A Practical Guide to Sorcery

Sebastien

Month 8, Day 28, Saturday 5:30 a.m.

Saturday morning, before the sun rose, Sebastien walked out to the Flats. Professor Lacer had asked her to meet him there in class the day before, and she didn’t know why. ‘Best case scenario, he wants to assess my progress on the three transmutable substances he assigned. Slightly worse scenario, he wants to test my capacity with the Henrik-Thompson—though I’m not sure why he would have us meet on the Flats for that. Worst case scenario, he’s deduced something else about my connection to the Raven Queen and wants me away from any important buildings to mitigate destructive repercussions.’

Sebastien’s mind continued to spin up increasingly unlikely horrible scenarios. ‘What if he wants to have a meeting with Sebastien and the Raven Queen in the same room together?’

The way to the Flats was empty. Distant sounds from the land and sea below mixed into an almost inaudible sigh, but otherwise the night was silent and still.

Professor Lacer met her at the end of the pathway with a nod of acknowledgement, and she followed him up the pathway of white stone and across the obstacle-course-laden Flats to the northern edge of the white cliffs. The stars above reflected off the placid surface of the lake below, which continued on through the base of the white cliffs before running out into the Gulf as well as fueling the city’s canals.

Without preamble, Professor Lacer said, “It is difficult to keep a secret. Most people do not realize how difficult, and they fail to keep them so commonly that failure is almost a social expectation—what one might call ‘gossip.’” He gave lips pursed with distaste. “But when they have an important secret, one they must ensure does not get out, many people find themselves without the tools to make that possible.”

Professor Lacer didn’t seem like he was building up to some big trap or revelation. In fact, his tone was more akin to one of his in-class lectures. Sebastien squinted. “A secrecy spell? Or a compulsion to avoid specific, related topics?”

Professor Lacer let out a huff of amusement. “That is an option, of course, and not just to bind others to secrecy. But not only is that magical field illegal to the masses, those kinds of spells have restrictions and downsides that I find…unpleasant. Besides, just like there is no curse without parameters that will unravel it, there is no compulsion that is infallible. I much prefer to maintain personal control of my own mind.”

“To keep a secret properly, it is best if you are the only one who knows. As is famously said, ‘Two may keep counsel, putting one away.’ Or, more colloquially, ‘if one of them is dead.’ Unfortunately for you, at least three people know your secret.” He looked at her pointedly.

Sebastien nodded slowly. ‘Professor Lacer, the Raven Queen, and Sebastien Siverling all “know” that I might be descended from Myrddin. But really, Professor Lacer is the only one who thinks that. I really hope that is the secret he’s talking about.’

“When you have a real secret, not some little piece of gossip or an embarrassing skeleton in your cupboard, you must act as if you didn’t know it. Not just in action, but also in thought. It is extremely easy to slip and provide tiny clues to the truth without realizing it. When you come across information regarding your secret, you will automatically make conclusions, but you must act as if you hadn’t. You will need to simulate a self who does not know. If the secret were entangled with many different parts of your life or affects different people in different ways, you would need to maintain the causality of two or more different realities. This…is harder than you might think, but a strong Will can help. In fact, holding contradictory information in the mind and simulating either side as truth is one of the ways the Red Guard has experimented with increasing the soundness and force of the Will.”

Sebastien practiced this in some ways. It was why she used different names for different identities, even in her own mind. But she doubted she managed to reach the level of self-hypnotization that Professor Lacer was talking about. ‘It is useful advice,’ she admitted to herself, but yet, some part of her shied away from it. She tried to latch on to the discomfort and follow it deeper. ‘Is that a form of lying to yourself?’ she wondered. ‘No,’ she decided, ‘it is a form of acting until you can outwardly embody the role. Nothing more than a mental set of clothes. Of course, wear the clothes long enough and the person might shift to fit them. And for me…how many different sets of clothes might I have to wear, around how many different people?’ Her lies, and which people knew which parts of them, or believed certain things about her, were becoming somewhat…unwieldy.

‘It’s exhausting,’ she realized suddenly. ‘And lonely. But the alternative is still too frightening. If I had been capable of compartmentalizing my “realities” from the very beginning, it might have changed a lot. However, it doesn’t fix the risks associated with having to switch frequently between identities. This technique would work better for long-term, deep-cover Red Guard assignments.’

Professor Lacer drew her attention back. “You must also guard against your own impulses to share more than you should. I imagine you can think of several times that you’ve had a personal secret and felt the strong urge to divulge that secret to someone else?”

For some reason, the first memory that sprouted to life in Sebastien’s mind was a memory of looking at Ennis’s back as he hurried to throw rucksacks filled with their belongings into the back of a wagon. They needed to leave before the sun rose, for both of their safety. Siobhan had stood in the road, her eyes stinging and her throat stiff. ‘Father, you’re hurting me,’ had sounded in her head, as clear as if she had spoken it.

But she didn’t speak it. Not then, and not later, when similar things happened again and again. Occasionally, and especially as she got older, she got angry and let scathing accusations and verbal assaults meant to wound him in return spill from her tongue.

But never that small, vulnerable plea for him to see what should be so obvious. For him to care.

Sebastien swallowed and looked down at the heavens reflected below. Even considering that memory was a lack of proper compartmentalization, according to Professor Lacer. She was Sebastien now, and had never known an Ennis.

She had wanted to tell Damien parts of the truth several times. She had even idly considered coming clean to Professor Lacer and relying on whatever aid he could provide.

“It is a natural impulse for us to want to share with others. But consider, even when you are the one who would directly bear the consequences if your secret were known, you still feel the urge to tell others. Any person you share your secret with has that same inborn desire to share, and they will not have the same inherent motivation to remain silent. Nor can you trust that they are able to reliably model a world in which they do not know, or the consequences of sharing too freely.”

Professor Lacer sighed. “Unfortunately, a lecture such as this does little to help you learn the depths and nuances of the art of secret-keeping, which is not my true expertise. And you have shown yourself to be incapable of avoiding all but reasonable danger. I can imagine several scenarios where someone who holds an unsavory interest in you might try to coerce you into truth-telling by various means. And even if not that, what of the other threats you have faced?” He clenched and released his fists. “I foresee upheaval and violence bubbling up in this city—this country—like a potion about to erupt. And I would not leave you helpless.”

Professor Lacer turned to face her. “We are here so that I can give you two resources that may help you if you face danger again and cannot rely on the kindness of random strangers who happen to be passing by to save you,” he said, his tone making it clear that he was alluding to the supposed kidnapping attempt by the Pendragon Corps.

Sebastien perked up with interest. “Resources?”

Professor Lacer gave her a wry look. “Yes, yes. Try to contain your greed. Here is the first.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a badly tarnished copper crown—likely a forgery of some sort, as legitimate coins were formulated to be resistant against environmental damage. “This is an artifact which you can use to signal me in an emergency. Twist it like so,” he demonstrated, revealing a seam right down the middle and leaving the copper crown half tails, half heads.

He twisted it back and handed it to her. “It works on sympathetic principles, but it is strong enough to overpower the Raven Queen’s boon and many other types of barriers. It has a minor enchantment so that it will be the first coin you pull out of your pocket or coin purse when you reach for it. If you activate it, I will prioritize locating and saving you. When should you activate it?” he asked, staring at her with narrowed eyes.

“Only in the direst of emergencies?”

“No!”

Sebastien flinched back.

He scowled at her, pressing his lips into a thin line of frustration for a moment. “You should activate it whenever you believe yourself to be in significant danger that you would have moderate trouble extracting yourself from on your own. This includes legal trouble, such as being arrested. It includes having been mugged and needing to walk back to the University without your shoes. It includes waking up in a strange room and not knowing where you are or how you got there! Your sense of a ‘dire emergency’ is so skewed that you might hesitate to contact me when facing down a dragon in single combat.”

Sebastien opened her mouth to protest, but closed it as Professor Lacer’s scowl grew even more thunderous.

His tone softened. “I will not be angry if you use it and it turns out your life was not in danger. I will not be angry if you use it and you are not injured.” He sighed, and even softer, added, “I will not be angry if you use it and I arrive to find you were frightened by something that has already passed and was no true threat.”

Sebastien’s fingers tightened tentatively around the coin. She was aware that it could be a tracking device as much as a method to call for aid. She was also aware of what it meant that Professor Lacer would allow her to inconvenience him so. A mix of warmth and wariness battled in her stomach. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He cleared his throat and turned to face the north once more. “Speak no more of it. Now, for the second contingency.” He held his hands in front of him, forefingers and thumbs touching in an imperfect Circle that was shaped more like a spade, with his palms angled outward. She noted a small celerium ring on this thumb, instead of the much larger sphere he usually used when free-casting. He spoke softly, adding a long pause between each statement that made his words sound like poetry.

“From luminous whispers,

Dancing stars weave dreams of light,

And shattering radiance blooms,

Defiant against the night.”

As he spoke, tiny motes of light that looked like dust-sized fireflies converging to the center of the space between his hands. They disappeared into a tiny black dot.

When Professor Lacer had finished speaking, he paused, then thrust his palms forward. The space contained between his hands grew entirely black, but from the other side burst a green light so bright that even the part that refracted around the sides of his palms and through the flesh of his fingers left spots in Sebastien’s eyes. She could see the path the light traveled highlighted in the particles of dust and water in the air for a long, long way.

Professor Lacer released the spell and lowered his hands. “This spell is called the dazzler. I have cast a weak and somewhat undirected example for better theatrical effect. It is not a widely known spell, though it is used by the Red Guard as well as a few members of the army’s special forces. However, it is not illegal for civilians to know, as long as you can defend your use of it after the fact, and have not significantly injured innocent bystanders. Sometimes, small, versatile tricks can be surprisingly useful. This one, in particular, is special due to its…versatility.”

Siobhan blinked several times to clear the lingering red blotches in her eyes.

“You can create any color of light, or even, with more advanced application, a strobe light that cycles between several colors. The green I displayed has a few advantages. If you keep the power low, that color will not do permanent harm to the human eye. So you can use it on people who you only suspect to be an enemy, or if there are friendlies or innocents in the direction you are beaming the light. At high power, you can and will permanently blind people who do not have access to magical healing. The green is well suited to penetrating atmospheric haze or smoke, if you needed to use it to light the way in the dark or through a battlefield. However, it is highly noticeable, which can be a boon if you are hoping to use it as a signal, or a liability if you require stealth. For you, however, the green has a very compelling feature, and that is how little power it requires to seem bright.”

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“Green light is close to the eye’s peak sensitivity when they are adapted for the dark.” Sebastien said, reciting a piece of trivia from Professor Gnorrish’s class. “At night it will appear a lot brighter than a red light for the same amount of power.”

“Indeed. Now, why do you think I am teaching you this esoteric spell rather than handing you a second artifact with capabilities far stronger than what you could produce on your own?”

Sebastien did not have to think long. “Because in times of dire need, you can only really rely on yourself.”

Professor Lacer eyed her for a moment. “I would not have worded it that way, but, essentially, yes. A great many thaumaturges can only be considered such in optimal conditions. In their lab, their workshop, or with the array-drawing supplies they happen to carry with them, they are sorcerers of some capability. In an emergency, away from those resources, they act as magicians, pulling out whatever useful artifact they prepared and congratulating themselves for their foresight. But then the artifact runs out of charges, or fails to meet the specific needs of the situation—and the output cannot be modified on the fly. Or,” he said more gravely, “it is taken from them by their enemy, sometimes even to be used against its owner.”

“That’s why it pays to be a free-caster.”

“But you are not yet a free-caster, and neither of us can or should attempt to speed up that process. Esoteric spells, and to a lesser extent, gesturan spells—due to the difficulty of learning them and the time it takes to cast them—are the second-best option. This spell is something that you can cast when all else is lost, and with no external resources or components except a Conduit. At what point might this spell still fail you?”

Sebastien recalled the spell’s chant and looked up at the sky. “Does it have something to do with the stars? Does this spell only work when it’s dark?”

“You seldom disappoint,” Professor Lacer said mildly.

The words sent a gentle rush of satisfaction through Sebastien. “I would also have trouble casting it if my fingers were cut off or my arms were badly injured. If my tongue had been cut out and I couldn’t speak. If I was underwater, the water might muffle and distort the chant. Would that matter? It might not work properly if I were trapped underground without any access to the sky. Or if I had been drugged, concussed, or had Will-strain and was unable to focus.” Sebastien paused, sure that she could come up with more scenarios with a little time to think, but Professor Lacer nodded.

“Being underwater makes spells that require a chant more difficult, but does not stop you from casting them if your Will is clear and forceful enough. This spell works best at night, under a clear sky where the stars can be seen. That is why I spent several hours before your arrival casting a far-reaching weather spell to ensure optimal conditions.”

Sebastien stared at Professor Lacer, who didn’t even seem to be bragging, and then looked up at the sky again. This time, the complete lack of clouds, the clarity of the air, and the lack of wind took on new meaning. Weather spells—effective ones—were a thing of legend. It required an immense amount of power to control the world on such scale. “Isn’t that…illegal?” Weather spells, cast poorly, could also have disastrous consequences. Only a few thaumaturges were licensed to cast them, and generally as a relief effort to stave off famine. And according to the newspapers she had been reading lately, even that was controversial.

He gave her a wry smile. “I was careful not to get caught. There were only going to be a few clouds, anyway, so the change was not too drastic.”

Sebastien wondered if it would be rude to ask his thaumic capacity. ‘Well, of course it’s rude,’ she realized. ‘But he can just refuse to tell me. He’s not the type to get hung up on social norms and niceties.’

She asked, but Professor Lacer raised one amused eyebrow at her and continued with his lecture instead of answering. “It can still be cast under other conditions, but you will struggle to output as strong a light compared to the amount of effort you spend gathering power. If you are sealed beneath the earth, without any external source of light, you will struggle greatly.”

She narrowed her eyes. “But I might still be able to cast it? I have noticed, with enough practice and familiarity, you can bend the original rules with certain spells.”

“You might,” he agreed. “This is certainly one of those spells. Now, an explanation of the exact mechanisms behind how this magic works is generally reserved for a few lectures in the higher levels of my Practical Casting course, but I think we can sum it up with something you will understand.” He paused, and then said, “It is the mind that sees light. The eyes are only there to send signals.”

Sebastien’s eyes widened slowly as the implications hit her. ‘Is that transmutation, somehow directly stimulating the optic nerve? Or transmogrification, somehow utilizing the idea of light?’ “I don’t understand,” she announced boldly.

He chuckled. “I see that Professor Gnorrish has been training you well. I know you are familiar with one or two other esoteric spells, but this will likely be the most complicated and difficult one you have ever attempted. It is not something I would usually teach to a student, and if I did, not one below fourth term, perhaps even fifth. However, I believe you will grasp the concepts. You are skilled with light-based spells and have a rare understanding of transmogrification.”

Sebastien grinned giddily and bounced on her toes a few times to bleed off some of her sudden, heady excitement.

Professor Lacer gave her a stern look. “Focus.”

“I am.”

He huffed, but his eyes held a hint of amusement. “The chant can be repeated as many times as you want to build up power, but I recommend you limit yourself to once until you are completely certain your Will can handle a second repetition, and then a third, so forth. As you gain proficiency with the spell, you may gather more power in the space of a single chant, so gauge your level of effort carefully.

“This is a partially transmogrification-based spell. You might have wondered how I was able to create such a large amount of light while seemingly gathering so little. Part of the explanation is that the spell absorbs heat as well as light. If you are casting it without loss, it will also absorb the sound of your voice. But part of what makes it seem so bright is that it exudes not just visible light, but also the concept of light. Intent matters greatly.” He paused there, as if to let some epiphany sink in to her brain.

After a moment, she said, “Okay?”

“Light and the idea of light are not the same thing. Not only that, but you must lean into transmogrification to produce the effect, without any components to lean on or draw the concept from. Perhaps an example is in order.” He palmed his usual Conduit, and closed his other hand into a fist, palm up. “Concentrate.”

As he opened his hand, a gentle, warm light shone from the area above his palm. It stayed for moment, and then began to cycle through different colors and intensities. Finally, he closed his palm again. “That was light.”

He opened his palm a second time, and for a moment Sebastien thought he had cast a similar spell, though the quality of the light was somehow different. Purer, maybe. And then she glanced up at him and noticed him staring at her with intent, rather than down at his palm where she had expected.

And though his palm was now much lower in her field of view, the light still seemed to be shining, somehow, directly into her eyes. She frowned and looked back at it, realizing that despite the brightness, she could see his palm beneath the light. Her eyelids fluttered, and she raised a couple of fingers to her temple, rubbing gently as if the pressure would help settle her sudden sense of pseudo-vertigo.

As before, the light began to change. But the new colors weren’t real colors. Or they were more than real colors. Sebastien scowled and bent the entirety of her Will toward discernment. And then, she began to notice how the colors were always associated with other imagery, so fleeting and distant that she would have never noticed, normally. A scarlet curtain made of silk billowing past her face, a cold white light that had the same cold, eye-watering burn of the sun reflecting off an unbroken field of white snow, a cyan ripple of coral and fish spied through crystal clear ocean water.

Professor Lacer closed his fist and let it drop. “That was the concept of light. You are likely to struggle with the latter. Since you are one of the few who understands how transmogrification truly works, you have a chance to succeed, with the proper application of effort and ingenuity. I will not expect you to manage a spell heavily laden with the concept of light today. If you can merely create a directed beam in the right color, I will consider it a success.

“It is best if you come up with your own imagery for the spell, but as you first learn to cast it, you will want to focus on the idea of luminous whispers, dancing stars, and dreams of light. Add to that a shattering radiance, which I have just demonstrated for you in case you have no experiences of that to draw on. Take your time to consider it, and when you are ready, attempt a low-power casting. Do not worry about the color, but do keep in mind the shield of darkness behind the directed light, as well as the fact that it should go forward from where you aim and not scatter off in every direction.”

Sebastien closed her eyes and pulled up memories of watching the aurora during her childhood on the Northern Islands, the dancing fire-familiar that she and her friends had watched atop a roof, and a play she had seen once that featured someone’s idea of the Radiant Maiden, along with a dozen other potential memories.

When she was ready, she placed her hands in position, spoke the chant, and did her best not to get distracted by the hovering pane of half-darkness that Professor Lacer cast to cover both of their faces, just in case.

When Sebastien thrust her hands out, a bright white light flared from her palms. It was not as coherent or strong as Professor Lacer’s, and she suspected that it called up none of the special memories she had used to focus it, but he did not complain, merely saying, “Try again.”

An hour later, the horizon was lightening. She had tried dozens of different memories and ideas, and she was able to cast the spell in half the time it had originally taken, and at the specific frequency of green that he had demonstrated. It processed about half of the sound from her voice and enough heat to make her finger bones ache. But what she was most proud of was the piercing feel to it that spoke of cutting past defenses and burning out vulnerabilities.

She could sense it even past the darkened strip of a shield Professor Lacer had placed in front of their faces. ‘Would this bypass other defenses people would normally use against light?’ she wondered. ‘Or, could I learn to signal a specific person, while leaving anyone else oblivious, if the concept was clearly not meant for them? If I could get as good with this as I am with the shadow-familiar spell, perhaps I would be able to extend its possible uses to a similar degree.’

She looked to the sun, just peeking over the edge of the Earth. ‘The stars are always there, even when you cannot see them. And the sun is also a star,’ she remembered.

“You are nothing if not a fast learner,” Professor Lacer said. “Your concepts are still weak, but to be noticeable at all, after only an hour of practice, is…satisfactory.”

Sebastien beamed with achievement. She doubted she could have cast such a spell upon just coming to Gilbratha just under a year ago. ‘I need more practice with transmogrification. I should buy some light-based components and play with them until I get a better feel for it.’

Professor Lacer handed her a pair of tinted gryphon-riding goggles and warned her to wear the eye protection when practicing without him, until she got better at reducing any spillover light. “If you ever need to use this spell but hope to keep low-light visibility, use red light instead of green. At low enough output, a single repetition of the chant will be enough to power the light for several minutes. You will want to adjust your imagery to support that purpose,” he reminded her.

Before leaving the Flats, Sebastien took advantage of the opportunity to demonstrate her progress with transmuting the items he had given her. She was able to weave the spider silk in several different patterns, and even had some immediate control over its color, though she couldn’t do anything bright. She created a single strip of silk about two inches wide, depicting some stylistic herons and water lilies and using four different weaving patterns, including one that mimicked embroidery.

Professor Lacer took it, ran his thumb over the surface and examined the design in the rising light of the sun, then shoved the strip in his pocket and stared at her expectantly.

The scab-root came next. She made it as pretty as possible, leaving a fist-sized tuber that looked more like a potato than a dozen oozing wounds that had dried over.

Professor Lacer cut through it with a slicing spell, instantly steam-cooked it, and after what she assumed to be a diagnostic divination, took a bite. He didn’t even grimace, but her mouth watered in sympathetic disgust.

“I don’t know any way to make them taste palatable.”

“You cannot. Better to make them tasteless by cutting off the signals from your tongue to your brain. I have a spell for that, but you would probably be better off with a potion.”

Finally, she transmuted a cluster of diamonds from a twig, a piece of the white cliffs, and some water from the canteen in her bag. To show off, she even transmuted a diamond the size of a piece of sand from the air.

After examining all four, Professor Lacer put the diamonds in his pocket, too. “What are these exercises useful for?”

“Survival,” she replied immediately. “Even if I am dropped naked in the middle of nowhere and left for dead, as long as I have enough time to make a diamond, I will survive.”

“And with what will you make that diamond?”

“Celerium is best, but if you can restrict yourself to a few thaums at a time, anything can be used as a conduit. Even a random twig.” She picked one up and waved it at him. “I’d say I could channel at least twenty thaums without destroying it. My control is probably my strongest point, and I can easily restrict myself to that. The wood will start steaming and popping before it explodes, so I’d even have a warning if I were to get sloppy. Which I wouldn’t.”

“Good,” Professor Lacer said simply. “You have met my expectations for this term. Now go off and study for the exams or something,” he said, shooing her away.

Sebastien did that for a few hours, but then left the University and went through the whole hours-long process of multiple transformations. The tarnished copper crown remained in Sebastien’s bag, where she had left it.

As a heavily disguised Siobhan, she finally arrived at Liza’s house.

The woman had been working on Siobhan’s side to expand the sleep-proxy from one raven to many, which involved a large amount of math that Siobhan didn’t understand. She wanted Siobhan to spend more time helping—not as a thaumaturge, but as a research assistant who would examine, care for, and log the health of the ravens, from which they could estimate the efficiency of the spell design.

Siobhan hesitated. Transforming from Sebastien into Siobhan was dangerous, and she wanted to avoid doing it more frequently than necessary. But she had to be the Raven Queen to help Professor Lacer—in this body, better said “to help Thaddeus”—decrypt Myrddin’s other journals. She could help Liza if it coincided with times she already needed to be Siobhan. And over the two months of Harvest Break, she would be less pressured to transform back into Sebastien so frequently. “I can only come certain times.”

Liza found this barely acceptable, and after helping Siobhan to re-cast her sleep-proxy spell with a fresh sleeper raven, was in a sniping, grumpy mood as they left her house and hailed a carriage to take them to their true destination.

The shaman that Liza worked with at the Retreat at Willowdale had agreed to meet “Amelia” again and help her answer some sensitive, perhaps less-than-legal questions to do with shamanry.

He lived above a small shop that sold magical trinkets as well as spices and teas. A sign above the door mentioned making appointments with the shaman for “a reading,” so presumably he had some sort of collaborative arrangement with the shop owner.

Liza nodded at an aproned man through the window, then went around to the back of the building and up the stairs there. She knocked several times, checked her pocket watch to make sure they had arrived at the right time, and then reached down to try the handle.

It opened easily. Liza’s frown deepened, but she stepped through the doorway into the gloom within, and Siobhan followed.

“Renaldo?” Liza called. A kettle was sitting atop the stove, but was long burned dry and the heated metal was starting to leave a strange, faint smell in the air.

While Liza turned off the stove, Siobhan pushed aside the beaded curtain into the small living room. Her breath caught in her throat and she stiffened, arching backward as her body half-tried to jump away.

The shaman was sitting in an armchair.

He was staring right at her. Or at least one of his eyes was. The other was looking off in another direction entirely. His sclera were mottled crimson, and blood and brain fluid had leaked from his nose, staining his chin and the flamboyant, bright robes beneath.

The skin of his face sagged strangely, and his mouth hung open, revealing a pale, swollen-looking tongue that seemed to want to spill out from between his lips.

Siobhan backed up as silently as she could, grabbed Liza’s arm, and whispered to the other woman, “He’s dead.”

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