by Joe Kuster
She offered, “How about I make you a deal? If I can give you something that helps with that, you’ll quit sulking. At least until we get to Ardsville.”
TJ sighed. “Sorry. It’s been a hard few days.”
Rachel pulled the leather pack off her shoulder and retrieved what appeared to be two thin wooden slabs. In between the covers was rough-hewn vellum. It had loosely bound twine crudely punched through it on one side that seemed to be holding it together.
“I don’t know if this will help or not, but it’s the best I could find after spending hours in the bookshop’s back room. When I pulled it out, the owner just said to throw it away when I was done since she’s planning on closing the shop and moving. She didn’t even charge me,” she said.
TJ cocked an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“As far as I can tell, it’s an apprentice’s attempt at copying a grimoire. He didn’t make it very far, but according to the bit at the beginning, the real ones burn up when the magician dies, so the apprentice tried to copy down as much as he could, sneaking bits here and there. I know you aren’t a wizard, but I thought there might be overlap,” she said.
Confused, and still more than a little tipsy, TJ pulled the thing that could only be loosely called a book into his lap. It looked like something that would be made by someone who had only heard about books but had never seen one in person. The front page warned that these notations were the magi’s secrets and would have the author killed if discovered. The faded ink explained why no grimoires existed that scholars could study, as Rachel had alluded to.
There weren’t many pages, and most were withered beyond recognition due to age and low-quality materials. He leafed through them one at a time. Most of it made no sense, but flipping to the next to last page, his eyes locked onto the runes and diagrams of hand movements.
Glancing down at the designs and words, something clicked behind his eyes as he read the phrase ‘magical limb.’ Where before he had been groping in the dark and trying to force his flesh to squeeze the raw power with no shape at the monsters, he now realized he’d been going about it entirely wrong.
TJ had been trying to treat his magic as if it were something that resided in him but was a separate entity or inert material. He hadn’t been treating it as an extension of himself. He frantically paged back and re-read the section.
His heart began to hammer as his fingers twitched, following along unbidden as his magic pulsed with anxious longing. He turned the page, and a small notation in the margin held the last piece of what he needed.
Kinetic Blast and Telekinesis are the same spells. The only difference is intent and focus. Commonly, a hand is visualized to move something, whereas a whip is used to impact force.
Barely able to contain his excitement, he handed the book back to Rachel. “Can I try something?”
Rachel smiled. “Sure, of course.”
TJ tapped into his magic and glanced down at one of the whiskey bottles.
He worked through the runes and movements, and with a small pop, a hand-like shape formed in his mind and grasped the container.
It was shaky at first, much like an infant taking their first steps or trying to use a hand that had fallen hopelessly asleep. However, as he firmed his grip on the bottle, he slowly understood what he needed to do. It really did have its own area in his mind and could be controlled independently, just like he’d grown an extra arm or perhaps a tail.
He sent his intent to the ethereal limb, and the bottle rose into the air. As he did so, a golden warmth flooded into that empty feeling TJ had. It was as if Serina were curled around him after they’d had spent the entire day having sex. Her power caressed his body like the sunshine back in the meadow, and the warmth of it was glorious.
His magic vibrated with excitement as the object glided over the creek to gently land on the other bank connected to a small farm.
Rachel had gone slack-jawed as she watched the process.
“That’s amazing, TJ!” she exclaimed.
Chuckling, he said, “If you liked that…”
He raised his fingers, and a divine whisper crossed his lips as he flung his magic forward like a whip crack. The bottle exploded with a thundering boom. The concussive force shook the air and reduced the glass to a fine powder that glinted in the air. Debris of glass and clods of dirt rained down for a surprisingly long time.
TJ looked down at his hand and cackled madly. So many things suddenly made sense. The sullen hollow spot he’d had in his mind wasn’t loneliness. It was eagerly waiting for his spells. Warmth radiated and filled his thoughts with tenderness and care. Serina had changed him, he was sure of it now. She had created a new area in his mind to store his divine talents. He poked and prodded at it, and it seemed hungry for more.
It all led him to one definitive conclusion. He needed to find more of these secrets. Many, many more.
This wasn’t just his ticket back to Serina. With enough power, he could challenge Saphinium herself. It might take a long time, but the power coursing through his veins thrummed with a certainty he’d never had before.
He’d keep the oaths fed, but this changed everything. Where he’d felt rudderless before, he now had not only a goal, but the potential to reach it.
Rachel had seemed confident there was more magic in Ardsville and the islands in the north where the elves lived. So that was what he’d do. He’d dig up every piece of forbidden or lost arcana until he had enough to challenge the gods themselves if that was what it took.
His magic surged with delight and began making soft motions that he assumed was a tender hug, or perhaps thankful kisses, he wasn’t sure.
Jumping to his feet, he hauled Rachel along with him and pulled her into a crushing hug. “Thank you!”
He pulled his face close to hers, then stopped himself at the last second. He’d just about kissed her on impulse. Instead, he gazed into her ocean-blue eyes and, for the first time, didn’t see Serina staring back at him.
“Oy! What’s going on over here!” a man carrying a bucket of grain shouted.
Patting at TJ’s chest, Rachel pulled away. “Sorry, Orvin! The warlock here was just showing me his magic.”
The man grumbled, “Looks like that wasn’t the only thing he’s trying to show ya. Keep it down, ya spooked my chickens.”
Glancing to the small shack on the other bank that was emitting a riotous clucking, TJ dipped his head. “My apologies, Orvin. I let my excitement get the best of me. I’ll find a more appropriate place to practice.”
The man gave a harrumph and turned away, but TJ couldn’t be bothered. He was far too busy processing the influx of power coursing through his body.
Grinning ear to ear, he asked, “So… where’s a good place to blow stuff up around here?”
Chapter 12
“This is way more fun than I thought it’d be,” Rachel yelled, then threw the clay jug into the air, then followed with another only a second later.
TJ raised his fingers, and the first bottle shattered in the middle of its arc. The shards rained down on to the village dump just as he detonated the second.
She admitted, “I thought your training would be all about meditation and smelly candles, but this is awesome.”
Grinning like an idiot, TJ nodded. He’d found that if he didn’t put too much punch into it, or keep his control going for too long, it barely dipped into his magical reserves. Still, by the time they’d blown up two dozen of the various jugs they’d been able to find, his power levels were beginning to wane.
At first, the inn had been miffed that he wouldn’t be returning the bottles he’d already drunk so they could be refilled. To make amends, he’d asked if they had any that were chipped or couldn’t be used and offered a few coppers each for them. That’d set him up with more targets than he’d expected. He’d also taken the opportunity to get set up with more to drink.
Entirely in ‘daughter raised by a soldier’ mode, Rachel reached down and took the last pull of her
small vessel of whiskey, giving a raspy cough into her hand as she flung it wildly over her shoulder.
Reaching out, TJ flung an invisible hand under the bottle and caught it just before it reached the ground. He then used the phantasmal limb to launch the bottle high into the air before sending a kinetic burst of energy its direction.
“Last one!” Rachel shouted, then winged it fast and low just over the bonfire they’d lit.
TJ barely got off the spell in time, but he managed to punch through the glass with a thunderclap of force. The dusting of glittering glass shards ended up on the pile of dead demon dog heads the guards had discarded in a heap.
If the force had been aimed at a human instead of bottles, it would have only knocked them on their ass, but he was getting much better at measuring out the right amount of magic to use. Still, they’d moved to the far side of Orvin’s farm where the noise wasn’t going to rattle the locals. It was well into the night, and since it occasionally caused a thunderous boom if he overpowered a shot, it had been the neighborly thing to do.
Giggling, and quite intoxicated, Rachel sauntered over to TJ. Tripping over the uneven ground, she toppled backward into his chest. TJ had to grab her shoulders to keep her from slipping into the dirt, but she didn’t seem to mind. He found himself giving her a lopsided grin as he stared into her deep blue eyes. He seriously debated kissing her but contented himself to hold her upright as she leaned into him.
“I’ve gotta admit, this is the most fun I’ve had in a while. I certainly wouldn’t have guessed that I’d be throwing magic around a dump with a beautiful woman in my arms,” he said with a flirty grin.
She blushed, seemingly content to look up at him from the awkward angle. “We need to go tralot tipping or something.”
“What’s a tralot?” TJ asked.
Rachel waved a hand down by her shin. “They’re these, scaley… uh, I dunno… they’re tralots. Steal anything shiny not nailed down. Live in holes in the ground, but if you tip over the dirt mount at their entry, the whole colony boils out, all pissed off. They’re fast, but not hard to kill. Still got mean little teeth on ‘em, though. Farmers try to kill them out, but if they let the nests get too big, they’re a pain in the ass.”
She pointed to the adjacent field with a meandering finger. “Orvin’s got one that needs clearing. He might give us some eggs for the road if we take care of it.”
“Don’t you need your armor and sword?” TJ asked.
Rachel raspberried. “Bah… We can take ‘em.”
She then pulled a wicked-looking dagger from the leather sheath at her hip. She squinted unevenly and seemed to be staring into the darkness as she waved the foot-long blade. TJ had figured out that humans couldn’t see very well in dim light at an early age, and Rachel seemed to be trying to figure out which way to head.
Not helping was the fact that she was beyond inebriated. While he’d polished off more than his share of the booze, he’d used his healing to sober up before throwing around explosions. He was still a little buzzed, but he was having too much fun with his magic to worry about trying to refill his essence.
While drinking replenished his magic, it only did so once he’d reached the ‘a lot’ quota that was buried in the oaths, and aside from his magical booze, it was a slow trickle, not a flash flood.
After playing with it, he’d learned that he could use his healing to neutralize being drunk, but that reset the quota of drinking to be done before he received anything more in return. Mentally, he’d filed alcohol as his least helpful way of trying to regenerate essence. If he drank enough to gain anything, he wasn’t in any sort of shape to use it.
Ultimately, he wished that Serina hadn’t added that stipulation. While he enjoyed raising a tankard with his friends, having an obligation to imbibe spoiled the fun. If he ever got an opportunity to adjust the oaths, that one would be the first one out the door.
Without waiting for confirmation, Rachel stumble-walked into the field.
TJ followed, lost in thought. While he’d had fun flinging magic around, his first real spell had illuminated that he’d been doing something incredibly dangerous with his glittery fire. Not knowing better, he’d inadvertently cracked the area where his castings wove together, causing unstable mana to spew out with little more than malicious intent.
Now that TJ had a better feel of what was going on, he could make out the damage left behind. There was a tiny trickle of the essence wasted with each cast. He could sense the fine mist crackling in the air with each attempt to use his magic. Sometimes it would cause tiny sparkles, and once he’d sworn that it caused a small storm cloud to form and begin raining on his foot for a few seconds. He had to hope the crack would repair itself given time as he’d accidentally weakened his spells by making himself a leaky bucket.
It was only a tiny break, but the wasted dribbles added up, and something told him that releasing any unshaped mana was incredibly dangerous. His magic seemed convinced he should never, ever try that again, especially not with his newer compressed essence.
Dusting himself off, he looked inward and fought a frown. He didn’t really have a lot in reserve. He was a little concerned, but Rachel had said farmers managed this, so hopefully he could keep up.
Pulling in beside her, he followed her uneven gait into the field. Twice, he’d had to grab her arm just to keep her from falling into a potato plant.
After a bit, they reached an odd mound of dirt. It looked like something had chewed up the soil and spat mud out into carefully formed layers until it was as tall as a human and half as wide.
TJ stared on in fascination as Rachel gave the structure a whack. Unimpressed with her first effort, she hiked her dress up and got a running start. Landing a foot into the pile, it loosened with a crunch and came tumbling down amid the rows of big leafy plants.
Rachel backed off hurriedly and held her blade at the ready.
Deep in the earth, a strange clicking noise began to thrum. A two-tone buzzing sound started up shortly after. The three sounds began alternating back and forth in an angry three-piece band as they bubbled up through the hole in the ground.
Not quite sure what to expect, TJ backed off and prepared to strike. Only a moment after he’d readied his magic, a chittering black critter the size of a cantaloupe rushed out of the nest.
It was an ugly little beast that looked a bit like a cross between a raccoon and a pig but had jet black snake scales all over its body.
As it leaped forward, it gave a furious, “SKREEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
Whipping his magic into the thing, it detonated with a pop of goo and a splattering of scaled flesh.
He barely had time for his vision to clear before four more boiled out of the hole in the ground. Being the closest thing to their den, they jumped at him and gnashed their sharp little fangs.
Slapping an invisible hand of force in front of them, he swatted them to the dirt.
Another raced out of the hole and made a beeline for Rachel. TJ was about to call out, but her blade flashed out, nearly carving the beast in two.
Taking aim at a cluster, TJ flung his power in a flurry of small explosions. Each time, one of the tralots was smashed flat like he’d laid into them with a sledgehammer.
Beasts continued to roil out of the hole as TJ and Rachel closed in. It took a bit of back-and-forth shouting, but they eventually worked into a rhythm. He’d blast one, she’d stab one, then he’d swat all the ones racing around back into a pile to keep them corralled.
As he moved about in a near panic, he figured out that his kinetic force didn’t have to take the shape of a hand and could be most any shape he could imagine. The challenge was that the bigger he made it, the harder it was to work with and the more power it took. Finding a happy middle ground with something a few feet wide made fencing the little bastards off a lot easier.
His magical essence raced toward empty as he fired shot after shot, and his head began to feel fuzzy from the sustained mental effort. Just when he
thought he was about to faint, the procession of perturbed pests paused.
Rachel drunkenly roared into the night, “Take that, you thieving little fucks!”
She then spat into the open hole.
TJ doubled over gasping, trying to catch his breath. He wasn’t sure if it would get easier over time, but the fast and furious pace they’d boiled out had been much harder to keep up with than he’d expected. He’d blown through his magic, using far too much force as he’d gotten panicked. Still, he couldn’t deny it had been good practice.
Looking inward, he decided now would be an excellent moment to call it a night. He only had perhaps two good spells left in the tank, and he felt drained.
Watching Rachel’s work had certainly stirred a reaction. There was a grace to her fury and a sexuality to her violence. Each thrust and slash had a sensual feel. Although perhaps that was just his oaths tinting his perception. Now that his tank was mostly empty, he could feel a near painful need for her.
Annoyingly, no matter how much he wanted to pull Rachel aside for some fun in the field, the fact she’d said she was restricted on courting posed a problem. He still didn’t really understand what she’d meant about nobility, but his world’s version of courtship he understood. It had let him read between the lines enough to realize she likely wasn’t available to just any stranger that fell out of a portal.
Once the action was over, Rachel had started stumbling around the potato plants in the darkness. Stuffing down his urges, he hooked his arm around her waist and began steering her back toward the village proper.
She didn’t object, and she leaned into his shoulder as he aimed between the rows of crops and back toward the dump so they could connect with the dirt path through Orvin’s farm. From there, it would be a five-minute walk back to the Red Briar.