Infinite Regress

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “It sounds possible,” Professor Lombardi said. He scowled and stroked his chin as he studied the crystals. “But if that’s the case...”

  He looked back at his notes. “Pulling all of this together into a coherent whole must have been near-impossible,” he said. “A ritual on a colossal scale.”

  “Impossible,” Professor Ronald said. “Even casting a single spell through a ritual is difficult enough. Doing hundreds of thousands of spells would be incredibly hard.”

  “Not if the pieces were assembled one by one,” Emily said. “The pocket dimension could be tuned to prevent contact, if contact between the two pieces threatened disaster.”

  “Too much could go wrong,” Professor Ronald insisted. “Whoever did this...”

  “... Had access to the secrets of the ancients,” Professor Locke said. Emily winced. She’d forgotten he was there. “He knew things about magic we can barely imagine.”

  “That may be true,” Professor Lombardi said. “But our first priority is getting a link back to the outside world. Our search for the doors was unsuccessful. There may, however, be another way out.”

  Emily glanced at him. “How?”

  “We are not completely cut off from where we were,” Professor Lombardi said. “If we had been, young lady, the nexus point would have vanished, presumably left behind in the outside world. And we would probably have died in a split second as the entire school crashed in on itself.”

  Emily stared at him. She could have kicked herself. Of course they still had a connection to the outside world! Unless, of course, they’d somehow taken the nexus point into the pocket dimension with them. It was possible, she supposed, although she thought it was unlikely at best and impossibly dangerous at worst. What little she’d read about nexus points in the various school libraries had insisted that moving or disabling one was either futile or terrifyingly destructive.

  “Then there’s a way out,” she said. She looked at the spell diagram in front of them. “It’s merely a matter of finding a connection to the outside world and opening a door.”

  “Or perhaps opening a portal,” Professor Lombardi said. “Our portals closed, of course, as did the chat parchments. It may take us some time to establish where we are, relative to the outside world, and then open a portal.”

  Emily nodded, unable to keep the sense of exultation and relief bubbling up inside her. They had a chance to escape! It wouldn’t be easy, but perhaps Professor Locke had merely changed the settings rather than started a collapse. If altering one set of components changed a number of others...

  “We need to stop to eat and drink something,” Professor Jayne said, practically. “The problem is not going to be solved overnight.”

  “Good point,” Professor Lombardi said, reluctantly. “Emily, please share out the food.”

  Emily bit down a comment on his expectations—she was the youngest person in the room by at least a year—and opened the bag, removing the flasks of Kava and pouring them into the mugs. Caleb came to help her, handing around sandwiches as the professors stepped back from the crystals and took their food. Emily held back a ham and cheese sandwich for herself, eating it as she sat against the wall and watched the spellwork dancing through the crystals. There was definitely something almost hypnotic about it.

  “We’ll keep charting the spellwork,” Professor Lombardi said, after lunch. “Perhaps Emily and Caleb would like to explore the nearby chambers.”

  Professor Locke started, then subsided when Professor Lombardi gave him a sharp look. Emily hesitated before rising to her feet and leading Caleb out of the room. The thrumming of the nexus point quieted once they were through the doors, surprising her. She’d grown so used to its presence that the absence of sound bothered her. Outside, she stepped into the library and reached out with her senses. There were no traces of either her spells or the protections surrounding the books.

  “Gone,” she muttered.

  “I can’t feel anything either,” Caleb said. He caught her hand and pulled her down a side corridor. “Emily, you do realize that the spellwork in that chamber is very like what we created?”

  “Yeah,” Emily said. “And whoever created that chamber might also have created the Mimics.”

  “Probably,” Caleb agreed. He frowned, thoughtfully. “How many Mimics do you think existed, at one point?”

  Emily hesitated. There was no count of the number of Mimics sighted, not least because very few people happened to encounter one in its natural form and survive. How could there be a count? It was quite possible that there had only ever been one Mimic... and it had been destroyed at Whitehall, two years ago. And yet, she found it unlikely that a single Mimic could account for all of the sightings.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t even know why they were created.”

  “Weapons,” Caleb said. “They’re highly resistant to spells, aren’t they?”

  That was quite plausible, Emily conceded, as they peered into an empty room. It had been nothing more than sheer chance that had tipped her off, when she’d barely survived her first encounter with the rogue spell. Who would think to cast a basically-harmless spell on the most dangerous creature known to exist? Even a full-grown dragon couldn’t match a Mimic for sheer lethality.

  “Could be,” she said. She shook her head slowly. “If we don’t find a way out, Caleb, we could die here.”

  “Death is inevitable,” Caleb said. “My father always said that it was more important to die well than live badly.”

  He pulled her into a hug, his lips descending upon hers with a passion that surprised her. She held him tightly, feeling solid muscles enveloping her. For once, it wasn’t terrifying; she felt his kisses grow more and more passionate as he gently pushed her against the stone wall. His hands stroked her back, inching downwards...

  Someone cleared his throat, loudly. Caleb let go of Emily and jumped backwards.

  “Ahem,” Sergeant Miles said. He sounded amused, rather than angry, but Emily blushed anyway. They’d been caught making out when they should have been charting the tunnels, probably a shooting offense as far as Professor Locke was concerned. “This really isn’t the best time or place for anything.”

  Emily lowered her eyes, knowing she was blushing bright red. Being caught was quite bad enough, even if they weren’t punished. Sergeant Miles would never let them forget it.

  “As it happens, the Grandmaster wishes to see Emily,” Sergeant Miles continued. His voice hardened, slightly. “I suggest you take the opportunity to adjust your clothing, then follow me. Caleb can continue to work with Professor Lombardi until the day comes to an end.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Caleb said.

  “Very good,” Sergeant Miles said. He turned and headed to the door, tossing a final remark over his shoulder. “Emily, you’re with me.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “SOUL MAGIC IS PERHAPS THE LEAST-UNDERSTOOD magic in the world,” Gordian said, as Sergeant Miles escorted Emily into the spellchamber. Frieda was already there, standing against one wall and looking nervous. “The potential dangers should not be underestimated.”

  “I know,” Emily said.

  She swallowed, hard. Her throat was dry. Her first experience with soul magic had left her drained, after reminding her of the oath she’d sworn to the fairies, but all she’d really been doing was studying the ebb and flow of her own magic. Here, Frieda would be looking straight into her soul. Emily would almost sooner have undressed in front of the entire school than allow someone to peer into her mind. But there was no choice.

  “I will be providing the bridge,” Gordian added, as he placed a large crystal in the middle of the spellchamber. “Frieda does not have the talent to form a bridge for herself.”

  “It will also provide a margin of safety for her,” Sergeant Miles added, before Emily could object. “If anything goes wrong, it will be easier for her to break free if there isn’t a direct connection between your soul and hers.”

 
“Correct,” Gordian said. “Take Emily into the next room and get her dressed. I need to have a long chat with Frieda.”

  Emily frowned, but said nothing as Sergeant Miles escorted her into the next classroom, passed her a bundled-up robe and headed for the door. “Undress completely, then don the robe,” he ordered, without looking back. “I want you to wait here until you’re called.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Emily said. She hadn’t changed for her first experience with soul magic, but then she’d only looked at herself. “Is this necessary?”

  “Yes,” Sergeant Miles said, flatly. “Ideally, you would be naked.”

  He walked out of the room and closed the door before Emily could muster a response. Being naked in front of Frieda would be bad enough, but being naked in front of Sergeant Miles and Gordian? Hastily, she unfolded the robe—it was more of a long white nightgown than a school robe—and then undressed, rubbing the dust from her hands as she placed her old clothes on the nearest table and pulled the white gown over her head. It felt like silk, she decided, as she glanced at herself in the mirror. Just wearing it made her feel naked.

  Which must be the point, she thought. She forced herself to sit down and meditate. Symbolism is important.

  She tried hard to think about the spellware they’d seen in the control room—and the growing diagram Professor Lombardi had sketched from their work—but her thoughts kept returning to Frieda. What was Gordian saying to her? Was he warning her of the dangers of soul magic? Or suggesting that Frieda dig deeper into Emily’s mind?

  Nearly half an hour later, Sergeant Miles knocked on the door. Emily rose, her bare feet cold against the stone floor, and opened the door. The sergeant looked her up and down—Emily felt her face redden as he nodded in cold approval—and then beckoned for her to follow him. Emily picked up her bundle of clothes and followed, feeling oddly reluctant to leave the room. She hadn’t felt so exposed since Alassa’s ill-fated hen night, when she’d worn something so thin that she might as well have been naked. At least Sergeant Miles didn’t seem interested in staring at her.

  Gordian was still talking to Frieda as they entered the spellchamber, a privacy ward smothering their words and blurring their faces. Frieda had changed too, into a long white robe practically identical to Emily’s. Her twin pigtails had been undone, allowing her hair to flow down her back. It struck Emily, suddenly, that Frieda might be growing her hair out in the hopes of looking more like Emily herself. She’d grown her hair out over the years since she’d first come to Whitehall and never bothered to do more than trim it.

  “Emily,” Gordian said. He dispelled the privacy ward with a wave of his hand. “This is your last chance to back out.”

  Emily shook her head, refusing to hesitate in front of Frieda. Emily could tell she was nervous. She’d just be looking at Emily, without trying to actually do anything, yet there was still a chance for a nasty accident. Gordian had been right. Soul magic was definitely the least-understood magic in the world. A single mistake could do unlimited harm.

  And blood magic is a form of soul magic, she reminded herself. No wonder it’s so hard to block.

  “Very well,” Gordian said. He didn’t sound pleased or displeased by her decision. “Then we will proceed.”

  Emily glanced back, just in time to see Sergeant Miles sneak out of the room. She shivered, feeling oddly exposed, as Gordian sat in the middle of the spell chamber, his hands resting on the large crystal. It began to glow a second later, pulsing with an eerie white light that cast flickering shadows all over the chamber. Emily could feel the magic, a low thumping beating in time with her heartbeat. She couldn’t help feeling utterly naked as Gordian looked at her. The white light gave his features a distantly Satanic impression.

  “Frieda, kneel to my left,” he ordered. “Emily, kneel to my right.”

  Emily had to force herself to move. All her instincts told her to run, and run far. A faint glimmer of pain glittered between her breasts, the rune sensing the presence of subtle magic, as she gingerly lowered herself to her knees. Frieda looked equally nervous as she knelt on the other side of the crystal, the light turning her pale face even paler. Emily reminded herself—again—not to fight. This was going to be hard enough even without resistance.

  “Emily, touch the crystal,” Gordian said. “Once you’re touching the crystal, your hands will be held in place.”

  It was hard, so hard, to reach forward. The light seemed to grow brighter, even as she squeezed her eyes shut, as soon as she touched the crystal. It felt warm to the touch, pulsing with magic that seemed to pervade her very being. And yet, its mere presence made her try to flinch away. If her fingers hadn’t been stuck to the crystal, she knew she wouldn’t have been able to tolerate the contact for more than a few seconds. Instead, she was helplessly pinned in place.

  She shuddered, remembering some of the medical procedures she’d watched with Lady Barb, procedures carried out by Chirurgeons rather than Healers. They’d strapped their patients down, knowing that their anaesthetic was pathetic and that their patients would scream and thrash around as soon as they started amputating their wounded limbs. No wonder patients feared Chirurgeons, she’d thought at the time. They might be trying to help, but even the best of them couldn’t hope to compete with a Healer...

  A modern doctor could, though, Emily thought numbly. The light was getting to her, sending her into a trance. She felt helpless, hopelessly exposed. They couldn’t mend everything, but they could do a better job.

  “Frieda,” Gordian said. “Touch the crystal.”

  The magic surged as soon as Frieda learned forward and pressed her fingertips against the crystal. Emily was suddenly very aware of Frieda’s presence, of her genuine love and respect... and of her fear of doing something terrible. Her heartbeat echoed through the magic, pounding in unison with Emily’s. Emily couldn’t help feeling dirty and ashamed, as if she’d spied on Frieda when the younger girl thought she was alone. But it was worse than that, far worse. Frieda should be looking at her, yet the strength of the link allowed her look back at the younger girl...

  She could sense Gordian too, she realized suddenly. His presence was stronger than she’d realized, stronger than hers, yet kept under tight control. It was harder to sense anything from him, but she thought she could feel a growing concern and fear under his facade. Not for himself, she realized. It was for the school, for the students and tutors in his charge. She felt oddly ashamed, again, as she pulled back from the edge of his mind. Soul magic made voyeurs out of everyone.

  “Frieda,” Gordian said, very quietly. “Look at Emily.”

  The magic shifted. Frieda’s presence loomed forward, towering over Emily until she felt pinned beneath her gaze: naked, helpless and very alone. And yet, she sensed Frieda’s shock at just how vulnerable she was. A person could be attacked on such a level, the attack thrust deep into their very soul, and they would have no idea what had happened, or even that something had happened. They would change, their innermost personality rewritten, and they would never know it.

  “I’m sorry,” Frieda said. Or perhaps she thought it. Her words seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. “Emily...”

  Emily gritted her teeth, her mind flashing back to the moment Shadye had pinned her helplessly to the altar and planned to drive his knife into her chest, killing her to seal his deal with dark forces. The Harrowing would have been angered, Void had said; Shadye had promised them a Child of Destiny, unaware that Emily simply didn’t fit the bill. She wondered, idly, just what would have happened if Shadye had killed her. Would he have been killed himself, by the Harrowing, for his imprudence? Or would the ironclad laws of magic have recognized it as a good-faith attempt to keep his side of the bargain?

  Frieda looked closer. Emily was aware, all too aware, of her mental touch pervading every aspect of her mind and soul. Caleb had been hurt when she’d named Frieda over him, she knew, but it had been no mistake. Such intimacy—Frieda could see everything she was, l
aid out right in front of her—would destroy their relationship completely. Even the most dedicated of lovers would flinch away from such exposure.

  “I see an oath,” Frieda said. “But it’s an old one.”

  “It hasn’t been called in,” Emily said. “Not yet.”

  She drew back as best as she could, hoping Frieda would take the hint. She didn’t want to talk about it. Even telling Frieda what had happened, instead of allowing her to lift the information from Emily’s mind, might be lethal. She’d wondered, from time to time, why the oath hadn’t been called in, but the fairies might be playing a long game. Their sense of time—and morality—was different from humanity’s.

  “There’s nothing else,” Frieda said. “There are no other oaths, no traces of compulsions... not even a little prank spell. Nothing.”

  Emily felt a wash of relief that left her feeling weak. Her knees buckled. If she hadn’t been touching the crystal, her hands frozen to the glowing light, she would have collapsed into a puddle. She hadn’t been influenced. At such a level, she was sure, any outside interference would be easily noticeable. She had no explanation for her magical signature being there—perhaps it had been faked, as Caleb suggested—but at least she hadn’t been made to remove the books and then forget what she’d done.

  “Pull back now,” Gordian said. Emily couldn’t help wondering what he’d seen, although she hadn’t felt his presence probing her soul. She would have fought, if she had, even though it would probably have been futile. “Pull back as gently as you can.”

  Emily shivered as Frieda’s presence withdrew from her mind, torn between relief and an odd kind of yearning that chilled her to the bone. Such enforced intimacy was terrifying, but it was also a relief. There was no need to hide herself, no need to lie or dissemble. Frieda could have no illusions about her any longer... she almost began to cry as the last traces of Frieda’s presence slipped out of her mind, her fingertips coming away from the crystal as soon as Frieda had gone. There was a part of her that wanted to call Frieda back.