by Leod D. Fitz
I nodded. “Of course. Please go on.”
“The five major magical disciplines are artificing, evocation, thaumaturgy, supplication and transmogrification. Most of the fields that they teach now involve little bits and pieces from each of the disciplines, and truthfully, there are a lot of areas of overlap no matter how you look at it. Magic is kind of like biology in that way: no matter how you design your categories there will always be something that's halfway between.”
“Sure, sure.”
“Anyhow the one we're looking at here is artificing. Artifacts, that is to say, artificed objects, comes in several forms, but only two general types: manufactured and manipulated.”
“Which is this?”
Roy smiled. “We'll get to that, let me give you a little background, first. Unless you're opposed to a little knowledge?”
Dealing with most people I might have said I was, but I wasn't about to turn down a lesson of any kind from someone with as much life experience as Roy. Besides, the man was a teacher by nature, he loved to explain things, letting him give a little lecture every now and then was a good way to keep him happy with me. “By all means.”
He nodded. “Manipulation is about taking things that are not magical and making them magical. The simplest form of manipulating is enchanting.” He picked a glass off the shelf behind him, held it in front of me and concentrated on it as he spoke. “You take a normal object, something innocuous, and you apply magic directly to it.”
Roy set the glass on the table in front of me where, after a moment, it began to turn around very slowly.
“The problem, of course, is that half of the work involved is just to keep the spell attached to the object. As a wielder becomes more experienced, they learn tricks, like using runes, which helps the spell hold on for longer, crap like that. But the connection is ephemeral and will wear off, eventually. A powerful spellslinger can do impressive work, but no matter how good they are, the spell has a shelf life.”
As if on cue, the cup stopped rotating. Roy picked it up and set it back on the counter behind him.
“A step up from that is forging. A forged object is designed to channel magic to a specific end.”
I nodded. “Like a wand.”
The Dead Man shook his head. “More like a toaster. A forged object typically only has a few purposes, often only one. Most of the ancient artifacts out there are forged. Think of it as an electronic device, a phone, a radio, a space heater. It's a tool that requires energy input to accomplish a specific goal. It just happens that with a forged object the energy it accepts is magic. People with magical talents are the only ones that can use them, as they're the only ones who can pump magic through them.”
“Okay, sure.”
“A step beyond that and you get to infusing. Infusing is complicated and energy intensive, it requires a magic user to modify the essence of an object, to change it on many different levels. Most wands and staffs are made through infusing. If you were to take a look at them through a microscope and compare it to another piece of wood from the same tree, you'd see a dramatic difference even down on the cellular level.”
“Wow.”
“Like I said, complicated and energy intensive. The end effect, however, is generally considered to be well worth the effort. Instead of an object designed to accomplish one set goal, you have a versatile tool that can be used in a variety of ways. But as with all manipulated items, the magic is not intrinsic to the object. A magic wielder has to be involved in using it.”
I nodded. “Interesting.”
“That's basically the gamut of manipulated goods. Manufactured goods are a bit different. The premise is, you start with raw goods that are intrinsically magical and reorganize them so that their intrinsic magic does whatever it is you want them to do. There isn't really a gamut to manufactured goods so much as a spectrum.”
I had no idea what the difference was between a gamut and a spectrum, but I elected not to get us started down that road, and simply nodded instead.
“There's alchemy, which is sort of a classic approach. You take a few magical objects, a few non-magical objects, grind them together and get some interesting effects.”
“Classic love potion stuff,” I interjected.
“Exactly. Some of what you refer to as enchanted items are actually created through alchemy. Someone grinds up bits of root and whatnot, slip it into some clay and make themselves a magic pot. Whatever. The point is that, while it may accomplish the same thing as an enchanted object, an artifact made through alchemy doesn't go away, it's built in. As long as the object lasts, so does the magic. Of course, in the case of potions and whatnot, that’s largely an academic difference, once you actually consume it, the object is gone. Although an enchanted mixture will only be viable for a short period of time, whereas an alchemical mixture should be useful a long time after it’s made.”
That much I could understand. The stuff that I tried to get my hands on to give to my mother were actually alchemical creations, not enchanted. Good to know.
“There's also crafting, which is similar to forging, except that instead of requiring a magical user, the object is more or less battery operated and can be used by anyone, assuming they can figure out the mechanics involved.”
“That sounds useful.”
“Oh, it is. But it's also dangerous. The nice thing about a forged item, for a mage, is that there aren't a lot of people who can use it. If you forge a sword that can cut a man in half from a thousand yards just by pointing it at him, and you lose it, well, the good news is that only another magic user can pick it up and kill you with it. If you craft it, a six-year-old who doesn't know to make a fire without stone and flint can turn you into a corpse.”
I grimaced.
“What you have here, however, is an imprinted device.”
I nodded. “No idea what that means.”
“Of course not. I haven't told you about those yet. An imprinted device is incredibly difficult to make. It requires a great deal of magical power, along with a great deal of magical know-how, two things which do not necessarily go together, and it requires an understanding of smithing and metalwork.”
The Dead Man glanced down at my empty glass, and paused his lesson long enough to refill me.
I paid with a five and five ones. My wallet was getting very light. I comforted myself with a deep swig of the stuff.
“In imprinting, the artificer bonds the magical item with an element, usually a metal.”
I thought about that for a moment. “Isn't that a bit like alchemy?”
“In some ways.” Roy turned the brass knuckle over in his hand. “There are some fundamental differences, however. For one thing, it's stable. You can melt it down, reshape it a dozen times, add a dozen other ingredients to the mix and it will still do exactly what it was originally designed to do. No change, no notable dilution. For another, the imprint lasts even if the original source would have faded away. Essentially you transfer magic from one object to another. Alchemists lose so much of the object in the process of making it into something useful that they require absurd amounts. But beyond all of that is the question of potency. The problem with Alchemy is that the source of the magic has to process through a medium of some sort. With imprinting, the metal itself becomes magical.”
I thought about that for a moment. Honestly I didn't really see the difference between alchemy and imprinting, but magic had never been in my wheelhouse.
“Okay.” I nodded. “So what do these things do?”
Roy grinned. “Put them on.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why? Are they going to turn me into a jack-o-lantern or something?”
Roy snorted. “Hardly. It takes a lot of energy to metamorphose a living object.”
I grunted, drained the rest of my dross, and picked up the knuckles, staring at them for a few seconds before I slid one of them on. It fit like a triple XL shirt on a skinny adolescent.
I waited a few seconds, then looked up
at Roy in askance.
“The other one, too.”
The second one fit the same as the first, which is to say, not at all.
I waited a few seconds and, when nothing continued to happen, turned my attention back to Roy, who was still grinning. “Now what? Hit your counter?”
“Hardly.” He glanced around the room, his gaze finally settling on a table near the door. “You can give that a whack, if you want.”
“Great.” I hopped off my stool and, much to my consternation, immediately slammed my head into the ceiling, then fell to the ground and bounced.
Laughter filled the room.
“What the fuck--” I pushed myself to my feet, an act which caused me to fly off the floor, spin entirely around twice and slam myself bodily into the ceiling. Again.
A few feet away the neckbiting alcoholic, Willis, laughed so hard he fell out of his chair and curled into a fetal position.
I remained still for several long seconds, trying to ignore the continued sound of giggling and guffawing while I waited for my brain to catch up to my current predicament. When it finally did, I carefully removed the knuckles and put them in my pockets before standing up.
Roy, who was leaning against the bar, slapping his palm against the counter and trying to breathe, took a step back, steadying himself against the wall as I moved back to my seat.
I slid into my chair and pursed my lips in annoyance as I waited for the laughter to die down.
“Sorry, Walter.” Roy wheezed when he could finally speak again. “I couldn't help myself.”
“Uh-huh.”
Roy pulled out a large glass mug, easily twice the size of what he normally served my drinks in, and filled it up with the pungent liquid I favored. “Here, this one's on the house.”
My irritation quickly dissipated as I grabbed his apology. “It was an asshole move.”
Roy shook his head. “An asshole move would've been letting you try to walk across the room with just one of them on.”
I took a slow sip of dross and eyed him curiously. “What do you mean?” I asked after I'd swallowed.
“They work kind of like wings. I mean, they won't let you fly, exactly, but each step you take you get the equivalent of a large wing-buffet's worth of energy, which sort of works out to weighing about a tenth of what you actually weigh.”
“Right, so one of them would make me weigh a fifth, right?”
“No. It would be like having one wing flap with every step. It wouldn't just throw you up in the air, it'd throw you off to one side. Very difficult to control.”
“Well, thanks for not doing that.”
Roy picked up the ring. “Of course, I saved the best for last.”
“I'm definitely not putting that on.”
“Why? Nothing magic about this.”
I sighed. “I know that, I'm just saying, it'll be a long time before you convince me to put anything on.”
Roy chuckled and tapped the ring. “You know what this is, right?”
I squinted at the etching for the thousandth time. “A poorly drawn cat?”
Roy shook his head. “I keep forgetting how bad your eyesight is. Just a second.” He headed into the back room, then came back a few seconds later with a giant magnifying glass in hand. “Try it now.”
Holding the glass up, I closed my left eye and stared at the figure. “That's a lion, isn't it? Except, it's got... what is that, a head coming out of its back? And what's wrong with his tail?”
“That's a goat's head sticking out of its back. And tail isn't messed up, it's a snake.”
“A snake? Why would it have a snake for a tail, or a goat's head in its back?”
Roy stared at me in surprise. “Because it's a chimera.”
I shook my head.
“A chimera. A mythical creature made up of several different animals. Come on, Walter, don't tell me you've never heard of a chimera.”
I shrugged. “I never really got into mythology.”
Roy rolled his eyes. “Well get into it. There may not be as many gods and goddesses running around these days, but when you do bump into one, it's important to have some idea who you're dealing with.”
“Fine, I'll renew my library card on the way home. In the meantime, can you give me a cheat-sheet or something?”
“I just did. A mythical creature made up of several different animals. They're rare, and they're dangerous, and beyond that there isn't a lot of reliable information.”
“So why would my visiting psychopath have a ring with one of those things engraved on it?” I took a long draft of my drink, savoring the fetid flavors.
“Why would a regenerating, flame breathing creature who smells of a dozen predators carry a ring with an engraving of a creature that breathes fire, is notoriously hard to kill and whose body is made up of a variety of creatures? I was hoping you could put that together yourself.”
I sighed and drained my drink before replying, “Give me a break, some asshole just tricked me into slamming my head into the ceiling.”
The Dead Man gave me a sly grin, and somewhere behind me, somebody giggled.
I sighed. “I guess my next step is to do a little in depth research into chimeras, then.”
“Most of the contemporary stuff on them is trash. The smart ones keep to themselves. Research may be tricky.”
I nodded. “I know just who to talk to.”
“You want a book on what?”
“Chimeras.” I lifted the bag of groceries from mother's arms and grabbed two more out of her trunk. I probably could have gotten all of the bags in one go, but mother always worries that I'll crush something.
“Chimeras?” She pulled her keys out of her purse and headed for the door, a perturbed look on her face. “Nasty creatures. Dangerous too. What do you want a book on them for?”
I tried to think of a good lie, but nothing came to mind fast enough. “There are a couple in town.”
“What kind?”
I blinked. “Kind? I didn't know there were different kinds.”
“Oh yes.” Mother unlocked the front door and opened it for me. “There was a whole rash of them a few thousand years back. Nasty things, made all kinds of trouble until they attracted the attention of too many gods and heroes. There were bounties put out on them and eventually most were destroyed. Some of the sphinxes are supposedly still around. Then there are Griffins, of course, very rare, very dangerous, but alchemists pay ungodly sums for anything off of them. Hair, skin, even their droppings. And vampires pay even more for their blood. I'm pretty sure all the Hydra are dead now, which is a good thing, since they make their cousins look like cuddly puppies. Then there are the Yali and the Anzu, both very powerful, reclusive beings, but relatively gentle: they almost never eat people.”
I whistled as I set the bags down on the counter. “I had no idea all of those were chimeras.”
“Oh yes.” Mother began unpacking. “Get the rest of my groceries, and I'll tell you all about them.”
I hurried out to the car and grabbed the remaining bags, checking to be sure the car was locked before I hurried back in. Benny raced into the house just before I kicked the door shut.
I set the bags on the counter and started sorting the contents. One entire bag appeared to be dedicated to my mother's gingerbread cookie habit.
“The one I met looks basically like a normal person. Except, that he's huge,” I told her as I worked.
Mother stopped what she was doing, furrowing her brow. “A human chimera? Oh dear.”
“That's bad?”
She gave me an exasperated look. “It certainly isn't good. Not for you, at least.”
“Why not?”
“Well, since you're asking for information on them, I'm guessing your encounter wasn't a pleasant chat at a coffee shop, was it?”
I grimaced. “No ma'am.”
“And you didn't start the fight, did you?”
“No ma'am.”
“So it came looking for you. That means
it thinks you know something about one of the keys, and if it thinks you know about one of the keys, it's going to come after you, and keep coming after you.”
“So you know about the keys?” I could hear the relief in my own voice. “What the hell are they? Why would anyone think I have one of them?”
Mother shook her head sadly. “Sorry, sweetheart, I have no idea what they are. Nobody I've ever read on the subject seems to be sure. What they do know is that the chimeras, the human ones, have always been looking for them. And once they believe they've found a lead, they will follow it until they hit a brick wall. And they'll bang their head into that brick wall until something breaks. Usually the wall.”
“Fantastic. So, I'm going to have to kill it?”
“If you can.” Mother patted my arm. “The Hydra was the only one that grew back more than you cut off, but every chimera I've ever heard of has been able to heal from almost anything.”
“Right.” I sighed. “Remind me again, how did the Hydra die?”
Mother smiled. “Well, technically there have been about twenty hydrae, but the big one, the grandmama who made the most trouble and used to eat entire towns, got killed off by Heracles. It was one of his twelve labors.”
“Right, and how did Hercules...” I paused at the sight of my mother's pursed, disapproving lips. “Sorry, how did Heracles kill off the Hydra?”
“You don't know? You really need to learn your mythology, Walter.”
“Believe it or not, you're not the first person to tell me that today,” I informed her. “But since I can't remember and I'm here already anyway, any chance you could just tell me?”
“He had to burn the wounds closed after he cut off its heads.”
Chapter 4
Samantha Neil picked up the fourth time I called her, and from the haggard sound of her voice, I was lucky she'd answered that quickly.