Marin's Codex

by Benjamin Medrano

  “I’ll have to, in the end. There are certain rules regarding angels, demons, and other beings when it comes to operating in the mortal world,” Emonael admitted, standing next to Marin. “In fact, I likely would’ve already had to leave if the man who summoned me hadn’t been trying to convince me to come to the Association and wreak havoc.”

  “Oh?” Marin asked, her eyebrows rising in sudden curiosity. “I’ve often wondered why the beings from beyond don’t interfere more, but that sounds interesting.”

  “It doesn’t apply to gods, and the more powerful beings gain a little more leeway, but it’s . . . complicated.” Emonael paused, seeming to consider for a long moment, then continuing. “A large part of it is that angels and demons are considered to be already dead, you must understand. The right to life, to change the world . . . that’s the purview of mortals, so beings like myself can’t interfere too much.”

  “That doesn’t make much sense, unless it has something to do with your summoning . . .” Marin murmured, and then her eyes widened. “Ah! Perhaps is everything you do ascribed to the actions of your summoner?”

  “Precisely right. See, this is why I so enjoy talking to you, Teacher. You pick things up so quickly,” Emonael replied, grinning. “Yes, what I do in the world is on his soul. It might actually improve his fate in the end, due to how benign I’ve been thus far, but that’s the long and short of it. Even so, I suspect I’ve only a year or so more, before the lower planes start tugging at me to return. That, I might add, is not an invitation that I dare refuse. Doing so would be most assuredly unpleasant, and eventually the call isn’t a mere invitation.”

  “I suppose that makes sense. I’ll just have to try to finish the books sooner, rather than later,” the High Mage replied, the information giving her a strange sense of satisfaction as yet another clue into the nature of magic slotted into place. She did love it when that happened. “Now then, we’re going to be making two teleportations, Emonael. I’ve already taught you the incantation, so I’d like you to watch and listen as I perform them. If you’re comfortable with it by the time we get there, I’ll let you bring us back.”

  “As you wish, Teacher,” Emonael agreed, resting a hand on Marin’s shoulder.

  With a nod, Marin began to cast her spell. The threads of mana spilled slowly from her body, so much less than what all the other magi in the Association could manage, but so precise that no other magi she’d met had been able match it throughout her life. The incantation was similarly precise, and Marin felt the spell build, as she spoke each careful word and tone, letting the magic take form around her.

  It took almost five minutes of effort, but as the spell came together Marin felt the usual surge of triumph as the spell hooked into the ley line, and yanked her to the node at the far end. Also as normal, the triumph was outweighed by the sudden rush of nausea that she was forced to fight down.

  “Ugh!” Emonael didn’t quite gag, but the other woman grunted, swallowing hard and pausing for several long moments before she dared to speak. Finally she did so, her voice ever so slightly unsteady. “That . . . is impressive, and very unpleasant, Teacher.”

  From the tower, they’d vanished and appeared in a mostly untouched cave, one which Marin knew was about halfway to the coast, and nearly two hundred miles from her tower. That particular ley line was the longest one that her node connected to, which was why she’d chosen it. Outside the chilled interior of the cave, Marin could see the towering pines of the local mountains, snow deep around them.

  “It is. I warned you that teleportation wasn’t pleasant, didn’t I?” Marin asked, suddenly uncertain if she’d actually told Emonael about the side effects of teleportation.

  “I don’t think you did, but I’ve been through worse,” Emonael said, shaking her head. “No matter. If that’s the price I have to pay for moving hundreds of miles in a few moments, I’m willing to pay it.”

  “Good, because I haven’t found any way to reduce the effect.” Marin told her student, chuckling soberly as she shook her head. “Maybe you’ll be able to find a way to make it more pleasant, hmm? There’s a lot of research still to be done in the end.”

  “Perhaps I will, but that’s in the future. Are we going to wait for a few minutes before teleporting to the port?” Emonael asked, looking out the cave entrance curiously.

  “We will. I must have a weaker stomach than you, because mine is still churning,” Marin said, eyeing the demon enviously.

  “My stomach still isn’t happy, but I can handle it,” Emonael disagreed, turning back to her, and Marin felt a moment of alarm as she saw the serious expression on the demon’s face. “But since we’re alone, and are going to be here for a short while, I had something I wanted to discuss with you. While we could have discussed it in your tower, I feel better when I’m certain there aren’t others around to eavesdrop.”

  “Oh? And what might that be?” Marin asked, folding her arms and shivering as concern overwhelmed the slight queasiness. “I must say that your choice of location has me somewhat concerned.”

  “I can’t say that I blame you there, but I’d rather not admit that I’m a minor demon lord in the middle of a conclave of magi,” Emonael replied calmly, and Marin’s breath caught in her throat, staring at her student in shock.

  She’d known that Emonael was a demon for quite some time, and that she was a powerful one as well, but this revelation was startling. Not much was known of demon lords, save that they were among the most powerful of their kind, each having dominion over different aspects of the world, much like lesser, malevolent forms of gods. The problem was that even dark gods generally weren’t as destructive as most demons tended to be.

  “That is . . . an interesting revelation, yes. I see that I’ve been underestimating you even more than I thought I had,” Marin admitted. “May I ask why you’re telling me this?”

  “Of course, though I doubt you’ve been underestimating me that much. I’m a very minor demon lord, the Lady of Illusions at present, which isn’t terribly high up the totem pole. I’m quite content to avoid the wars over the more powerful titles that are raging in the lower planes at the moment,” Emonael explained, grinning as she shook her head. “Not that there weren’t plenty of others trying to take my title. Part of the reason I’ve been focused on staying here in the mortal world, hmm? But recently something interesting started happening. The mantle of my power has started to shift, and it feels like I’m under pressure.”

  “I may be your teacher in some ways, Emonael, but I have no idea what that means. I understand there being wars in the lower planes, but that’s about as far as my knowledge goes, though the titles make sense,” Marin said tartly, glowering at her erstwhile student.

  “Of course, I just . . .” Emonael paused and shrugged. “I’m sorry, Teacher. There’s so much you do know, that at times I forget that you don’t know everything that I do. In this case, the pressure I feel is that of a mantle of power beginning to form around me. Normally, such a sensation only lasts for a few minutes, then the mantle of power is bestowed on the recipient, but this one has gone on for weeks, and I think I know what it is. I think that a mantle of the Demon Lord of Magic is developing due to my knowledge of magic, Teacher, and that it’ll be descending on me when it’s complete.”

  Marin stared at Emonael for a moment, brushing aside the faint embarrassment that Emonael’s praise of her knowledge had prompted and focusing on the demon’s statement. It took her a few seconds to think things through, and when she spoke her voice was trembling, Marin realized. “I . . . Emonael, are you saying there wasn’t a demon lord of magic before this? But all demons can wield magic! How could there not be a demon lord of magic?”

  “There wasn’t. We can wield it, yes, but before I met you, we didn’t understand magic, and without understanding, we can’t wield the power of a mantle. War, sleight of hand, lust . . . all of those are easy to understand, and the mantles of those titles came forth ages ago,” Emonael said seriously,
shrugging helplessly. “Magic, though? Magic simply was a tool, an aspect of the world outside understanding. When I came to the Association, I was arrogant and assumed that I was naturally more powerful than any mortal could reasonably become. My summoner had been an ignorant fool who believed he could control me, and I proved him wrong. You’ve taught me how shortsighted that belief was, Teacher. You’re also the one who’s creating the knowledge which is required for such a mantle of power to come to be.”

  “I see. I . . . think so, at least,” Marin murmured, dazed. “I had no idea that such was possible, Emonael. Would not such a title be of incredible power, then?”

  “It should be almost on the level of the greater sins, if not on equal footing,” Emonael agreed, smiling gently at Marin. “With that in mind, I realized something. I’m going to become all but a goddess, Teacher, and in time I might even be able to step across the threshold to become one in truth if I gain the mantle of power. And that . . . that would bring valuable security to me, for very few beings would dare to assault a goddess.”

  Emonael paused, taking a deep breath as her smile faded into worry. “But while that’s important, it’s not the most important thing to me. Losing you is . . . something I fear, and that security makes me comfortable making you an offer, Teacher. You could make a pact with me, one which would allow me to grant you a measure of power, and which would bring your soul to me when you pass on. If you did, I could ensure that your memories come through death mostly intact, that they wouldn’t fade in time. We could continue your research together, Teacher, and plumb the depths that your lifetime doesn’t allow. I just . . . I want to offer, Teacher. You’ve given me so much.”

  Astonishment surged through Marin, and she breathed softly. “Emonael . . .”

  “Please, Teacher. You’re . . . you’re incredibly important to me, and I don’t want to lose you.” Emonael almost begged, taking Marin’s hand.

  Marin felt the faintest hints of temptation for a few moments. Emonael had been a wonderful student and friend, and the last year had been among her best in decades. But thinking about what Emonael was offering, she thought about her own history and faith . . . and with a sigh, she shook her head.

  “No, Emonael. I’m sorry, but no.” Marin refused as gently as she could manage.

  “But . . . but I don’t want to lose you!” Emonael protested, looking slightly hurt. “I promise, Teacher, on my very Name! I don’t intend to do anything to you that you don’t wish for, just . . .”

  “No.” Marin sighed and shook her head again, her voice still gentle. “I am a follower of Balvess, Emonael. I’ve been one of his faithful for centuries, and while I may keep my faith private for the most part, I’ve never strayed from his worship. I appreciate your offer greatly, but to a certain extent . . . Emonael, I’m tired. Once my research is done, I’ll be without purpose, but beyond that, I’m going to be relieved. Death is going to be a chance to lay down that burden and rest. I don’t need all my memories at that point, Emonael . . . I don’t need to continue researching without end. Unlike you, I’m not eternal, and my mind isn’t meant for eternity. When I come to the end of my days, I’ll welcome them, and leave my research to those who take up the torch after me.”

  “I . . . but . . .” Emonael protested, and Marin blinked in shock as tears began to well up in the demon’s eyes, then to streak down her face slowly.

  “Shh . . .” Marin stepped forward and pulled the taller woman into a warm embrace, patting her student on the back. “It’ll be fine. Time is what it is, Emonael. You may be a shameless tease sometimes, but you’ll be fine.”

  “No, I won’t!” Emonael protested, hugging Marin tightly enough to make breathing difficult, her voice fierce. “I’m going to keep trying to convince you, Teacher! And I swear, even if it takes until the end of time itself, I’m going to do something to repay you for all of this!”

  Marin couldn’t help but giggle at the threatening way Emonael made her promise, and she broke free of the embrace with difficulty, smiling as she replied. “You do that, Emonael. We’re both stubborn, and we’ll see who wins out in the end, hmm? In the meantime, my stomach is settled. If you’d like to compose yourself, I think it’s time to go.”

  “Yes, I am stubborn. I’m also patient, Teacher, so if you think that I’m going to give up, you’re wrong,” Emonael replied, wiping the tears from her eyes.

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” Marin asked, laughing and shaking her head. “Now come on, we need to go.”

  Emonael didn’t reply, instead she set a hand on Marin’s shoulder again, and the elf began her incantation to teleport once more.

  Chapter 25

  At the sound of the horns blaring in the distance, Emonael paused and looked in the direction of the town, taking a deep breath before murmuring, “Well, it sounds like His Majesty has arrived. Is everyone ready?”

  “Of course not!” Andrew replied, looking deathly pale. “Is it too late to plead that I’m ill or something like that?”

  “If you even try, I’m going to strangle you and we can explain that you died when a horse kicked you in the head,” Nia threatened. “I’m not letting you get out of this when the rest of us have to go through it!”

  “No one is making any excuses to get out of the meeting, not if you want to continue being a student of mine or Marin’s,” Emonael told them flatly, looking between them with a scowl. “No killing each other, either! We have enough potential problems with scheming nobles without infighting.”

  Each of her students was dressed far better than they had been before. The robes that were normally distributed to the students were mostly intended to be sturdy and comfortable, not for formal meetings with royalty, and the clothing which each of them had brought from their homes had been even worse, most of it worn from months or years of use. That was why she’d made them new clothing, though no matter how much Emonael had wanted to make her students truly stand out, she’d resisted the urge, instead going for nice but subdued colors.

  Andrew, Christoff, and Uthar were each wearing new leather breeches, decent boots, and finely woven cotton tunics dyed crimson, with leather jackets that matched their breeches. If they had managed to damage their new clothing during the day, she likely would have ripped one of their heads off, but the three had managed to avoid it so far, though only barely in Andrew’s case, which gave Emonael a severe headache.

  For Damiya, Nia, and herself, Emonael had made dresses of a deep green cotton which had cost a bit more than she was willing to admit, but which would hopefully make a good impression. There’d been a number of exclamations from her friends and students about how well the clothing fit, but Emonael had ignored their comments, mostly focused on the meeting itself, even as she wondered how Marin was going to dress. Part of Emonael expected the High Mage to wear her usual dowdy clothing, which she was afraid would make the wrong impression.

  “I heard horns, so I presume the King has finally made his way out here, hmm?” Marin’s voice broke the brief silence as the door opened, and Emonael turned, taking a deep breath, but her response died unspoken as she stared at her teacher.

  “Dear gods . . .” Uthar’s voice was a soft murmur, and Emonael could only agree with him as she stared.

  Marin wasn’t beautiful, but at the moment she almost fooled the demon into thinking her teacher was with the way she was dressed. The elaborate dress was like nothing which Emonael had seen before, the glittering white silk shimmering like mother of pearl, and flowing around her like it was made of clouds. A silk veil concealed her face below her eyes, and her hair was unusually tamed, pulled back into a bun by a golden headdress. Marin’s back and legs were largely exposed, and her teacher was wearing delicate-looking golden bracelets and anklets, as well as a pair of matching slippers.

  “Teacher . . . what are you wearing?” Emonael managed to ask after a moment, swallowing hard.

  “Ah, this? It was a gift from the fey I met in the west quite a few years ago, made in the
style of the formal clothing of the Caravan of the Golden Moon,” Marin replied, looking down at it. “I keep it for important occasions, since it doesn’t seem to care about the passage of time.”

  “It’s gorgeous, High Mage!” Nia breathed, her eyes huge as she drank Marin’s appearance in. “I didn’t think cloth that white existed!”

  Marin laughed, taking careful steps down the stairs as she replied. “Oh, it most certainly does. This is a material called silk, which you’ve doubtless heard of, but of a different type than the ones woven in the eastern isles. Those are produced by a particular type of worm, while this is spidersilk, gathered and woven by araneas. They’re the most skilled weavers I’ve ever met.”

  “It’s definitely much nicer than I anticipated, Teacher. It seems that my worries that you were going to wear your usual robes were incorrect,” Emonael admitted, letting out a breath of relief, and faintly wishing that Marin would take her offer. Seeing her teacher like this was just depressing in some ways.

  “I’ve spoken with plenty of royalty over the years, including His Majesty. I know how important it is to start the conversation on the right foot,” Marin chided gently. “He also knows that my patience is not without limits. I knew his father, and his grandfather before him. I have no family in the nation to tie me here, and I choose to treat him with respect.”

  “That might not entirely help, Teacher, but I take your point,” Emonael conceded, and took a deep breath. “Will we be meeting him here, or at the Grand Hall? I never was told on that.”

  “I believe he’s coming here. Fortunately, the dirt has mostly dried on the road, so he shouldn’t be delayed by something as simple as mud,” Marin replied, and nodded at the others. “Line up and wait. Emonael, choose the side closer to the road and take a pace forward.”