So: reincarnation. Reincarnation into another world, no less.
There were no obvious issues with this conclusion, but I was still uncertain. That was because I could still imagine a number of other possibilities.
Maybe this world possessed some incomprehensible technology that only seemed like magic to me. Maybe my memories were fakes that had been implanted. Maybe I simply had some kind of psychiatric disorder, which caused me to experience strange delusions. Given that there were ghosts, maybe I hadn’t been “reincarnated” as such, but this was a phenomenon like “haunting” or “possession,” where my personality had taken over another person’s body. Or maybe me being here was in fact a hallucination after all, and the brain of the person I remembered myself as was now floating in a tank in some laboratory.
Maybe, maybe, maybe. I could have listed maybes forever. Seriously, forever. As evidence, consider my foray into the classic philosophical thought experiment of the brain in the vat.
It was my opinion that once you started considering unproductive questions like that, you might as well give up. You would never reach a conclusion. That was why I had provisionally settled on the understanding that I had been reincarnated into another world, and I just so happened to have memories of my previous life. It was the most tolerable answer. That is, the one that would disturb my mental state the least.
I certainly didn’t want to find out, for example, that I was actually an evil spirit who had obliterated the mind of an innocent little baby and seized control of his body. I wasn’t going to claim I’d be crushed by the weight of my guilty conscience, but it would at least depress me to discover I was something the world could do without.
And most of all, I was praying, with relative seriousness, that the day would never come when some shocking fact would come to light, and moments later, I would discover that I was just a brain in a vat.
◆
“Flammo Ignis... Waaagh?!” There was an explosive eruption of heat.
As I flinched and staggered backwards, Gus sharply incanted the Word of Erasure, blowing away the flames in front of me. “Idiot! Don’t pronounce it so accurately!”
What a thing to be criticized for.
“You may have talent, Will, but if you don’t get used to adjusting your precision, you’re going to wind up dead!”
Yes, this world, which I had been reborn into eight years ago (by their count), was a dangerous place. There could be no doubt about it. For example, just take the magic and Words of Creation I was learning.
In case anything went wrong, I was practicing outside, on the hill where the familiar temple stood, and I was not having much success.
“Gus, my results are all over the place. Is there really nothing we can do about it?”
“No. It’s just how the Words are. Get used to it.”
I was not finding magic very reproducible. I could get something working, try again the next day, and then never get the same thing to happen again. As for why...
“Let’s review. State the process for casting magic.”
“Umm, three steps. Sense the mana that fills the world, bring it together in resonance with your own mana, and pronounce or write the Word of Creation.”
The arche, the primordial chaos: mana. Sense it, and achieve resonance and convergence. Then, by pronouncing or writing a Word of Creation, define the mana into some form—for instance, fire. On paper, it was that simple. But there was no real room for creativity, and no way to make the results more reproducible.
“What you say is correct. And there have been many attempts through history to seek consistent results from magic. Many sages have bent their ingenuity toward this end, but there is only so much that can be done. Having experienced it firsthand, I expect you can appreciate why.”
“Yeah. The biggest problem is how the mana isn’t consistent.”
For the past few years, I had been sharpening my perception under Gus’s guidance. Fortunately, it seemed I had some talent, and I became able to detect the presence of mana—the thing magic was made of, its fuel. Supposedly, the world was infused with mana, but what I discovered was that mana levels weren’t the same everywhere.
Imagine splashing a few drops of ink into water, and then agitating it just a little. The ink would be concentrated in some parts and dilute in others. What’s more, these parts would flow in an irregular fashion. And that’s just your fuel supply.
“Mhm. There have been a number of attempts to create a consistent mana environment. Convergence devices, for instance—precious gems, precious metals, extremely ancient wood. But I’m afraid...”
“The results weren’t worth the cost?”
“Mmm... The mana inside the human body is also in flux, you see. There is a limit to what can be achieved with atmospheric mana convergence alone.”
Even if you managed to maintain a certain level of consistency in the mana outside your body, the magic user’s own mana, which was required to resonate with it, would still be unstable. Just like the external mana, it varied in concentration like the water and ink from our example as it meandered around the body. This aspect was similarly complicated, and even more difficult than the external mana to mess around with.
“That being said, it undeniably has some effect. Staves made with ancient wood, precious gems, and precious metals are the symbols of sorcerers.”
It seemed that the idea of a sorcerer bearing a staff was part of this world’s concepts, too.
“Why don’t you use a staff, Gus?”
I had at least seen him holding a staff number of times before. It was studded with emeralds and had a handle at the top like a duck’s beak.
“A grandiose staff attracts attention. In a battle situation, not only will you be singled out if you allow yourself to be discovered as a sorcerer, but the use of a convergence device makes it easier for the enemy to pinpoint the source of your magic.”
That reason was so grounded and pragmatic that I found it a bit unsettling.
“Hmm, we’ve gotten off track. We were talking about the fluctuations in the Words. The mana that fills the world and the body is in flux and not consistent. Attempts have been made to gather it into something consistent, but there were limits to what could be achieved. And human fluctuations also exist in the speaking and writing. To be strictly accurate, humans can never speak the exact same words twice.”
I understood what he meant. Even if the same person were to speak the same words, the waveform of the sounds would be different every single time. No matter how many times a person were to write the same letter, it would never come out exactly the same way. That was obvious enough, really. After all, we humans were not machines.
“For all these reasons, the general consensus is ultimately that one has to use their intuition to determine when the circumstances are right.”
So the only conclusion that could be drawn was that turning magic into a consistent mass-produced product was impossible. The professional expertise of the sorcerer would always be called upon to fine-tune things to follow however the mana felt like behaving on that particular day.
“That’s frightening.”
“Indeed it is.”
My imagination was correct, then. This was not the magic from computer games, which you could spam by burning your MP. It was far closer to the unstable and powerful magic of classic fantasy.
“You must not brandish the Words recklessly. The use of power brings with it significant danger. Well, I dare say I’ve told you enough stories about that.”
Indeed, this was far from the first time Gus had repeated this to me.
According to Mary and Blood, it was no exaggeration to say Gus was worthy of being called a Grand Sorcerer. They had told me, with full faith, that even though his usual manner didn’t hint at it in the slightest, he was a force to be reckoned with when he decided to show his true strength.
Gus himself never bragged about it. Rather, the tales he told were always cautionary, and intended to teach
a lesson. There were many of these stories.
There was the sorcerer who tried to reshape the nearby terrain, triggered a huge earthquake, and was swallowed up into a deep fissure.
Another sorcerer periodically manipulated the weather, and ended up destabilizing the area’s climate and being tormented by hunger.
One sorcerer succeeded in transmogrifying himself into an animal—mental faculties and all.
A sorcerer directed a powerful decomposition magic at his sworn enemy, got tongue-tied out of sheer hatred and anger, and blew himself to pieces.
There was even one about a sorcerer who opened a hole to another dimension and got eaten by something inside.
“Just learn to use small amounts of magic, sensibly and precisely. And if possible, find a way to not use it at all.”
Minor works of magic were useful for getting a fire going, keeping bugs away, manipulating perception (for parlor tricks), or searching for things. Though their effects were small, the risk associated with a mistake was also low. You could fail as spectacularly as you liked, and it wouldn’t lead to anything you couldn’t laugh about later.
According to Gus, a true sorcerer’s ideal was to not use magic at all, and in those situations where magic was necessary, to use the least magical effect to achieve the greatest possible result. Magic was a tremendous amount of power for a single person to possess, and since the possibility of random accidents and human error was ever-present, I felt that his style made a lot of sense, logically speaking. There was only one issue.
“In short—use it like money.”
Gus would twist his logic to reach some incredible conclusions.
“This again?”
“Yes, this again. It’s important,” he insisted, as serious and stubborn as ever. “If you want something done, you don’t have to use magic. You just buy the tools you need or hire some people. Reshaping the terrain is a powerful piece of magic, but if you’ve got money, you can just hire laborers and workmen to do construction for you instead. Make no mistake,” he shifted close to me for emphasis, “the ability to earn money and make it work for you is just as important as magic!”
I flinched. “Whoever heard of a ghost with a money fetish?!”
“You try suffering in my position! I can’t caress gold or treasure, can’t feel it between my fingers...”
“He’s a pervert!”
“Who are you calling a pervert?!”
“You!”
“Right—change of plan! We’re going to spend all of today learning about money and all the wonderful—”
“No! Today was the legends! We were planning to start the legends today!”
“And you don’t think money is more important?!”
“Maybe it is for you, but you can’t just change the plan!”
“Mmmhh... You do have a point. The money talk can wait.”
Gus could get a little crazy like this sometimes. Seriously, was an incorporeal sorcerer supposed to come off like this? Still, there was no doubting the veracity of Gus’s stories. Many of them were a lot of fun to hear, too.
“I told you a little of the story a long time ago, up to the birth of the evil gods and the killing of the Creator, correct?”
“Yeah.”
“That began the age of conflict between the gods of good and evil. If I were to name the most prominent of their battles... Hmm, yes. Will. Have you seen that sculpture?”
“Huh?”
“The one in the temple of a man with a sword and scales.”
I did remember it. It was a statue of a solemn and dignified god, who was holding a sword symbolizing lightning high in his right hand, and bearing a set of scales in the other.
“Yeah.”
“He is the god of lightning, Volt—the ruler of the virtuous gods, who presides over order and judgment. He is also husband to the Earth-Mother, Mater, the goddess to whom Mary shows devotion.”
Interesting. I was wondering which of those gods held the top spot. Come to think of it, gods of lightning commanded important positions in many mythologies from my previous world, too.
“Volt has a brother, also a god, of course—the god of war, Illtreat, whose domain is tyranny. He rides a chariot pulled by two divine horses, Greed and Wrath, who ride with the speed and ferocity of a raging hurricane.”
Gus continued, “The two of them have led their minions in countless battles against each other, but all of their episodes follow a similar pattern. The older brother, Illtreat, maintains the advantage during the battle’s opening stages, but the kindhearted Earth-Mother Mater grants her husband protection in his time of crisis. With his sword of lightning given the protection of the goddess, Volt begins to fight back, and ultimately, drives away Illtreat. However, Illtreat continues lurking deep under the earth, and when he finally regains his power after many moons, he waits for his younger brother to show a moment of peace-addled weakness. Then, he challenges him again to battle.”
Gus spun one finger in a circle. “And so the cycle continues.”
I nodded, then tilted my head in thought. Lightning isn’t always a symbol of the terror and absolute authority of the heavens. When agriculture is prospering, lightning is a herald of blessed rain.
“So... is this a fable about how governments start with violent, tyrannical rulers, but as the farming goes well, law and order slowly spreads through society. But eventually it falls apart again, and violent revolution becomes inevitable?”
Gus’s eyes opened wide. “You’re sharp,” he said, nodding. “The battles between minions under the protection of Volt and Illtreat do roughly take that form. It would make sense for that to have been depicted as a battle between gods.”
“Protection?” I asked.
“Ah... That refers to the power the gods give their minions.”
“Huh? Um, literally?”
“Literally. What’s so confusing about that?”
Gus spoke as if this was perfectly obvious, but based on my memories and perception from my previous life, it was a little hard to picture the idea of a god directly giving power to a person. He could have meant something like giving them courage or luck, but with the way he was talking, I felt that wasn’t quite it.
Besides, I remembered what Mary had once said, that the three of them had formed a contract with the god of undeath. If I was to take those words at face value, it meant that the gods of this world could at a minimum turn humans into the undead. I didn’t know what else they were capable of, but it seemed possible that this world’s gods were capable of physically interfering with reality. But what exactly did that process involve? I had just started to consider this question when Gus cleared his throat and continued talking.
“Well, it’s not very important. The war between the gods culminated in every one of them losing their body of flesh. After that, both forces left this dimension behind, and now, it’s difficult for any of them to interfere with this world in any great way. In any case, I’m sure one particular thought springs to mind after hearing this story?”
“It does?”
“Mm,” he grinned roguishly. “The whole business of labeling the two sides as ‘good’ and ‘evil’ is purely a human convenience.”
“Uh?” I made a stupid, confused noise.
Gus elaborated for me. “Think about it. Volt, presiding over even corrupt systems of order, can easily be an evil god, and Illtreat, commanding the revolutions to overthrow corruption, can likewise be a good one. But the reality is that Volt is never spoken ill of, and neither is Illtreat ever glorified. The priests would not take kindly to me saying this, but in the end, the classification of gods into good and evil categories is merely an artifice created by their followers.”
I could tell from his face that he was completely serious as he continued to speak. “The gods are not like us. Their thoughts and actions are concerned with matters of an entirely different scale. My theory is that what makes the good gods ‘good’ is that they have a comparatively similar thought p
rocess to normal people, they are cooperative, and their thoughts and actions are more or less harmless to society. Of course this is just between you and me!” he laughed.
This was a world where gods actually existed and had influence. People had to have deep faith in them—yet here was Gus, unorthodox and unbowed.
“Gus, you’re... pretty rock ’n’ roll.”
“Rock ’n’ roll?”
“I dunno, you’re... different. In a good way.”
Hearing this, the venerable sage broke into another wicked grin. “The words kids come up with sometimes... Yes, it has a good ring to it.”
He seemed to like it. There wasn’t the slightest doubt in my mind—he really was rock ’n’ roll.
◆
Blood and I were by a small spring at the foot of the hill, with its glorious view over the lake and the ruined city. The two of us were squaring off.
“Okay. Practice swings done, running exercises done... Let’s do a little swordplay.”
As a warm-up exercise, Blood would give me a stick—either resembling a one-handed sword, or resembling a spear—and make me practice swings or thrusts. Which one we’d use was up to what Blood felt like, but the sword was slightly more common. He said that the spear was a weapon for the battlefield, and the sword was a weapon you carried on you at all times, so it was more important to focus on the sword at first.
After finishing the practice swings, we would do some long-distance running and short-distance sprinting, and after that, “swordplay.” This was a game where we each held a soft branch or something similar, then tried to slap each other with them. Unlike the relatively boring practice swings and long-distance running, this was actually pretty fun, even though it hurt sometimes. Blood was good, though, and wouldn’t let me hit him easily.
“You’re eight years old now, so I’m gonna start hitting a little harder.”
“Ueeegh?!”
“What’s with that reaction?”
“You’re stupidly strong! If you hit me hard, I’ll die!”
It hurt sometimes already, even with the rule about “barely touching”! If he hit me hard...
The Boy in the City of the Dead Page 4