by Ember Lane
“Severely drunk?”
“They’ve been working hard, very, very hard,” Curmeyder confirmed, with a glint in his eye. “But they’ve finally cracked it. To the tavern!”
We collected our stuff, thanking Thalbear, and marched off down to the tavern. Inside, it looked like Ruse had invaded all over again and scattered its enemies on the four winds. There were wizards slumped on tables, witches upended on the floor. One was asleep, lying on the bar counter. Most, though had just dropped where they’d finally succumbed to sleep.
Aldus looked up at us, his bleary, red eyes, drawn, his jowls sagging. “We did it,” he said, holding up a strange-looking bottle before collapsing facedown and letting it skitter toward us. Curmeyder scrambled to catch it and then handed it to me.
It was stunningly beautiful. The vial itself was shaped like a banana, except its lines were sleeker, like it had been polished by relentless tides over millions of years. From its tip, and connecting to its other end, and then ever decreasing as they led to its middle, black threads had been suspended, like harp strings, giving it a wondrous look.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“And very fragile, but a couple of strengthening spells will increase its functionality.” Curmeyder ran his fingers along the curved vial. “This part represents the bottle itself. This is where you have to coax your mana, but obviously, it would only hold a minimal amount—I think as little as five hundred.” He indicated the black strings. “These are the fabric of holding; each thread is twisted to reduce the mana it can hold.”
“Reduce?”
Curmeyder nodded. “Most sacks of holding are infinite and only restricted by their inventory spell. Do not believe all you hear; the smaller ones are just made small so that a better price can be commanded for the larger ones. In this case, though, we are only storing one item; the ability of the dimension is not restricted. In theory, you could dump as much mana as you like into it. The problem would then be one of dilution. Imagine your potion being infinitely spread to a point where one gulp might not even get you one particle of mana.”
“Like a huge bottle of air, but worse,” I said, unable to rip my gaze from the perfect vial.
“Exactly, so we had to find a way to restrict the infinite while still enjoying all its benefits; hence, the strings. Normally these would contain the infinite space of the bag, sack, or whatever, but what Aldus did was hollow out the string itself and then twist it to reduce the infinity farther to an acceptable level. Once he realized he had to approach the problem from completely the opposite direction, things fell into place.”
“I…don’t know what to say.”
“There is nothing you need to say, but trust me, you only need two of these bottles, and that is all we could probably make anyway. The wizards and witches of Striker Bay will be exhausted for an age just doing two.”
Curmeyder traced the smallest string. “This is slot one. It can hold five thousand mana. Slot two is half as big again and can hold seventy-five hundred mana. The third string can hold ten thousand; fourth, twenty thousand; and the fifth, fifty thousand. The bottle itself can only hold five hundred. The reason for this is simple yet brilliant. If your enemy should ever steal this, he will see it for what it is, a five-hundred-mana vial. He, or she, will not find the hidden mana. These can only be accessed by using the following commands: the five-thousand slot – nane; seventy-five hundred – ghaa; ten thousand – tree; twenty thousand – kiare; and last, the fifty thousand – queig. So you see, a complete work. One that Aldus will be mighty proud of once he sobers up.”
He handed me the vial. I turned it over in my hand. “What if I shatter it when I use the enlarge?”
Curmeyder shrugged. “We were asked to invent the storage device. How you fill it, Alexa, I’m afraid, is your task. I have shown you a way to fill the vial, but if you choose to use the spell, I’m afraid the risk is all yours.”
He offered his hand and took me to the inn’s front door. “We’ll have the shadowmana vial ready by tonight. It will give you the day to practice how you must fill the mana before you have to worry about its shy twin.”
Something told me we’d been dismissed, that the wizards and witches were spent, done, and now wanted to see the back of us. We agreed to return at dusk and set off toward the stronghold, suddenly realizing we’d been absent without leave for a whole day. I could picture Melinka’s scowling face.
The morning was a beauty, a scene of fluffy, white clouds and a gentle, inward breeze. Despite its energy-filled vibrancy, I felt exhausted, and judging by Pog’s constant yawning, even his seemingly infinite bounce was on the wane. I tucked the precious vial into my new belt and reached out, grabbing Pog’s hand.
“It’s going to be a waste if I blow it up.”
Pog rubbed his lips with his free hand. “If I were you, I’d do the hard time.”
“Hard time?”
He pulled me to a stop, facing me. “Enlarge, well, that’s just a cheat—a means to an end. These bottles are beyond our wildest hopes. Nearly a hundred thousand each; not something to sip from because you’re a bit low. They’re the difference between life and death. Imagine you’re facing ShadowDancer; you nearly have him, but then you run out of magic. He strides over, ready for the killing blow. You suck at your final bottle of mana, and he smirks. Then you blast him all the way back to Ruse, because you haven’t just drank five hundred, you’re full; you have it all back.”
“I see…”
“Do you?” he urged. “Do you really? My true point—it will only work the once—that is all, no more. The surprise will only work once.”
“So what are you saying?”
“Don’t risk the vials on a shortcut—they’re too precious for that.”
“So fill them…”
“Put the hard work in—it’s the only way. I’ll help, feed you, make sure you sleep, the lot. But we can’t risk those vials.”
I knew he was right, but I also understood the torture it would put my body through. Just filling five hundred shadowmana had nearly ended me the night before.
We approached the stronghold, ducking inside and avoiding all. Pog dragged me through the keep, through its great hall and around into its gardens. “No time like the present,” he chirped, and sat upon a bench, surrounded on all sides by blooming bushes and plump fruit trees. “Let’s get the first five hundred done,” he said.
I was tired; even my bones ached, but Pog was right. The vials were a huge asset—they could be the difference. “I’m not sure I have the power to just harvest a hundred thousand mana.” It was daunting. It was impossible. I sighed, gathering the last of my energy. Just as I was about to begin, Faulk strolled in.
“Ah,” he said, “glad I found you. Melinka is hunting you out. There’s a… Nice clothes, where the hell did you get them?”
“Wizards,” Pog said as if that was all the explanation needed. “Faulk?”
“Yup.”
“We’ve got a problem—a good one, but a problem nonetheless. Show him, Alexa.”
I pulled out the vial. “It’s unique.”
Pog explained our problem.
Faulk furrowed his brow and scratched at his stubbly chin. “And you have plenty of these five-hundred-mana vials?”
“Loads,” Pog replied.
“Tool bag,” Faulk demanded.
Pog produced Faulk’s tool bag. Faulk rifled through it until he retrieved a rubber tube. He took the hundred thousand vial from me and unstoppered it, pushing the tube into its neck.
“Now,” he said, fishing again and bringing out a funnel, which he attached to the other end of the tube. “Why not cast enlarge on all the other vials and then pour them all in. Might take a while, but we’ll get it done eventually.”
I could have kissed him.
I began casting enlarge on the vial and the mana then casting enlarge only on the mana inside until it turned to a thick, olive-colored goop. Faulk poured the first into the funnel but stopped quic
kly. “Too concentrated. Enlarge the bottle but not the mana.”
Once done, he tried again, but this time Pog had to give him a hand—the bottle was far too large. We eventually got it all in, but we all decided that two thousand mana was as good as it gets. I enlarged the bottles, and we then left them to stew and concentrate. Once they were the correct color, Faulk poured while Pog held the funnel.
After an hour, however, the process became painfully slow. We’d drained the gardens of so much mana, it was taking an age for it to concentrate within the vials.
“How much do you think we’ve done?” Pog asked, and I realized I hadn’t been counting.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Not sure.”
“Has the vial got a menu? Anything?”
I looked it up. “Ah, here we are. So the five hundred slot is as full as the five thousand, seventy-five hundred, and the ten thousand. We’ve just started spilling into the twenty-thousand one.”
Pog nodded. “Good enough, though I don’t think the other is going to be as easy. It seems to like a more personal touch.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. With every victory, the hard work always seemed to be just around the corner.
“Melinka!” Faulk suddenly said, slapping his wizened forehead. “I was supposed to come find you.” He jumped up. “Perhaps if I just found you a minute or two ago that would count.”
“Perhaps,” Melinka’s voice sounded out. “Then again, perhaps you could have found me a while ago. So…” She looked me and Pog up and down. “It was so nice of you to anticipate our little celebratory meal and ready yourself in advance. Pray, what have you been up to?”
Faulk offered up his funnel and tube. I mumbled something about a ninety thousand vial of mana, and Melinka said, “For all that is holy and sacred, no one should have that much power.” She staggered a little and eventually sat on the grass. “This is your solution?”
“Yes,” I said, in one of those answers/questions—the type that confuses you just replying.
“Did you not think that perhaps a more creative use of your existing mana might be a better way?”
“Like?” A question for an answer was always good when I was stuck. No seemed pretty blunt.
Melinka perked, clearly happy to be asked. “Like, for instance, to bring a tower down, you just need to blast a wedge shape of bricks from its base or its thinnest point? Like there’s no need to blow its entire top off—that sort of thing.”
I saw we were all nodding.
“Much easier,” said Faulk.
“Less mana, I reckon,” Pog agreed.
“Alexa?” Melinka pressed.
“Kinda like blowing shit up, though.” I heard the words come out of my mouth; they sounded a little alien, but there was no doubt they were mine. “Efficiently,” I added as Melinka brought her gaze to bear.
Pog snorted a giggle. Faulk put his head in his tool bag, but his shoulders were a giveaway.
“Indeed,” Melinka finally said. “Indeed, but even with the incredible amount of mana that you now have at your disposal—it is only one type. You can’t combine your mana, if one is absent.”
“Not quite,” I said. “Not quite.” I teased out the small vial of shadowmana. “Curmeyder showed me a path, and I can now distill, if you like—this.”
Melinka looked down her nose at me. “Curmeyder? I doubted it would be Aldus, but Curmeyder’s involvement tells me a lot. This puts a slightly different complexion on the matter. We… You…could play Ruse at their own game with this. Show me the vial.”
I made to tease it out of my belt but stopped. “It won’t—”
“Not that one—the lyre-shaped one.”
Pog took it off me and passed it to her. She held it up, turned it around, nodding and mumbling all the while. “Interesting.” She handed it back to me. “Well done. I’ve changed my mind, but it doesn’t stop you using your manas in a more conservative manner. You’ll find that when you go to Ruse, the darker will be more abundant. Suddenly you’ll be short of the other.”
“Speaking of Ruse, when will we be able to sail?” Pog asked.
“Day after tomorrow. Dolunr ruined a vast swathe of two decks.”
Pog jumped up. “Then we’d best get moving. Let’s attend to this small, little detail.” The three wedge-shaped boxes appeared before him. Pog teased them together, making a perfect circle. Now the design upon their tops became clearer, and I saw it was a map.
It had a large mass of land to the north, twin peninsula’s below, with a belly, and a third peninsula, much larger than the others. It morphed from alien to familiar, and I began to pick out landmarks, mountain ranges whose shapes I recognized, plains, a volcano, and a set of five islands.
“It’s Mandrake,” I muttered, but before I could say anything else, Sutech Charm and Mezzerain strolled into the gardens.
“Ahh,” said Mezzerain, “just in time. The elusive three and Melinka all together, and where Pog and Alexa reside, mischief isn’t far behind.”
“Hold on,” I said, staring at Pog. “If you release Vengeance, I’ll have to house her within the day.”
“So?” Pog shrugged.
“Mezzerain can’t take her, nor can you or me.”
“So?”
“So Sutech is the only choice. He is the only one who will return to Mandrake, I’m guessing.”
“So give it to him.” Pog’s reply was so matter of fact that I wondered if I were being silly.
Sutech hovered close. “I think Alexa is trying to say that I’m the enemy. Am I correct?”
“Well…” I said, amazed to be suddenly backed into such a position. “You always were.”
Sutech ran his fingers through his short, black-and-gray hair. He sat next to Melinka. “Do you know, when my daughter’s spell whisked us away to this place, I wondered, for quite some time, which of you had made it happen.” He raised his hands. “Surely, such manipulation couldn’t happen from the grave, could it? But then as time passed, not one of you let a single word slip that might indicate this little expedition was anything more than a shock to each of you, so I began to wonder. I began to wonder at the level of planning that my daughter had gone to, to ensure you’d have to deliver her legacy bag. Have you wondered?”
“Yes,” I said, “but Pog always tells me to follow what’s in front of me.”
Sutech smiled. “And we all know Pog is wise beyond his years. So the point stands. The question remains unanswered as it must. Here’s another question. Star planned for this outcome, that in death she would isolate me so that I had no choice but to get to know you all—to see the other side of the coin, if you like. Tell me, what would have happened if she hadn’t died?”
“She would have tried to persuade you herself?” I ventured.
“And she’d have failed as I would have taken the opposite way—such was our fractious relationship.”
And then it dawned on me, and I could only see one outcome. Sutech Charm knew I understood, and I saw real pain in his eyes, such incredible agony that at first I could not bear it. I couldn’t imagine treading his path to reach such dire conclusions.
“She would have killed you.”
A tear meandered down his cheek. “Yes,” he said softly. “My own daughter would have assassinated me.”
Chapter Twenty
My Next Veil
Pog separated the wedges. “So we have three of these boxes and three potential traps.”
“Traps?” Melinka asked.
“Remember, these are all daubed with Ruse’s fingerprint, yet the design that tops them tell us that Mandrake had a hand in their inception. Quite how the two come together is unknown, so trap, yes, there is a possibility.”
“But,” I said, letting a thought form in my mind. “But surely those of Ruse would have little detail of Mandrake, given that the mists always shrouded it. So this message must be from inside the mists.”
Melinka nodded. “Perhaps something sent beyond for safekeeping.”
P
og shrugged.
“Whatever way around, we have three, and the three hold Vengeance—that we know for certain. Another, we are guessing at Taric’s essence, and the last is a task for Alexa. Perhaps Dolunr had no clue what he possessed, what he’d captured. Perhaps these were all created at the same time; it’s hard to tell.”
“When did Taric fade?” I asked Mezzerain.
“Taric? When he swung from Castle Kyrie.” Mezzerain stared blankly back at me. “Maybe at the judgment? Before?”
“Do you believe he lives?”
“I have heard Faulk’s stories. I heard his presence was all around the maze you encountered. Why would a dead god rise?”
“It’s not the first time,” Melinka snapped. “Dead gods have a habit of not really dying, just sleeping for years to avoid the boring parts.”
“Which one?” Mezzerain asked, pointing at the ornate wedges.
“One of those two.” Pog inched them forward.
Mezzerain knelt, placing his hand on one then the other. He tapped the first wedge. “This one—I can feel his mischief.”
“So open it?” I asked, nerves welling up inside me.
Mezzerain stared at me, his eyes so sad I could have kissed the teardrops from them.
“That’s just it. Do we want him back? Does Valkyrie even need a god?”
“A good question.” Joss the Nine’s voice filtered over us as he strolled into the gardens. “Does Valkyrie need a god?” He crouched down by Mezzerain. “Let me answer our question. That depends! We function. We are rebuilding. The people’s liberation will be a friendly tide for a while, but tell me, my dear Mezzerain, what will happen when things begin to go wrong? Do you want them grousing to you? Or worse, would they whine to me, ask me to right an impossible wrong?”
Mezzerain rolled back on his haunches. “Impossible wrong?”