed how it works. Knowing it exists is never enough to perform the task. Is this how you learned before? From the books?”

  “Pretty much.” Epik shrugged. “Okay,” he said, “then how does it work?”

  Schmilda scratched at the wiry gray hairs on her chin. “Sight,” Schmilda said. “You’ll start with me here in the kitchen. You’ll need to visualize my location—precisely. It’s very important. Understand?”

  Epik nodded. He inched backward toward the cupboard. He felt as impatient as his shadow to get this over with, to practice. And then he would find a way to talk with Gerdy again.

  “Reach into your store of magic, but do not pluck from it—you’ve wasted enough these short weeks. You squander magic as if you have an endless store.”

  “But,” Epik argued, “I saw you wash a dish with your magic only yesterday.”

  “That is neither here nor there. I’m old. What I do with the remainder of my store is my own concern.” She pursed her lips. “And did you see the amount of grease on that pan?”

  Epik chuckled agreeably, still inching backward.

  The witch shook her head. “Anyway,” she went on, and on, “next you’ll bind the magic, the whole of it, with thoughts you think are in my head. While you may not be correct, it helps for the minds to meld together as one. The second to last step: reach out with your mind—and only your mind—we don’t need any spirit casting here today. Lastly, use your words. Speak and be heard.”

  “What is spirit casting?” Epik pointed at the book. “He mentions it in the there, too.”

  “That’s another lesson for another time. We’re learning to tele-speak or whatever you called it, today.”

  “Telepathy.”

  “Right, telampathy,” she said firmly.

  Epik slipped inside the cupboard, rolling his eyes at the witch. He shut the door tightly and the candlelight from the kitchen was gone.

  He settled into his usual spot with the jars of pickled vegetables, and went through the motions as usual—deep breaths, casting his emotions aside. He went over the instructions once more in his head.

  He pictured the old woman at the table where he’d left her, sipping on her seventh or eighth mug of coffee that day.

  Now came the easy part, something he’d done so often over the past almost year—since his father’s subterfuge as Gabby in Dune All-En. Epik searched for his magic. It tingled in the back of his mind, just out of reach. With his magic in focus, Epik began the next step, wondering what Schmilda would be thinking? Of cats? Brooms? Caldrons? What passed through his mind were the stereotypical witchy things from storybooks he read long ago.

  No, Epik decided, Schmilda has her eyes on Eddis Thomason. That’s where her mind will be.

  Epik readied to link these thoughts with his magic, to perform this non-spell spell, as she’d called it. But he stopped short.

  There’s no time for this silliness, he thought out of nowhere, and losing all momentum. Epik knew whom he wanted to communicate with. And he had a good idea of her location, having just dreamt of Gerdy in the dark dungeon cell. Will she still be there?

  Of course Epik knew what his best friend’s mind would be thinking. Gerdy’s mind was on Myra, always.

  He focused on his magic once again. Then, out of habit, Epik found some emotion to bind with it and make this non-spell more potent. He found his love, his friendship with Gerdy, and bound them tightly.

  GERDY, HI!

  “Epik?” Gerdy said. “Epik, if that is you, could you not scream like that? I can hear you fine.”

  Sorry! Hi!

  “Where are you?” she asked. “If you’re in the cell with me, you can come out. There’s no one else here.”

  Unfortunately, Epik said, I’m not in the cell with you. I’m a good distance away. We’re speaking telepathically.

  “Tele-what?”

  We’re speaking in our minds, okay? That’s what it means.

  “Oh!” Gerdy said, understanding. Well, why didn’t you just say that?

  It just means that whatever you think, I can hear, and vice-versa.

  Yeah… I get it, Gerdy thought at him. Her mind raced with questions—and fears. Epik, she thought, don’t tell me where you are, okay?

  Okay… Epik felt Gerdy’s mixed feelings doing emotional somersaults.

  But, she reflected, where are you? Ya know, in the general sense. Not location.

  Training, Epik thought back. Something was bothering Gerdy, something more than being trapped in a cell. He could feel it.

  And how’s that training going?

 
It’s fine. Just fine. Flustered that she would ask about him, Epik kicked his foot. This was his show after all—he’d done the work of making the connection. Gerdy, I’m dying to know how you are. And Myra? Why didn’t you wait for me where you were supposed to?

  Gerdy’s foot kicked in an awkward sort of spasm.

  Yeah, I’m sorry about that, she thought glumly. I’m okay—really, I am. They haven’t harmed me.

  And Myra?

  She—she’s okay. I guess. Gerdy wondered if he could tell it was a lie. Then she wondered if he could hear her wonder.

  I can, Epik admitted. Gerdy, what’s wrong?

  It’s nothing, Gerdy lied—better this time. Seriously, she searched for something to distract him, how’s your training going? What’s happening elsewhere? Is Dune All-En okay?

  It’s fine, Epik thought. For the most part, at least. Everyone’s hunkered down for the winter. There’re just a few minor goings on. It was Epik’s turn to feel queasy about a lie. I thought, maybe, we’d try to save you.

  No, Gerdy thought sharply. I don’t need saving—I mean, we don’t need saving. I’ll figure this out on my own.

  But Gerdy, I want to help you.

  “Then help me!” Gerdy yelled out loud.

  And this time Epik’s foot kicked on its own accord.

  Sorry, Gerdy said. I didn’t mean to yell. What I meant was you don’t have to be here to help me. You can help without playing the hero. Epik, you can teach me how to use my magic—how to really use it. And I can save Myra.

  Yeah, I guess that could work, Epik thought guiltily. He wished he had thought of it. And he was about to tell her so when—

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  The door to the cupboard opened, and the link between them was disconnected.

  15

  The Wise Woman’s Fear

  The witch’s eyes were fixed on him. Still in her chair at the table, she had used her magic to open the cupboard door. Her gnarled wand was still held limply in the non-coffee-drinking hand.

  Epik gulped. He wanted to look away—her right eye twitched with every second beat of the cuckoo clock’s ticktocking.

  “Who did you speak with?” Schmilda finally asked.

  “Gerdy.” Epik didn’t dare move, realizing he was in trouble, and realizing there might actually be meaner, snakier creatures than his own mother.

  “Well, out with it. How’d you do it?” The witch’s tone was harsh.

  “With… with my magic,” Epik faltered. “Just as you said to.”

  “Of course you used magic,” Schmilda snapped. “But what I said to do was to speak to me here in the next room. I specifically said you weren’t ready to try it clear across the realm.”

  “Not specifically.” Epik gulped again.

  Schmilda’s eye twitching sped up.

  “I mean,” he said meekly, “it may have been implied.”

  Begonia walked in and stood quietly on the edge of the kitchen. Epik found her hard to read. She, too, clearly wasn’t happy, but her lips were pursed in an interesting manner. And she dared not encroach on the tableau, choosing instead to get her coffee mug, still drying by the kitchen sink.

  Dora, on the other hand, had no qualms about striding into the kitchen and taking her place beside Schmilda, crossing her legs and leaning back in the chair. She waited expectantly for the confrontation to play out.

  Schmilda didn’t give either of the two a second’s notice. Her eyes were still boring a hole through Epik’s skull. The twitch in the right became a pulse. He’d seen the witch angry once before—but never like this.

  “Sorry,” Epik said and flushed. “I just meant I did the magic as you said to, each and every step. I pictured Gerdy in the dungeon, I thought about what she might be thinking. Then I bound the whole of my magic—”

  “Bound it? Bound it with what?”

  “With emotion, what else?” Epik shrugged. “All spells are better with emotion…”

  Her glare made it hard to speak. “They are, aren’t they?” he asked. “That’s what his other books say.”

  “And I told you this wasn’t a spell.” Schmilda grimaced, then offered Begonia her seat. The stout witch accepted. Then three sets of eyes were locked on the halfling, if you could call Begonia’s a set.

  Epik felt smaller somehow.

  Dora blinked in long slow blinks. The green of her eyeshadow and the pink on her cheeks were faded, she having not reapplied them. There was a mole just above her lip. “This emotion,” she said in a calmer votive than Schmilda, although still somewhat terrifying, “what kind was it? Did the emotion have any ties to Gerdy?”

  “It, uh, yeah, it did. I thought about our friendship. That is, mine and Gerdy’s friendship.”

  “It’s one of your strongest emotions,” Begonia confirmed.

  “Gonia,” Schmilda warned, “that’s neither here nor there, is it? The lad doesn’t understand the danger he put himself in.”

  “And whose fault is that?” Begonia cried foul. “Who was out here secretly training him?”

  Schmilda took an embarrassed sip of now lukewarm coffee.

  Begonia nodded in satisfaction. Of the three, she was oldest and also the kindest. “Epik,” she said kindly10, “spirit casting is one of the most dangerous things a sorcerer or sorcerous can do.”

  “But—but I didn’t spirit cast…”

  “Do you think we don’t know what it feels like when a soul passes through this house?”

  “I… I swear I…” Epik floundered. What were they talking about? Schmilda hadn’t even explained what spirit casting was to begin with—and now he was trouble for it? He gathered his thoughts. “I reached out with my mind. That’s all I did, I swear it.”

  “No,” Begonia shook her head. “You see, Schmilda failed to explain what spirit casting means.” Instead of berating Epik, Begonia’s eyes turned to her old friend. “She rushed through the tutoring like a hussy on a first date.”

  “Now wait a blithering minute!” Schmilda spat. “He never would’ve been close to casting his soul had he done as he was told.”

  Begonia’s eyes narrowed, a look that begged one question: Are you quite finished?

  Schmilda must have guessed the answer because Begonia went on, “You see, Epik, spirit casting is done when a sorcerer connects their soul with another’s. It binds not only thoughts but magic and other senses as well—sight, touch, you could’ve moved Gerdy’s arms had you wanted.”

  “So I wasn’t just sharing thoughts with Gerdy?”

  “No, you shared everything,” Begonia confirmed.

  “Can I ask,” Epik asked, “what’s so wrong with that? I trust Gerdy. She would never—”

  “When two magical spirits are connected,” Dora interjected, “their magic can mix and mingle—their souls, too. A give and a take. It’s the take we worry with.”

  Begonia cleared her throat. “Your soul could get trapped outside your body. Or you could take a piece of another.”

  “Demeating,” Schmilda named it.

  Both Dora and Begonia frowned. She was in more trouble than Epik, it seemed.

  “When your soul leaves your body,” Begonia explained, “the body begins to wither away and die. But it won’t die, you see, not until the soul does. In fact, your body could go on living. And some might not even notice their soul’s absence.”

  “We would,” Dora said.

  “Yes, well, we’re different, aren’t we?” Schmilda retorted.

  “None of this matters.” Begonia put a chubby elbow to the table. “What matters is the Grand Sovereign is quite up to sensing your soul casting as well.”

  “I have a question.”

  “Of course you do,” Schmilda sighed.

  “If that’s how spirit casting works, then is that how the Grand Sovereign controls everyone? Is he just spirit casting?”

  “He might be,” Begonia agreed. “But there are dozens of other dark spells like it. And those are a lot less messy. Even if he’s casting into
comlins, he’d still be risking a lot for little gain.”

  “Comlins?”

  “Commoners—non-magic folk.”

  “Oh.” Epik nodded. “I’ve heard other words for that.”

  Schmilda banged her mug down on the table, putting a solid end to the squabble. “I think it’s best you not speak to Gerdy again. There’s too much risk—even if you do the telepathy right.”

  “Hey, you said it right!”

  “Tela-what?” Begonia asked.

  “It’s nothing.” Epik put out a hand. “Listen,” he pleaded, “I have to talk to Gerdy. I promised I would. I promised to teach her to use her magic.”

  “Oh, well if you promised,” Schmilda cackled derisively.

  “She can use it and set herself free. Wasn’t that the whole idea, for me to be in more places at once? And wasn’t it you, Dora,” Epik turned to Dora, “who said the best way to learn magic is to teach it?”

  “I was trying to get out of helping those children,” Dora said. She studied her cuticles. “I didn’t think you’d take it to heart.”

  “You know I’m not wrong here! We have to help her.”

  “Yes… perhaps we should,” Begonia nodded, “but this path is reckless. I just want it put on the record, I said this path is reckless.”

  Schmilda nodded. “It’s on the record.”

  Dora just shrugged.

  Epik smiled.

  16

  Days Between Stations

  When Todder came to, his body was already moving—well into a trek through the snow. A gaggle of other troops staggered beside him alongside the snow-covered tracks.

  Something was off, something changed. He was no longer in a routine. And despite Todder having been a creature of routine for twenty plus years, he liked the notion of doing something else with the day. Though he was still locked inside his body, at least his body was no longer locked to the warehouse.