by C J Timms
'There are many factors which affect your affinity for using Script from these realms. Your genetics can determine it, your birth near a fracture site, your personality, an ambitious user can even strike a deal with a god-force from a realm. If all that fails, there's always good old fashioned elbow grease and grit. Never forget, however, that there is no need to use magic where a simple alternative will do. Magic is not without cost. Draw too strongly on another realm, pull too much force through from one world to another, and you risk creating a fracture. The more we use the force of other realms to defend ourselves, the more we break the walls between our worlds. Using our power leaves us open to attack, not using it leaves us open to attack. In life, there is always a cost.’
He turned to Titus who was tucking into a turkey sandwich. ‘That’ll be five gold debt to the Lighthouse, Master Mangrove.’ Titus paused, his mouth full of sandwich.
‘In life, there are no free lunches.’
The main dining area had long timber benches which stretched into a sterile hall. There was no counter or buffet, and fluttering lamps lit it from overhead.
Gale took a seat with the Lighthouse team, ready for dinner after a long first day. The students wait, eyes glancing around, wondering where the food came from. Gale ran his hands over the table, were those claw marks?
A small wallaby bounded up to their table. The wallaby jumped onto the table and brought a pen and paper out of its pouch. It shoved the pad at Gale, and he poked one of the four options for dinner. The pad lit up, and the wallaby thrust it at the others. Swan and Yip flicked an option and Titus scrawled something on it. The wallaby turned around, its tail knocking over two of their glasses and bounded to the next table.
The dining hall around them exploded with motion. Bounding marsupials, scrambling sugar gliders and flightless birds raced up and down the tables bringing food, drink and condiments.
‘This is madness.’ Gale muttered.
On the next table, a sugar glider crash, food spilling from the bowl strapped onto its back. It scrabbled for purchase on the table, tearing claw marks into it. Scalding hot soup spilled over a students lap, and he cried out in pain.
‘It’s employment of endangered species.’ Swan said with a nod. ‘We used to have a kiwi bird butler back at my dad’s forge. They try to use the endangered species in domestic roles to encourage their population.’
Their food arrived with a shambling wombat who snapped at Gale’s fingers. Swan got a ‘bushranger pizza’ which had meat, vegetables and a cracked egg on top. Yip had a steamed piece of chicken, plain with white rice. Gale had picked the cheapest, something called a squish burger which the menu had described as a tasty roast beef pocket.
The menu had lied.
‘This food is off’ said Titus chewing into a beautifully cooked pie.
Swan clipped his ear, ‘Don’t talk with your mouthful, bogan.’
‘Its the lack of salt,’ Yip said. ‘They put us on low salt diets here to keep us “From corruption.” Hard to make a good pie without salt.’
Gale held his ‘squish burger’ between two hands and the bread dripped between them. Bread shouldn’t do that. It felt mushy beneath his fingers. Perhaps it was a cultural delight? He took a bite.
He spat it back out.
‘Need good salt to make bread too.’ Yip said, poking his steamed chicken.
‘What about the bread the headmaster used. That looked good.’ Gale said.
‘Nah tasted like armpit sweat.’ Titus said.
‘But you ate the whole thing.’ Swan said.
‘It was five gold, what was I gonna chuck it in the bin?’
Gale looked at Swan’s pizza, he raised an eyebrow, and she shook her head.
‘Salt needed for good dough.’ Yip said.
‘Wait, so you are telling me this university doesn’t have edible toast?’ Titus asked. ‘Or pizza? Or pide or pies?’
Yip nodded.
‘What about toasties, what if we made toasties. Jaffles? Melts?’ Titus slammed both hands on the table. ‘Everything tastes better in a toastie.’
Yip sighed and ate some plain grilled chicken. ‘You can heat up garbage, doesn’t make it edible.’
‘This place is a nightmare.’ Titus put his head between his hands.
Well he had paid for it Gale thought. The squish burger was an unspiced, unsalted, gelatinous mess. Somehow it started slimy but left a horrible dryness in the mouth. It didn’t so much have a flavour as a presence.
At some point in the night, the senior students had put down a bar tab for the first years. They all started putting away schooners of beer. Gale only had one. Things seemed to go wrong when he had a drink. The night grew late the, and four of them became stuffed with food, nicely buzzed from the beer. Gale felt like he had a food baby. ‘Look even the golem has a food baby.’ Titus said, the debt golem had laid down on the table, his stomach enlarged.
Yip shook his head, eyes watching the enlarged debt golem. ‘Hmmm…Based on how much it enlarged from one meal…’
Gale nodded sadly. It looked like it was going to be muesli, two-minute noodles and hitting up every free bbq on campus for the next year. Well that or Squishburgers.
Passing midnight, they dragged themselves back towards the Lighthouse. Swan helped carry a raucous Titus. They staggered back through the entrance to the tune of ‘tie me kangaroo down sport, tie me kangaroo down.’ Gale reflected that this could be a really great year. Character building.
Titus picked up their debt golem and placed him on the table.‘Oy, what about we name him Shackleton?’
‘Shackleton?’ Gale asked, ‘Like the polar explorer?’
Titus poked the debt golem in the chest. It toddled backwards across the table, arms windmilling for balance. Gale doubted it could find the kitchen sink, much less cross the antarctic.
‘Yeah, coz see…he’s our shackles, our debt…and well, you’ve seen the fees, it’ll weigh a ton.’ Titus looked at them all with a wide grin. ‘Shackle…ton.’
Swan snorted, Yip slapped a hand to his forehead, and Gale grinned. ‘Sure why not, seems you’re the brains of the operation Titus.’
Titus nodded, ‘That's what they’ve always said.’
They all stumbled off to bed. Shackleton rolled off the table and took a seat near the entrance to the Lighthouse. The Lighthouse door was slightly ajar, and he sat guard on his butt throughout the night. In the early hours of the morning, a cloaked figure cracked the door. Shackleton stared upwards like a curious puppy. The figure smiled at Shackleton and pulled a set of ropes from a bag.
Spur - Maw then bargained for
Spare a thought for Charlemagne, Emperor of Ionrealm, upon his throne of skulls and wonder does he ever contemplate a cushion.
From the Journal of Grimace the Heretic.
Spur sipped at his coffee and wondered if humanity had meddled with forces beyond its reckoning. Some things were just unnatural. He swirled his coffee mug and studied the frothy contents once more, hoping they might have changed since his last check. Change, he supposed, was a necessary evil for the world. Luckily he’d never change, a sturdy rock in the river of progress, defiant, steadfast.
A waiter stood to his side with an effervescent grin. ‘It’s all the rage in Paramoura sir.’
Spur stared down the waiter, a fleck of purple foam on his lip, taking away from an otherwise textbook disappointed gaze. Spur cut an imposing figure. He was a tall refined-looking man with a strong jaw and striking purple eyes. He’d heard the title silver fox used to describe him and had done little to stamp it out. It was the little pleasures that gave the most joy. Today he wore a long cloak which poorly concealed the bulge of a large war hammer across his back. His purple eyes were usually the most striking thing about him. Currently, it was another purple coloured item, however, that stole the focus.
‘A beetroot latte?’ Spur asked. He pulled out a tuning fork, struck it on the side of the cup and watched the vibrations. A small dragonfly buzzed o
ver his coffee and he shooed it away, irked at the interruption. Insects were everywhere here on the island. Another charming reason to visit its coffee shops.
‘The beetroot aids in digestion sir, for wellness and balance.’ The waiter explained, wringing his hands.
Spur placed the coffee down and looked out over the Volkstorm islands. Volkstorm lay a hundred leagues north of Ionhome, a volcanic island chain. This cafe, built atop the cliffs, was the only place to get a decent coffee on the island. Most of the island was still ramshackle, wrecked by the tsunami eighteen years ago. Poverty was rife and infrastructure shoddy. Much of the island was sectioned off, still being cleared of debris from the reef. Reefstone still cluttered much of the island, causing fluctuations in magic. Paths dotted with boundary ropes steered people clear of the minefield. Nasty unstable stuff Reefstone but it had been left to fester like a white pustulent sore.
Emperor Charlemagne had never been fond of Volkstorm.
‘Wellness and balance indeed.’ Spur muttered.
The spectral shape of the Arghost dominated the sky overhead. The front half only emerged from a healed fracture. The stern left behind in the Deep. Eighteen years ago it had all happened here, and everything had changed. Adelphus had figured out a way to close the largest world fracture in their generation.
Show-off.
He sometimes wondered if Adelphus had made the right call, if he would do it all again. Adelphus probably would, for his children. Spur had kept Gale hidden for as long as he could. It’d been easy, the Dredgers couldn’t ask questions and the Emperor preferred things covered up. Gale’s powers were awakening, his presence floating to the surface of a world not ready for him. The best place to put him now was in the middle of an army. Spur could feel his fingers twitching over the panic button, ready to sound the all hands alarm. There were, however, still things that could be done to stop the Worldflood. Recruiting help was a tough gig, though.
A large craggy bluff struck out into the ocean in front of him. Beyond that, amongst the waves of the Volkstorm coastline, a wind-worn rock erupted from the sea. The rock towered in the air like the fin of some great leviathan.
Tied to the rock was a young lady in her early twenties, dressed in a full-length ball gown. The gown was torn at the shoulder at precisely the right degree to suggest she had been ravished. Her jet black hair framed a heart-shaped face. Two small horns peeked from beneath the black hair, and a small tail with a spade-shaped ending twisted down her leg. Her deep purple eyes focused on the ocean.
‘Well Grace, its a bit showy for my tastes but things aren’t what they used to be.’ Spur said.
The water beneath the rock darkened. There’d been reports of fishing boats going missing, fish stock depleted. The speed at which the area was being exhausted of sea life could only mean one thing.
A massive worm-like beast, with a mouth the size of a bus, exploded upwards from the water. It tapered rapidly from a thick neck to a narrow body no wider than a tree trunk. From the trunk, frond-like tentacles flailed to the side, like a water lily with a huge lily pad and spindly roots. The Maw leapt out of the water, and Grace swung to the side.
A scythe as long as Grace’s body appeared in her hands. The Maw bit down on the scythe, like it was a massive fishing hook. Grace hauled the scythe down the Maws body, carving through bone and muscle like tissue paper.
The Maw fell back into the water with a crash taking Grace with it. Spur swirled his coffee and counted. On ten, Grace burst to the surface. She pulled herself from a sea littered with the Maw’s guts and flopped onto the creatures back. Teams of Volkstormers paddled out to the carcass, to collect the fatty meat. The locals' faces a mix of madcap grins and awe.
Spur felt an itch on his shoulder and brushed away a large dragonfly. Never a moments peace.
Spur paid the owner, tipping precisely the right amount and wandered over to Grace. He brushed away a butterfly that Grace was towelling the worst of the muck off as she pitched a bucket of freshwater over herself.
‘They say you can get the same results with a lure these days,’ Spur said.
Grace raised her eyebrows, ‘we’ve always used live bait, that's the way my father did it and his father, its a mark of pride in the clan.’
‘Niece, I know my brother well, and he also farts to punctuate jokes.’ Spur looked over his niece, the purple eyes of their bloodline, reminding him of what he needed. ‘You are wasted here, come back to the College. It's been months since you left.’
A faint frown creased Grace’s brow at the word ‘College’. She replaced it with a grin and said, ‘You’re not trying to drag me back to the College, are you? I’m having so much fun locuming, and I’ve nearly paid off my mortgage.’
‘Locuming as a bait for goodness sakes Grace, you’re wasted here. What crude tools are you using? I know that's not in my textbook.’ He nodded to the giant scythe resting on her shoulder. Grace gripped the scythe, and it glowed before shrinking to the size of a matchstick. She attached it to a chain which she hung around her neck.
‘This is Occam’s razor.’
Spur raised his eyebrow.
‘Its the simplest solution.’
Spur stared back at her refusing to laugh.
‘Come back, Grace. The suspension period is over. You are a registered trainee again. Now come back to work.’
Grace’s cheery smile faltered, her eyes cast down to her feet. She thumbed Occam’s Razor and moved it around in her hand. ‘It's not a total waste uncle. I have learnt much about the enemy.’ She gestured him to lean in closer. ‘Pull my finger, and I’ll tell you all of it.’ She laughed and slapped her thigh. Spur looked on and sipped his coffee.
‘So what's so important that brings you out here to slum it with me? You didn’t piss offhimagain did you? I swear you were lucky to get out with your head last time.’
‘My business with Charlemagne has nothing to do with this. Tides are rising Grace, and new fractures are opening faster than we can fix, there’s not enough of us.’
Grace’s nose wrinkled, a decapitated Maw bobbed behind her, a team already starting to scale and clean it. She sniffed the air, ‘What is that smell?’ she asked.
Spur glanced over her shoulder, ‘I think perhaps your catch my fair lady.’
‘Is that a beetroot latte?’ She interrupted, swiped it out of his hands and skulled the remainder. ‘Mmmmm….you can taste the Cult-cha.’
Spur sighed and despaired for the future generation. Luckily he would never change. Still, needs must when the devil drives. ‘You took a break niece. You ran off with that deadbeat, its damned rare the College grants a leave from training, now come back and finish. No one will even remember why you left.’
Grace paused and looked out over the sea, where the Volkstomers were carving up the Maw for meat.
‘No thanks uncle, I’m happy here. I didn’t find the family I wanted, but I have plenty of food, passable coffee and a steady job.’
Spur looked her over. ‘Alright, I guess we’ll have to find someone else for the Stapes Project.’
Grace’s eyes flashed, and she grabbed Spur’s arm, ‘I thought it was still theoretical! Are you telling me it works?’
‘Ah hardly seems to matter if you are content locuming with all of this’ Spur gestured behind him as one of the hunters cut into the Maw’s belly and gasses belched out into the air. A new wave of stench ploughed into them.
Grace’s purple eyes sparkled at the thought. Or perhaps they watered at the stench. ‘Well maybe if I….’
A cry interrupted them as one of the islanders approached them with something in tow, no, someone in tow. The islander passed a screaming child to Grace.
‘Ohhhhh….’ Spur said.
Grace took the child without looking at Spur. She held the child and swung it round in her arms. The baby reached up and played with Occam’s razor, delighted by the glow.
‘Spur, meet your grand nephew, this is Jason.’ she said, her eyes still avoiding Spurs.
‘Ohhhhh….’ Spur managed.
‘I’m guessing your silence means you can’t take me back with the kid.’ Grace said. ‘I kept him in the end. Couldn’t sign the adoption papers.’
‘Oh…no..I’m just surprised…you look so good, I mean the baby weight must have slid right off, I mean errr,’ Spur scratched the back of his head and shuffled his feet.
Then he grabbed Grace and crushed them both in a bear hug.
‘I’m sure we can make a creche on the Chisel.’ Spur said.
Grace looked up, a grin on her face. ‘Are you sure? The College has…views…on maternity leave.’
‘Grace I’ll never change, I’m too stuck in my ways…but the system I can work on changing that.’ Spur said. ‘If a beetroot latte is allowed to exist, this is acceptable.’
Spur looked down at the little bundle of joy. Jason giggled at him. Then he scrunched up his face and pooped. Spur broke the hug and stepped back a pace. Somehow Jason had overpowered the reek of the Maw below.
‘Ah…and Damien?’
‘I gave him the boot, he was…no good.’ Grace said. Spurs hands twitched to the hammer at his belt. Perhaps it was time he and his brother went on one of their hunting trips.
He owed Grace after all after what had happened. His guilt gnawed at him inside.
‘Come back with me. I’ll find you a good Ionhome boy, or a fracturesmith, they’ve got to follow my orders, shouldn’t be any trouble drumming up a date.’ Spur said
Grace punched him in the shoulder. “Uncle.’ She said, then smirked.
‘Maybe I could come back, but on one condition.’
‘Of course’ Spur said. He’d nailed it.
Grace looked around, leaned forward and gestured him in.
‘Pull my finger.’
Gale - Walkabout
The Penumbra distorts the memory and perception of those without Script training, leaving them largely ignorant to the worlds beyond their own. How many disappearances or strange happenings through history might have been the result of a world-fracture or the fathomless? I call to mind the disappearance of the Roman legion. Then there is the Australian Prime Minister Harold Holt who ‘did the bolt’ and disappeared while swimming at the beach one day.